Chapter 3

The next morning, clanging sounds came from outside the door.

I pushed open the door and looked out.

Ethan was wearing an apron, frantically busy in the kitchen.

I paused, looking at the eighth anniversary circled on the calendar.

For the past seven years, every year on this day, he would insist on cooking himself. Even though each time he burned everything beyond recognition, making it inedible, I would still rush to eat it all.

And he would look at me with red eyes, vowing that next time he'd definitely make me a successful dish.

I couldn't help but curve my lips into a smile, moving behind him:

"What delicious food are you making this time?"

Ethan jumped in fright, turning to look at me with a forced smile:

"Luna, did I wake you up? I'm so sorry."

I felt a bit dazed.

I didn't know when we'd become so polite and formal with each other.

Before I could speak, he frowned, his tone frustrated:

"Luna, I wanted to make the beef stew you taught me before, but I've ruined several batches already."

"Stella's been craving it for days..."

My smile froze.

The air fell into an awkward silence.

Ethan belatedly realized what he'd said. A flash of panic crossed his face, and he hurriedly explained:

"I've been having severe panic attacks these past few days. Stella stayed up with me for several all-nighters. And you've been focused on work, so I thought I'd make something to help her recover."

"After all, she's your precious treasure. I have to put in extra effort, right?"

I looked at how his shirt was soaked with sweat, and the corners of my mouth twitched.

If I'd heard these words from him before, I don't know how happy I would have been.

After all, one was my lifesaving lover, the other was the sister who raised me. Every year my birthday wish was for them to get along well.

Now it seemed my wish had really come true.

It's just that there seemed to be no place for me anymore.

I waved my hand dismissively, laughing it off:

"I'm just thankful you two aren't fighting. I'm beyond happy that you can put aside your differences and treat her well."

Perhaps my words were too sincere. Ethan's eyes actually reddened for a moment. He stood there, so guilty he didn't know what to say.

I smiled and stepped forward, taking the spatula from his hand:

"Watch me do it. You better remember well."

He paused for a moment, then smiled reflexively:

"Don't we have you, our master chef? If I don't understand something later, I can just ask you. Why would I, a cooking novice, need to remember everything in one go?"

The moment these slightly wheedling words left his mouth, even he stiffened, a trace of chagrin flashing across his face.

I ignored this subtle change and pretended to scold:

"Hey, there'll be times when I'm not around. If you learn more, one day you'll be able to do it independently."

He frowned, his lips moving slightly, as if he wanted to ask why I wouldn't be around.

In the end, he didn't speak up. He just nodded.

Then he picked up his phone and opened the notes app.

I quietly glanced at it—

It was densely filled with Stella's likes and dislikes, so much that it was almost pushing down the notes about me.

I forced myself to stay calm and look away, but my heart felt like it was being pricked with needles, uncontrollably aching.

I could only keep consoling myself that this was good.

This way, after I left, they could take good care of each other.