Derek Harding's first love, Kitty Simmons, came home. Broke enough that even her family's old estate was up for foreclosure.

I asked him if he still loved her. He frowned and told me not to be ridiculous, that he wasn't that fickle.

I believed him.

Until his phone lit up in the middle of the night. A bank withdrawal. Eight million dollars——and I knew that exact figure. It was the opening bid on the Simmons family estate.

He hadn't cheated on me.

He'd only used our joint marital funds to buy back another woman's home.

I gripped his phone, waiting for him to wake up, and saw a post Kitty had just put on her social media feed:

"Some people say goodbye to your face, but quietly hold up your whole sky behind your back."

The photo was of the estate's courtyard.

And just like that, I remembered what Derek said the day he proposed:

"A man like me only loves once in his life."

Turns out he meant every word.

——

Derek's phone lit up again.

Kitty had posted a second time, a photo of a carved wooden door, captioned: "Home at last."

I stared at that door.

Last year Derek had taken me to see that old estate. Passed down through generations of the Simmons family, a historic mansion, the garden alone running three acres.

He'd said the house had history. A shame the Simmons family had fallen on hard times.

I hadn't thought much of it then.

Now I understood why he knew it so well.

The living room was dark, the glow of the phone screen casting light across my face.

I scrolled through the transfer record. Eight million dollars, even. Payee: an auction house. And the memo on the transfer, spelled out plain as day: "Final payment, Kitty's House."

Kitty's House.

He'd never put this much care into buying a place for us.

A sound came from the bedroom, sheets shifting. Derek was awake. He padded out in his slippers, saw me sitting on the couch, and froze.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

I turned the phone toward him.

Derek went still. He stepped closer to take it; I pulled my hand back.

"Kitty Simmons's old estate. You bought it?"

He said nothing.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes, I bought it." His voice was low. "Her place was about to be foreclosed. I helped her buy it back. Don't worry, I'll make the money up from somewhere else. It won't affect the household."

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. The household? We'd been married three years. His money and mine had long since stopped being two separate things. Now he said it "wouldn't affect the household," as if this were something the two of us shared? Eight million dollars, taken on a whim, and not once did he ask me.

"When did you decide this?"

"Just… recently."

"Recently?" I glanced at the transfer date again. "Ten days ago. For ten days you've eaten with me, slept beside me, and not said a single word."

Derek frowned. "I didn't want you reading into it."

"Reading into what?"

He looked at me a moment, then sighed. "Ruby Henson, Kitty and I are in the past. She's in trouble now, and I gave her a hand. That's all there is to it. Don't overthink it."

That's all there is to it.

Then why write "Kitty's House" in the transfer memo? Why was he the first to like her post? Why, the moment she got back into the country, did he already know her family's estate was going up for auction?

None of that happens unless you've been paying close attention.

I said none of it. I only said, "I don't have a problem with you helping her. But taking our shared money to do it, without so much as a word to me? You think that's right?"

Derek's expression turned uneasy. He sat down across from me, hands folded over his knees, voice softening. "I was wrong. I should have talked to you first. At the time I just wanted to secure it before someone else snatched it up. That house means a lot to her family."

"It means a lot to you too, doesn't it?"

He said nothing.

Kitty posted to her feed again, this time a grid of nine photos. The living room, the study, the garden of the old estate, and one shot of herself. No makeup, a white dress, standing in front of that carved wooden door, looking pale and remote.

The caption read: "Thank you, for being willing to stay when everyone else walked away."

I almost laughed out loud.

That post was meant for Derek. Plain as day.

"What exactly are you to her now?"

"Nothing." Derek looked at me. "I told you. I was just helping her out."

"Then what's a post like that supposed to mean?"

"How would I know what she means?" An edge crept into his voice. "Can you stop being so sensitive?"

Sensitive.

The first time he called me sensitive was the day Kitty left the country. He'd had too much to drink. I asked him what was wrong, and he said it was nothing. When I pushed, asking if it was because of Kitty, he said I was being sensitive.

The second time, we ran into a friend of Kitty's at the mall. The woman smiled and said to Derek, "Did you hear Kitty's back?" Derek said he knew. At home I asked when the two of them had been in touch, and again he said I was being sensitive.

This was the third time.

I stood up from the couch and handed his phone back to him.

"If you want to help her this badly, why don't I just step aside?"

Derek's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." I looked at him. "The two of you should have ended up together in the first place. If she hadn't insisted on going abroad back then, you never would have married me. Now she's home, things aren't going well for her, and your conscience won't leave you alone. I get it."

