Chương 3
Neither of us talked much.
The stroller wheels made a soft clicking sound every time they crossed a crack in the sidewalk.
People passed us carrying groceries, walking dogs, rushing toward meetings, living ordinary afternoons while my life had become something I could no longer recognize.
Rachel stopped once outside a small bakery because Emma started asking for a cookie.
She looked at me before answering.
“You still hate giving kids sugar before dinner.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“I never said I hated it.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I said cookies before dinner create chaos.”
Rachel looked down at the girl.
“Your father thinks cookies create chaos.”
The word father hung between us.
She seemed to realize what she had said and looked away.
I did too.
Inside the bakery, Emma pressed her hands against the glass display and tried to decide between three different cookies.
The employee behind the counter smiled at her and asked if she needed help.
Emma looked at Rachel.
Then at me.
Then back at Rachel.
She did not know who I was.
She only knew I was a stranger standing beside her mother.
That was somehow worse.
Rachel bought three cookies.
“One for each,” she said.
“I thought cookies created chaos.”
“They do.”
“Then why buy three?”
“Because sometimes chaos is easier than listening to three children complain for twenty minutes.”
It was the first normal conversation we had.
For a few seconds, we were just two people standing in a bakery arguing about cookies.
Then reality returned.
At her apartment building, Rachel struggled with the stroller and the front door at the same time.
I reached forward automatically and held the door open.
She looked at me.
A small expression crossed her face.
“You still do that.”
“Do what?”
“Help before anyone asks.”
I shrugged.
“Habit.”
Rachel nodded.
“I missed that.”
I did not answer.
Because I missed things too.
That was the dangerous part.
Missing someone did not erase what happened.
Her apartment was smaller than the one we used to share.
It was on the third floor of an older building with narrow hallways and wooden stairs that creaked under every step.
A child’s drawing covered part of the refrigerator.
There were toys in baskets near the couch.
A laundry pile sat beside a chair.
It looked lived in.
Not staged.
Not perfect.
Just a home.
Rachel parked the stroller near the kitchen.
The girls carried their cookies to the small table near the window.
Lily looked at me again.
This time she smiled.
I had to look away.
Rachel noticed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She nodded like she expected that answer.
“Fair.”
I stood near the counter while she opened a drawer.
She pulled out a folder.
Then another.
Then a small box from the back.
My stomach tightened.
“How long have you kept these?”
“Since everything happened.”
“Why?”
Rachel sat down.
“Because I thought someday you would ask.”
I looked at the box.
“You could have called me.”
Her face changed.
Not angry.
Hurt.
“I did.”
The room became quiet.
“What?”
Rachel opened the box.
Inside were printed emails, handwritten notes, and copies of messages.
My first instinct was disbelief.
My second was fear.
She pulled out her phone.
“I have old records.”
“Records of what?”
“Calls.”
She unlocked the screen and searched.
“I called you seventeen times in one week.”
I stared at her.
“I never got those calls.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because every single one went to voicemail.”
“That’s impossible.”
Rachel gave me a tired look.
“Evan, please stop saying things are impossible.”
I looked down.
She was right.
Impossible was becoming the most common word in my life.
She handed me the phone.
The call history showed my name.
Her number.
Dates.
Times.
Seventeen attempts.
My chest tightened.
“I blocked you?”
Rachel looked away.
“I thought you did.”
I shook my head.
“I never blocked you.”
She walked to a cabinet and pulled out an old phone.
The case was cracked.
“I kept this because I was afraid I would lose something important.”
She placed it on the table.
“The night I left, I dropped my phone in the hospital parking lot.”
I looked at her.
“The hospital?”
Rachel sat down across from me.
“I was there because I collapsed at work.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
“You never told me.”
“I tried.”
She opened the folder.
“I found out I was pregnant two days before that.”
The room felt smaller.
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
She looked directly at me.
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“Then what?”
Rachel took a breath.
“Of becoming someone who needed you more than you needed me.”
I did not know how to respond.
That was not the answer I expected.
She continued quietly.
“When we started fighting, you were working constantly.”
“I was trying to save money.”
“I know.”
“I wanted a future.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“But you were always somewhere else.”
The words hurt because they were not entirely wrong.
I looked toward the girls.
Lily was coloring something on a piece of paper.
“She has your concentration.”
Rachel followed my eyes.
“She does.”
“How did you know?”
Rachel smiled faintly.
“Because she stares at puzzles the way you stare at spreadsheets.”
I almost laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
Then the moment disappeared.
“I need to know what happened.”
Rachel nodded.
“I do too.”
She opened the box and removed a letter.
“This is the one I wrote.”
The paper was folded carefully.
My name was on it.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My hands shook as I took it.
The first line was different from the letter I received.
Evan, I am scared and I need you.
I stopped reading.
Rachel watched me.
“That’s what I wrote.”
I swallowed.
The letter I received four years earlier had started with something completely different.
Evan, I think we both know this is not working anymore.
May you like
Same paper.
Same general format.
