Chapter 2: Hiding in the Bathroom

Showers are my sanctuary.

In there, I don’t have to face him—or the memories that wait for me in every other room.

The cold tile sent a chill up my legs, a sharp contrast to the scalding water. Inside these four walls, the world narrowed to steam and the rush of water, the hiss drowning out everything else. I could pretend I was someone else—a college girl, a stranger, anyone but Ethan Callahan’s fiancée.

But when I wiped the fog from the mirror, the marks on my skin were still there, plain as day.

I stared at my reflection, red-eyed and raw, like I’d just lost a bar fight with my own memories.

A slow, deliberate knock rattled the door.

"How long you gonna be in there?" Ethan’s voice was sharp, impatient. Not cruel—just staking his claim, reminding me whose house this was.

"If you don’t come out, I’m coming in!"

He’d done it before—barging in like privacy was a joke. I’d stopped locking the door. Locks didn’t mean anything to Ethan.

...

I hurried, shutting off the water and wrapping myself in a towel, heart racing like a trapped animal. I grabbed my robe from the back of the door, bracing for his entrance.

...

The kitchen was a page out of a magazine—marble counters, steel appliances, everything just so. But the breakfast—scrambled eggs, bacon, toast—sat untouched, getting cold next to the morning paper. It was always like this: Ethan in a hurry, me pretending to care.

The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring the smell of bacon and burnt toast. Outside, a cicada buzzed against the window screen. The TV droned with the morning news while Ethan, tie in hand, moved with practiced ease.

Catching me staring, he grinned and flicked my nose:

"What, you like watching? Next time, you tie it for me."

I looked away, cheeks burning. He just laughed, the sound low and satisfied.

He grabbed my glass of milk, took a sip right where my lipstick stained the rim.

It was such a normal, intimate gesture it made my skin crawl. Like we were some storybook couple, instead of what we really were.

...

"Be good. Wait for me to get back."

"Tonight I’ll take you to look at wedding dresses."

Commands, not invitations. I nodded, playing the part: good girl, empty glass, ring shining on my finger.