He almost never had.

Thinking about all of this, I absentmindedly touched the bracelet on my wrist.

Three years. I'd never once taken it off.

The bracelet was a gift from my sister.

On the day of the wedding, she said she wasn't feeling well.

I waited at home for a long time. The makeup artist had already rushed me three times.

But Mom was impatient—with me, not with her.

"What's the hurry? Just wait a little longer. Your sister will be here any minute."

It wasn't until we truly couldn't delay any longer that Mom reluctantly sent me off.

I sat in the wedding car, watching the world slide past through the window.

Even as the car pulled away, I kept thinking—would she suddenly appear?

She'd promised me. She said on my wedding day, she would put the veil on me herself.

She never came.

That evening, after the ceremony was over and the last of the guests had gone, I sat at home, listening to the sounds outside.

The door opened. Footsteps approached. Someone stopped in front of me.

"Theresa."

Rod's voice carried a smile.

I looked up. He stood before me in his suit, bow tie still perfectly knotted.

I suddenly didn't know what to say. I just lowered my head and stared at my own hands.

My palms were slick with sweat.

"Tired?"

I shook my head.

He sat down beside me and took my hand in his.

I looked up at him. His eyes were bright, and I could see my own reflection in them.

"Starting today, you're my wife."

I nodded.

He smiled and pulled a small box from his pocket. Inside was a bracelet. The design wasn't anything extravagant—simple, understated—but when he held it out to me, his hand was trembling.

"I don't have much money. I saved up six months of my salary for this. I hope you don't think it's too plain."

I took it and slipped it onto my wrist.

It was a little tight. He adjusted the clasp for me until it sat just right.

I looked up at him. "It's beautiful."

He grinned—this big, goofy grin.

That night, he said so many things.

He said he'd been too busy with his startup, that he felt guilty for neglecting me. He said he'd work hard to give me a good life.

I listened, tucking every word away in my heart.

Then he said something I never forgot.

"Everyone else chases what's bright and glamorous. All I see is you."

I believed him.

On the newlywed visit to my parents' house, I finally saw my sister.

Rod was supposed to come with me, but something came up at the office at the last minute. He didn't make it.

So he never got to meet her.

She was lying in bed, her face pale. The moment she saw me, her eyes turned red.

I walked over and took her hand. Her fingers were cold—so much colder than mine.

"I'm sorry, Theresa. I'm so sorry I couldn't be at your wedding."

I told her it was fine, that the only thing that mattered was her getting better.

She reached into the nightstand drawer and took out a box, handing it to me.

I opened it. Inside was a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra bracelet in red.

Far more expensive than the one on my wrist.

"This is the gift I got for you," she said, her smile soft and gentle. "I wanted to put it on you myself, but…"

Her eyes reddened again before she could finish.

I squeezed her hand. "Don't be sad. I'll wear it right now."

I reached for the clasp on my wrist, ready to swap it for hers.

She pressed down on my hand. "Don't take that one off. Wear them both."

I did as she said and put both bracelets on.

Hers was exquisite, and it sat heavy on my wrist.

I kept looking down at it, turning my arm this way and that. Something warm spread through my chest.

"Theresa," she said, holding my hand. "I wish you and him a lifetime together. I wish you happiness, always."

I looked up at her.

She was pale and drawn, but her eyes were so beautiful. So sincere.

I nodded. "I will. Thank you."

On the way back, I ran my fingers over both bracelets, thinking that the one from Camille was lovely.

But Rod's was bought with six months of his salary. I couldn't bring myself to replace it.

So I kept his on my wrist and tucked hers into my jewelry box.

I rarely wore Camille's bracelet, but every day I took it out to look at it, gave it a gentle polish.

I heard the gossip in the tabloids all the time.

That Rod and I didn't match. A socialite heiress and a broke college kid—what kind of future could that have?

They said my father was just playing the long game, investing in Rod for the publicity.

None of it bothered me. What did they know?

He was so good to me. So gentle. I didn't care whether he had money or not.

When Rod found out what people were saying, he made a point of reassuring me. Told me not to take it to heart. That I was the only one who mattered to him.

I knew he meant it.

So it never once crossed my mind that things would end up like this.

On the seventh day after Camille moved into the house, Rod remembered he hadn't had dinner with me in a long time.

I asked Martha to make his favorite dishes.

Sweet-and-sour ribs, braised meatballs, a light watercress soup, and the smoked pork stew with bamboo shoots he'd been craving for weeks.

He sat down and glanced at the table, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"You made all this?"

But the moment his chopsticks left the rest, a knock came at the door.

It was Nora, the maid Camille had brought with her.

