Chapter 3

3.

By the time I reached my house, I was soaked to the bone.

Despite a hot shower, I couldn't stop sneezing and had to take some cold medicine.

My delivery of fried rice arrived, and as I ate, I thought of my dad.

My eyes welled up. My mom died when I was little, and he had raised me all on his own.

Last month, when he collapsed and went to the hospital, it was the darkest day of my life.

The doctor told me it was late-stage stomach cancer. He had maybe a month left.

My world fell apart.

He had been suffering in silence at home, refusing to see a doctor because he didn't want to worry me.

My office wasn't even that far from his house, but since I moved in with Leighton, I rarely visited.

Every time he asked when I was coming over, I made excuses about work.

If I had just gone home more often, I would have noticed he was sick.

I moved him to a hospital near my place to be closer.

Leighton visited him exactly once. He was so happy that day.

But on the day he died, he grabbed my hand and said, "Harvey, don't force it."

"Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me."

I realized then that he knew Leighton didn't love me anymore.

He left me this house and a bit of savings.

The fried rice tasted bitter with my tears.

My phone rang―a number I didn't recognize. It was Leighton.

"Did you catch a cold? Look at Jaxon's injury. Stop being so petty," she said.

That was her pattern: hit me with a stick, then offer a piece of candy.

She'd blow up at me over Jaxon, then give me a tiny bit of attention to make me feel guilty.

And usually, I'd apologize and thank her for "putting up with me."

When I didn't respond, she sounded surprised. "Harvey?"

"Yeah," I grunted.

"Jaxon's leg is pretty bad," she continued, probably annoyed by my tone.

"It's a fracture. He needs a cast, so I'm staying at the hospital to watch him. I'll order you some food."

"Don't bother," I said, swallowing a mouthful of rice. "I'm already eating."

The line went quiet. She didn't know what to say.

Then Jaxon called her name in the background. "I gotta go," she said, and hung up.

I opened Instagram. Jaxon had posted five minutes ago.

It was a picture of Leighton drawing on his leg cast. The background was clearly his bedroom, not a hospital.