The Day Ethan Got Married Chapter 3

Before the engagement party even ended, news of the explosion on Washington Avenue was spreading through the crowd.

Part of me wanted to see Ethan's expression when he heard about my death. Part of me feared my death wouldn't affect him at all.

When the news reached the woman—her name was Claire—her face went white.

Ethan immediately pulled her into his arms, murmuring comfort.

"It's just an accident. These things happen. As long as we're safe together, that's all that matters, right?"

Claire smiled weakly at him, her face still pale.

I followed them home and watched Ethan care for her with tender attentiveness.

Watched them nestle close together, whispering sweet nothings from their shared past.

I felt numb with cold, suddenly wondering if this was all a dream. Maybe after that goodbye at the coffee shop, I'd never seen Ethan again.

Maybe I'd never been part of their relationship. Maybe I wasn't Ethan's girlfriend at all—which would explain why they could hold hands, embrace, and kiss so freely.

Without Ethan, my college years would have been a simple triangle: classroom, library, dorm. After four years, I might have found stable work.

Or maybe not-so-stable work that still covered my expenses with enough left over to donate to those in greater need.

Years later, with some savings, perhaps I'd have fallen into an ordinary relationship. My boyfriend might not have had Ethan's resources, but we'd have come from similar backgrounds with common goals. We could have worked toward them together.

Or maybe I wouldn't have found a boyfriend at all. But that would've been fine too. I could've adopted a cat, or a dog, and lived happily with them.

But there were no "what ifs."

Even standing in this house screaming, passing through Ethan's body over and over, no one could hear or see me.

I tortured myself by looking around the house. Couple photos everywhere. Matching toiletries. Photos of Claire from childhood to now.

Everything proclaimed Ethan's love for her.

But if they'd been in love all along, what was I?

Didn't I even deserve a proper goodbye?

The nightstand in the bedroom was crowded with pill bottles.

Claire's health seemed fragile.

"Claire, come taste this. How'd I do?"

His voice brimmed with excitement and unmistakable hope. I looked at the dining table.

Dumplings. The technique, the broth—everything I'd taught him, step by step.

Ethan's mother was from up north. Their family tradition was making dumplings for holidays and celebrations, symbolizing family unity.

So when Ethan learned I could make dumplings, he'd asked me to teach him several times.

But back then, he'd always seal them too loosely, and they'd fall apart in the pot before they finished cooking.

I'd never seen him make ones this perfectly formed. I felt an odd pang of jealousy.

"Ethan, your cooking skills have really improved. Who taught you?"

"A friend. You said you loved the atmosphere of our family making dumplings together, right? From now on, we're family."

They started kissing again.

So I was just "a friend." No wonder he never let me help when he practiced.

He'd said he wanted to make them for me himself—that gestures from the heart couldn't be delegated.

Turns out I never deserved it.