"Ruby—"

"I'm tired. We'll talk tomorrow."

I turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.

My hands were shaking. Not from anger. From knowing I was right. The day Derek proposed, I asked him why he'd chosen me. He said, "You're suitable." I assumed at the time that was just his way, a man who didn't waste breath on pretty words.

Only now did I understand. He genuinely thought I was "suitable."

Not like Kitty, the one he could never get out of his head.

My phone buzzed. I picked it up. A message from Derek.

"Kitty is just a friend to me. If it bothers you, I won't contact her anymore."

I didn't reply.

He sent another: "The eight million was my mistake. Tomorrow I'll move the money back into our joint account. Call it a loan."

Still nothing from me.

When the third message came through, I turned off my phone.

At some point it had started raining outside. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. Three years ago, when we got married, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Derek was handsome, successful, and attentive enough to me. He'd promised not to keep flowers in the house because of my pollen allergy. He said he didn't like cats, then kept three for me. He remembered every one of my habits.

I thought it was because he loved me.

Now I wondered if he'd simply gotten used to being good to someone.

Who that someone was didn't really matter.

I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. A little after two in the morning, I got up for a glass of water and saw the living room light still on.

Derek was awake.

He sat on the couch, phone in his hand, the screen still lit. I stepped closer. It was his chat with Kitty.

The last message was from her: "Derek, thank you for today. The keys to the old estate—when should I give them to you?"

Sent one minute ago.

Derek hadn't answered yet.

I stood behind him for a long time, and he never noticed. In the end I was the one who spoke first. "If you want to go see her, then go. You don't have to hide it from me."

Derek spun around so fast his phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

"When did you get up?"

"Right when you were texting her back."

He bent to grab the phone, his movements clumsy. The second he had it, he jabbed the power button. The screen went black.

"I wasn't planning to go see her."

"Then why won't you answer her?"

"I'm trying to figure out how."

"Figure out how to keep it from me?"

Derek lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were threaded with red. "Ruby, do you really have to talk to me like this?"

"Then how do you want me to talk?" I set my water glass down on the coffee table. "You say there's nothing between you and her, but she's texting you in the middle of the night and you can't even answer in front of me. You say the eight million was just a favor, but every post she puts up is thanking you. What am I supposed to think?"

Derek stood, his voice dropping low. "We've been married three years. When have I ever lied to you?"

"You're lying to me right now."

He said nothing.

I looked him in the eye. "Derek. Do you still love her?"

I waited a long time.

Long enough that I thought he wouldn't answer at all.

"I'm not that fickle," he said.

I laughed.

It was a brilliant answer. Not "I don't love her." Just "I'm not that fickle." Meaning: he had loved her, but didn't anymore. Or, that he loved her, just not so much.

But spending eight million to buy back an old estate for a woman you "don't love," staying up half the night waiting for her messages, that counted as "not that fickle"?

I didn't call him on it. I picked up my glass and went back to the bedroom.

Lying in bed, I heard movement in the living room. He was on the phone, voice pressed low, but I still caught a few words.

"...Keep the keys. I'm not coming."

"It's fine. Don't read into it."

"Get some rest."

After he hung up, the living room stayed quiet for a long while. Then I heard his footsteps come to the bedroom door, pause, and move away again.

He didn't come in.

I barely slept. Near dawn, I heard the door close. I dragged myself up to look. Derek's car was gone.

Where had he gone?

I glanced at my phone. Kitty had updated her feed, a voice clip this time. I tapped it open.

Her voice was thick with tears. "Derek, are you really not coming? I want to see you."

Posted fifteen minutes ago.

Derek had left fifteen minutes ago.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and it all felt absurd. Three years married, and he never once left in the morning without a word. Every strange thing he'd done lately traced back to Kitty.

A phone buzzed. Not mine. The other phone Derek had left behind.

I picked it up and looked.

Two dozen unread messages popped up on the screen, all from Kitty. The newest was a voice clip. I played it.

"Derek, I was the one who let you down back then. I never should have left the country. I regret it. I really do. You still care about me, don't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have bought back the estate."

The clip ended, and another message followed right after, this one text.

"Didn't you say the one thing you regretted most in your life was not holding on to me? I'm back now. Can you... give me one more chance?"

I set the phone down.

The thing he regretted most.

The day we got married, when we drank the toast, he'd smiled and said, "I have no regrets left in this life."

So that hadn't been true.

The doorbell rang.

I walked over and opened it. A woman stood outside. White dress, long hair, eyes rimmed red.

Kitty Simmons.

She saw me and froze for a second, then forced a smile. "Ruby, is Derek home?"