Chapter 2

Ethan shoved the cigarette pack back in his pocket, his tone complicated.

"I've wronged you. The money you transferred to Hazel for emergencies—I'll pay back every cent. The apartment is yours. I won't set foot in it again."

He paused.

"I only have one request. Hazel really cares about you. Don't let my mistake ruin your sisterhood."

I found it laughable—so laughable I didn't even have the energy to be angry.

"Since you know getting involved with my sister was wrong, then why the hell did you do it?!"

His jaw tightened. After a long while, he finally spoke:

"Natalie, some things I can't control. What's done is done. I'll do everything I can to make it up to you."

"If this gets out, the person who'll be hurt most is Hazel. You wouldn't want to see your sister gossiped about, right?"

"I'll take her away tomorrow. Please stay at a hotel tonight—I've already booked one. Just give your name at the front desk."

He turned and entered the elevator, leaving me standing alone.

My phone vibrated. He'd sent the hotel address, followed by "I'm sorry."

I stared at those three words for a long time.

At this very moment, upstairs in what was my home, a light was on.

That was a lightbulb Ethan and I had changed together before I left. Now it was shining for someone else.

This city had eight million lights.

But not a single one was lit for me.

I finally crouched down, buried my face in my knees, my shoulders shaking violently.

I didn't end up going to the hotel he booked. Instead, I drove around the ring road all night.

The next day, I went to the old district.

There was a flower shop on the corner, run by my college roommate Lily.

After Hazel's ex-husband kicked her out, I hired a lawyer for her lawsuit while asking Lily to arrange an easy, low-pressure job for her at the shop.

I paid the wages myself and told Lily not to mention it.

Lily had laughed over the phone at the time:

"Natalie, why do you care more about this sister than yourself?"

Hazel stood at the flower shop entrance wearing an apron, crouched on the ground repotting a plant.

When she saw me, the trowel in her hand clattered to the ground.

"Natalie? How did you know I was here..."

I said nothing and pushed the door open.

Hazel followed behind me, frantically moving a chair and wiping it over and over with her sleeve.

"Natalie, let me get you some water..."

She turned too quickly and bumped into the flower stand. The watering can tipped over, water spilling everywhere and soaking her shoes.

She looked down, then up at me, standing there helplessly like an elementary student called to the principal's office.

I suddenly remembered when we were little.

The year Mom died, she was only eight.

She couldn't sleep alone at night—she had to hold onto my arm to fall asleep.

Later when she got a bit older, she was still clingy, following me everywhere like a tail I couldn't shake off.

"Natalie," her voice pulled me back. "I know you hate me. But I really didn't mean for this to happen. I don't know how it turned out this way..."

She looked up at me, her eyes completely red.

"I know you've been good to me my whole life. But you were always so busy. You were always solving my problems, never had time to listen to me talk. But Ethan was different."

"He'd ask what I ate today, he'd remember every little thing I mentioned, he'd answer the phone when I had nightmares."

"You said you hoped someone would treat me well. Now there is someone—why aren't you happy?"

Listening to her aggrieved yet self-righteous words, I couldn't help but want to laugh.

The sister I'd worked so hard to raise for sixteen years turned out to be such an ungrateful wretch!

"Hazel, since childhood, what have you asked for that I haven't given you?"

"Your tuition, living expenses, rent, lawyer fees for the lawsuit, the credit card you maxed out, the money that man scammed from you—have you counted how much I've spent on you over the years?"

"But I never imagined that the sister I raised with my own hands would steal my boyfriend!"

She lowered her head, lips trembling, tears falling and splashing on the flower shop's wooden floor.

"I was twelve years old writing homework for others to earn money. At fifteen I was waiting tables at restaurants, getting splattered with hot oil that left scars all over my arm—they're still there. At twenty I worked overtime until I had a gastric hemorrhage and got taken away in an ambulance with no one by my side!"

I rolled up my sleeve, revealing those pale white old scars on my forearm.

"You didn't know any of this because I never told you."

She stared at those scars, the color draining from her face bit by bit.

"Hazel, for sixteen years, I've given you half my life! And how did you repay me?"

"You wore my pajamas, lay in my bed, sat in my boyfriend's arms!"

She slid down onto the flower shop floor, sobbing in a mess, her apron covered in dirt.

I crouched down and looked at her with a cold heart.

The memories that once meant everything had become unrecognizable in this moment.

"Hazel, whatever you wanted that I could give, I've already given."

"But what I don't give, you can't take. You have no right to take it."