She was out of breath, her face flushed, and she poked her head in with wide, anxious eyes.

Rod noticed her. "What's wrong?"

Nora kept her head low, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Camille had a nightmare. She's crying so hard we can't calm her down. We didn't know what else to do, so we came to find you, Mr. Pruitt."

Before she even finished, Rod was already on his feet.

"I'll go check on her."

He was halfway to the door when he turned back and added, "Go ahead and eat. Don't wait up."

I sat there for a long time.

The fork was still in my hand. I'd forgotten to put it down.

Martha approached carefully. "Ma'am, why don't you go ahead and start?"

I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth.

Cold.

The sweetness coated my tongue, cloying and thick. I chewed slowly and swallowed.

I tried a piece of bamboo shoot. Also cold.

A film of white fat had congealed on the surface.

I set down my fork.

Martha sighed quietly and began clearing the table.

The clock ticked through the silence of the evening.

Nine o'clock. Ten. Eleven.

Later, Martha told me that Rod had stayed in the master bedroom until well past midnight, watching over Camille until she fell asleep before he left.

She couldn't quite meet my eyes when she said it.

I asked, "What kind of nightmare did she have?"

Martha shook her head.

"I don't know. They said she was crying really hard, and Mr. Pruitt just stayed with her the whole time. Brought her water, pulled the covers up for her, sat on the edge of the bed. Like he was soothing a child."

Rod didn't come back that night.

The herbal medicine was prescribed by a doctor, who said it would help Camille sleep better at night.

The next day, I prepared a full set and went to bring it to her.

The door to the master bedroom was half open. Nora was nowhere to be seen.

I walked straight in, rounding the decorative screen.

My feet stopped.

Camille was leaning against the bay window, a book in her hands.

Sunlight poured through the glass and spilled across her face, so bright that even the shadows of her eyelashes were perfectly defined.

Her head was tilted slightly downward, completely absorbed, the faintest smile resting on her lips.

Rod stood beside her.

He was leaning in, reading the same page.

So close. So close that his chin nearly brushed her shoulder.

His gaze rested on the book. Or maybe it didn't.

I saw his eyes. They were fixed on the loose strand of hair curling by Camille's ear.

His gaze was so gentle, as if afraid of disturbing something.

He didn't dare move, and couldn't look away.

I stood there, rooted to the spot.

The bag of herbal medicine in my hands slipped somehow.

A sharp smack.

It hit the floor. The paper wrapping split open, dried herbs scattering everywhere.

They both looked up at the same time.

Camille saw me first. Her eyes curved into crescents.

"There you are, sweetie."

Her voice was feather-soft, her face lit with delighted surprise.

Rod straightened up and turned to me.

His expression was calm, pleasant. "What brings you here?"

I lowered my gaze to the mess of herbs on the floor.

Camille rose and walked over, looking genuinely sorry.

"Oh no, it's all spilled."

"I'll go get more."

I crouched down to gather the scattered pieces.

Camille pressed her hand over mine.

"Leave it. What's spilled is spilled. I'll have Nora clean it up later. Come sit with me for a bit."

Her hand rested warm against the back of mine.

I looked up. She was smiling right at me.

Such a beautiful smile.

I managed one in return.

Then I pulled my hand free.

"Another time. I have things to do."

She blinked, caught off guard, but recovered quickly with another smile.

"Of course. Go ahead, then. Rod, would you walk her back?"

Rod nodded and came over.

I followed him out.

At the doorway, I heard Camille call from behind us:

"I'll save that book for you. We can pick up where we left off next time."

Rod's steps faltered for a beat. He didn't turn around.

Outside the master bedroom, he walked half a step ahead of me. Neither of us spoke.

"You should go back," I said.

I didn't look at him. "She's probably still waiting for you."

He stopped and turned.

"Theresa, don't overthink this. Camille's just lonely. She wanted someone to talk to, so I kept her company for a while. That's all it was."

I nodded.

He studied me for a moment, seemed about to say something, then swallowed it.

Finally, he let out a breath. "I'm heading back, then. Let's have dinner together tonight."

I said okay.

He turned and walked away.

The hallway wasn't long. From the master bedroom to the guest room, maybe a few dozen steps.

But it took me forever. My legs wouldn't move any faster.

Martha met me at the door, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

"Ma'am, you look awful. What happened?"

She guided me inside and poured me a glass of water.

"What's wrong?"

I stared at the glass. The surface was still, clear enough to catch a reflection.

After a long time, I felt the dampness on my face. I raised a hand to wipe the corner of my eye.

But the more I wiped, the more there was. Like it would never stop.