Part 2Left at the Edge of Goodbye

Now, with those walls painted that harsh, glaring pink, the room made my skin crawl.

“Do we still have any blue paint in the house?” I asked.

Julian’s expression darkened.

“Why would we keep something like that around? What if a kid got into it and got sick?

“Come on. Pink is bright and cheerful. Not like that blue before—dark, heavy, suffocating.”

He flicked a cool glance my way, and for no reason at all, a chill ran straight through me.

For a moment, I honestly couldn’t tell.

Was suffocating about the color—

or about me?

I stood in the doorway and watched him, completely unconcerned, take a lace nightgown off the hanger and head for the guest room next door.

I had barely breathed in any of the diffuser, and already my whole body was itching. I’d scratched my arms raw.

Holding my breath, I went to the dresser and pulled open the drawer.

It was full of Rachel’s makeup.

“Where’s my allergy medicine?”

Julian had just started toward me when Rachel let out a scream downstairs.

“What happened?”

He turned around instantly and rushed out.

I didn’t ask again. I found the emergency first-aid kit myself and swallowed a loratadine tablet.

When I sat down on the bed, my mind drifted.

Back in our first year building the company, I’d once forced myself to test a shipment of fragrance samples from a factory, even though my skin was already reacting.

Julian was the one who found me unconscious in the office. He called an ambulance to take me to hospital, and the next morning, when I opened the door, I found him asleep on the floor outside.

He told me he was afraid something might happen to me in the middle of the night with no one around. So he stayed by my door, keeping watch until morning.

At that moment, I thought to myself: this is the man I’m meant to marry.

But now...

I stood at the top of the stairs and watched Julian lift Rachel’s burned finger to his mouth.

The second she saw me, Rachel jerked her hand back.

“Waverly, are you settled in? Come downstairs and eat.”

I shook my head.

“You two go ahead.”

Not long after, Julian came upstairs carrying a plate of food and set it down on the table with a hard thud.

“You just got home, and this is the attitude you’re giving everyone?

“Rachel was so worried you were upset that she couldn’t even eat. She took Ricky back to her room without touching a bite.”

I rolled up my pant leg and showed him the deep bruise darkening the back of my knee.

“I came back to my own home and got beaten by security like I was some trespasser.

“The food is all spicy too. Spicy food wrecks my stomach.”

My voice came out rough and strained.

“I’m not giving anyone attitude. I’m just exhausted.”

Julian’s face softened a little.

“The guard is new. It makes sense that he didn’t recognize you.”

I said nothing.

Rachel had spent ten years as a stay-at-home mom, and after her divorce, every job she applied for fell through.

I brought her into my company myself and trained her by hand.

But one careless mistake—a missing zero in a bid price—had cost the company a fortune.

To make up the loss, I volunteered for the overseas assignment.

Before I left, I must have reminded Julian a hundred times to look after her.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that in the short six months I’d been gone, she would be the one publicly paraded around as the lady of the house.

The new security guard didn’t know who I was.

But he knew Rachel as "Mrs. Hale."

Julian crouched down to inspect my injury.

“It’s not broken. Later I’ll put some liniment on it.”

Then he stood and turned for the door.

“I’m going to get Rachel and Ricky to eat. I’ll order you takeout while I’m at it.”

Then I heard a familiar set of footsteps on the stairs.

I hurried out at once.

“Dad. Mom. You finished treatment?”

My mother gripped my hand tightly.

“Waverly, you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine. Dad, let me help you back to your room so you can rest.”

My father was coughing so hard he could barely straighten up, and he was still trying to reassure me.

“I’m... I’m okay. I can walk.”

Then he turned, one hand braced against the wall, and staggered down the stairs.

I froze.

“Wait, the room is the other way, isn’t it?”

My mother answered carefully, like she was afraid to say too much.

“Our legs aren’t what they used to be. Going up and down the stairs is hard, so Julian moved us downstairs.”

I followed them to the basement.

The room couldn’t have been more than forty square feet. There was a narrow twin bed inside, and not even a window.

My voice shook.

“How could he put you in a place like this?”