Chapter 3: Old Flames and Fresh Wounds

The next morning, I shuffled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed. Mrs. Carter was making breakfast, the smell of frying butter and sweet potatoes making my mouth water. I slumped into the chair, still half-asleep, but the smell of breakfast almost made me forget my worries. Today’s breakfast was sweet potato pancakes and orange juice.

Mrs. Carter slid a bottle of store-brand syrup across the table, the label half-peeled from years of sticky fingers. She smiled and asked, “Is it good?”

She leaned over, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, the lines at the corners of her eyes soft with affection. I nodded, cheeks full, syrup threatening to drip down my chin.

My mouth was too full to answer, so I just nodded repeatedly.

“Don’t choke.” Mrs. Carter handed me a cup of orange juice. “My boys always gripe about my pancakes, but they still come home for 'em.”

She shook her head and laughed, pouring another glass for herself. “Boys—always so picky. When they visit, they’d rather order pizza than eat my pancakes.”

Talking about her own kids, Mrs. Carter couldn’t help but sigh.

The kitchen filled with a comfortable silence. The radio played some old country song in the background. I took another bite, grateful for the warmth and familiarity of this morning ritual.

I comforted her, “They just don’t know how to appreciate it.”

Mrs. Carter truly liked me. Even though I seemed cold, every time I ate something delicious, my eyes would light up. That gave her a great sense of accomplishment.

She watched me eat, her eyes shining with a quiet pride. “You’re a good girl, Natalie. Always have been. Reminds me of when you were little, running around in that pink raincoat.”

“By the way, where’s Caleb? He’s not up yet?”

“He took a sleeping pill last night.”

Sleeping pill?

Mrs. Carter thought carefully. When she cleaned this morning, the sleeping pill bottle in the medicine cabinet hadn’t been touched. But the coffee jar lid hadn’t been screwed on tightly.

She pursed her lips, eyebrows arching in suspicion. She’d always kept tabs on the house’s little details, and nothing escaped her notice—not even the subtle aroma of espresso lingering in the air.

I didn’t expect Caleb to sleep all the way until afternoon. Even after sleeping so long, he still had dark circles under his eyes.

He shuffled out of the bedroom around lunchtime, hair mussed and eyes ringed in gray. His T-shirt was wrinkled, and he blinked at the sunlight as if it were too bright for him. The house was quiet, save for the ticking clock and the distant bark of a neighbor’s dog.

[Looks like his sleep really is bad. Good thing I didn’t try to sneak a touch last night, or he’d have slept even worse. I’d better behave from now on.]

I made a mental note to lay off the late-night fantasies—at least until his sleep schedule sorted itself out. I sipped my cold coffee, watching him move through the kitchen like a ghost.

Caleb, who had his back to me, suddenly turned around and stared at me for a long time, his eyes dark. “I slept really well.”

He said it in a clipped tone, almost as if daring me to disagree. I looked up from my mug, caught off guard by the edge in his voice.

[What does that have to do with me?]

I tapped my fingers on the table, not sure what game we were playing.

Caleb ignored me.

He stalked off toward the hallway, shoulders tense beneath his shirt.

[Men are so complicated. Annoying.]

I huffed, rolling my eyes at the closed door. The house suddenly felt too big, the silence pressing in from every side.

Caleb slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

The sound echoed through the house, startling even Mrs. Carter in the kitchen. I jumped, then pressed my palm to my chest, exhaling slowly.

That evening, our high school classmates’ group chat came alive. The class president was organizing a reunion. Aubrey’s name lit up my screen with a string of emojis before her call even connected. “Nat, you’ll go, right?”

Her voice crackled through the speaker, bright and insistent. I could picture her sprawled across her bed, feet swinging off the edge, phone pressed to her ear like we were still teenagers.

“Mm, I just happen to have time.”

I tucked my knees up on the couch, phone nestled against my cheek, the TV on mute in the background.

Aubrey and I met in high school, and by coincidence went to the same college. We’ve always been close.

She’d always had my back, whether it was sharing fries in the cafeteria or sneaking out for late-night milkshakes. If anyone knew all my secrets, it was Aubrey.

“What about your husband? Is he coming?”

The call was loud. I looked up at Caleb across from me. He opened his mouth.

[Don’t say you’re coming. I really don’t want to bring him.]

Caleb closed his mouth and shook his head lightly.

He seemed to pick up on my mood instantly, giving a tiny shake of his head and turning back to his phone.

I was satisfied as I replied to Aubrey, “He’s not coming.”

The relief in my voice was obvious, and Aubrey’s laugh told me she heard it too.

Aubrey seemed relieved on the other end.

“It’s good your husband isn’t coming. Derek Miller will be there too—your high school little boyfriend, remember? He’s been single since you broke up. I heard he still wears the bracelet you gave him.”

Aubrey’s voice was crystal clear.

I could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows through the phone. She loved to stir up old drama, even if it was a decade old.

“...It’s nothing.”

I replied dryly.

“That’s good. Next Tuesday at seven in the evening, see you there.”

The call ended.

The familiar chime of the phone disconnecting echoed in the quiet living room. I dropped the phone onto the coffee table, staring up at the ceiling.

Seeing how calm Caleb was, the vague unease in my heart faded.

His indifference was almost comforting—a shield against whatever complicated feelings the reunion might dredge up.

[What am I worrying about? Even if I actually cheated, he wouldn’t care. How could he possibly get upset over something so trivial...]

The thought was a little bitter, but I shook it off. I reached for the remote and flicked on the news, letting the drone of the weatherman fill the space.

“No.”

Caleb’s expression suddenly turned cold. I was startled, staring at him blankly.

I turned, coffee halfway to my lips, as his words cut through the air. He looked at me, jaw set, as if daring me to contradict him.

[What’s he doing?]

Caleb met my gaze, his brows twitching, then his expression relaxed. “I mean Mrs. Carter’s cooking isn’t good.”

He forced a half-smile, as if trying to cover his earlier tone. His eyes slid away, lingering on the stack of dishes in the sink.

Mrs. Carter hurried in with a spatula. “Huh?”

She glanced between us, brow furrowed, clearly catching the tail end of something she wasn’t supposed to hear. I shot her a reassuring smile.

As laughter echoed from the dining room, I wondered—what other secrets from high school were about to come crawling back?