Part 3Always First

The law office wasn't far from home.

After reviewing the documents I'd brought, Daniel Peralta looked up at me. "Ms. Hensley, are you sure you want to go through with the divorce?"

I nodded. "Absolutely.

"If Mr. Hensley refuses to cooperate, the process could take some time."

"That's fine." I paused before adding, "I'm not in a hurry to get him to sign."

Daniel looked surprised.

I smiled. "He always assumes I'll wait. So let him wait for once."

When I left the law office, the sky was heavily overcast.

I received a message from Ace.

[Peyton's blood sugar dropped, and she fainted for a moment. I stayed with her while she finished her IV.]

A few minutes later, another message came through.

[I'll be home for dinner tonight. I bought your favorite chicken.]

I stared at the screen for a long time.

He was always like this. He'd hand someone else the knife, then come back and try to comfort me with a meal. As if as long as he was willing to make it up to me, I was supposed to forget why I was hurt in the first place.

When I got home, Ace still wasn't there.

I went into the study and packed up my computer, camera, and work materials. There was a thick travel album on the bookshelf. The first page held photos from when we'd just started dating, taken on a trip to the beach.

Back then, Ace had held me and said that after we got married, he'd take me to a new city every year.

He really did end up visiting a lot of cities. It was just that most of the time, Peyton was the one beside him.

Peyton was afraid of the cold, so he took her to Coral Bay to chill on the beach.

When Peyton went through a breakup, he took her to Redwood Lake to clear her head.

And whenever I wanted to see the ocean, he always said we'd go when he wasn't so busy. Once he wasn't busy, there was always something going on with Peyton.

I closed the album and placed it at the bottom of a cardboard box.

At six that evening, Ace came home. He was carrying a chicken and a bag of fruit, a smile on his face as he walked through the door.

"Hungry? I told Peyton to go home first." He said it like he expected praise.

But I noticed a faint lipstick mark on his shirt cuff. It wasn't my shade.

Ace didn't notice the boxes I'd packed. He simply carried the food into the kitchen. "Peyton was pretty upset today. She kept saying she was afraid of causing trouble for us."

He paused, as though he needed to explain her behavior on her behalf. "She's actually very considerate."

I looked at him. "Is she?"

"Of course." Ace turned back toward me. "She even told me to come home and spend some time with you."

For a moment, the whole thing felt absurd.

Peyton had taken my anniversary away from me, taken the time that should have belonged to me, and in the end, she could still play the generous one, graciously giving Ace back to me for a few hours.

Ace actually thought that made her considerate.

His phone rang. I didn't need to guess who it was—Peyton.

Ace answered immediately.

Her voice came through, trembling with tears. "Ace, I think someone broke into my house."

Ace's expression changed instantly. "Don't move. I'm coming right now."

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

I called after him, "Ace."

He stopped. "What now?"

"The chicken isn't cooked yet."

He looked irritated. "Just eat without me. Peyton's situation is more urgent."

I nodded. "Okay."

Ace opened the door, finally seeming to realize that something about my calmness was off. He looked back at me. "Angel, don't overthink this just because of something so minor. I'll come back and spend time with you later."

The door closed.

I stood in the empty living room and suddenly remembered something he'd once said.

"There's no favoritism in a plan. Things just have different levels of importance."

Turns out, he hadn't been short on time. Every single time, he'd simply put me in the slot that could be canceled.

I took out my phone and called a moving company.

"Could you come at eight tomorrow morning?

"Yes. One suitcase and two boxes. The destination is the airport."

At seven-thirty the next morning, I dragged my suitcase out of the bedroom.

Ace hadn't come home all night.

The chicken was still sitting untouched on the dining table. The bag of fruit contained mangoes, which I hated.

Ace remembered that Peyton couldn't eat spicy food and was allergic to seafood, but he'd never been able to remember that mangoes gave me a rash.

I used to remind him. Eventually, I stopped.

Because if someone truly kept you in their heart, you shouldn't have to repeatedly teach them how to love you.

Once the movers arrived, I gave the house one last inspection.

I didn't take anything we'd bought together—the sofa, the dining table, the curtains, and the floor lamp. I'd picked each of those things out, one by one.

But there was no reason for me to take them with me anymore.

A home was never created by decorating a space.

It was created when someone asked if you were tired when you came home, when someone remembered what you couldn't eat, when someone moved you from the last slot on their schedule to the very first place in their heart.

This place had everything, except me.

At 8:40, Ace finally sent me a message.

[Peyton was terrified last night. I stayed with her while she gave her statement to the police. Are you awake? Don't be mad. I'll be home at noon.]

I didn't reply.

My flight was at one.

Daniel had already sent the divorce agreement to Ace's email. All I needed to do was hand over the final signed authorization before boarding.

Before leaving, I placed the spare key on the entryway cabinet. Beneath it was a note.

There was only one sentence: "Ace, you don't need to leave a place for me in your schedule anymore."

At noon, Ace came home.

The first thing he saw when he opened the door was the study, half empty. The space where I'd kept my computer was bare. The jasmine plant I'd cared for on the balcony for five years was gone. Only one pair of my slippers remained in the entryway shoe cabinet.

Ace stood in the doorway, his face slowly paling.

He called my phone.

No answer.

He called a second time.

Still nothing.

Then he finally saw the key and the note beneath it.

His phone rang at that moment. It was Daniel.

"Hello. Am I speaking with Mr. Hensley?

"I'm Daniel Peralta. Ms. Hensley has asked me to deliver the divorce agreement to you. She also asked me to let you know that her one o'clock flight has already taken off."

Ace gripped his phone, his voice tightening. "Where did she go?"

There was a second of silence on the other end.

"Ms. Hensley said you don't need to know."