In the master bedroom closet hung all the matching pajamas and lounge sets I’d picked out for us.
I stood there for a while, then packed every single piece into a box.
I was the only one who ever cared about those things anyway.
When Tucker wore them, he never cared whether they matched. He never even looked at me.
The plants in the corner of the living room—I’d picked and raised each one based on his preferences.
The racing models on the bookshelf—I’d hunted them down one by one for him.
Tucker never once asked where any of it came from.
It was like those things just naturally belonged there.
This apartment was filled with traces of me.
And yet, the things that actually belonged to me were pitifully few.
Honestly, before Kelsey showed up, I could endure a lot.
Tucker being cold—I endured it. His being bad at expressing himself—I made excuses for him.
I’d even thought that if he fell for someone else one day, I might still have a chance to pull his heart back.
But it just had to be Kelsey.
The foster sister who’d lived through those dependent, difficult years with him.
A past he could never cut away from his life.
They shared more than ten years of memories.