After lunch was done, we were driving back when Lucas suddenly told me to bring my things from my house. From now on, we would live together.

I stared at him, shocked, and he glanced over at me before explaining, “If either of my parents finds out we’re living separately after getting married, they’ll get suspicious.”

I nodded, understanding, and asked Dylan to drive to my place.

Half an hour later, we reached my apartment—an old, low-cost rental building with peeling paint and narrow hallways.

I hesitated, wondering if I should really take Lucas inside. But before I could decide, he was already walking ahead.

He turned back.

“Are you coming? I don’t know where you live,” he said.

“Oh—yes, I’m coming.” I hurried and led him toward my door.

I took out my keys from my bag. “Before I open it, my place is… kind of congested. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No problem. Just open the door,” Lucas said.

“Okay. Here goes nothing,” I muttered.

The door creaked open and I stepped inside first.

“Welcome to my small house,” I said.

“It’s better than I thought,” Lucas replied.

The moment he stepped past the doorway, he paused.

The apartment was tiny—one narrow living room, a tiny kitchen shoved into the corner—but the silence was what stood out.

It felt too still, like the place had been waiting for someone who hadn’t come home in a long time.

Chloe set her keys on the table, her movements careful, almost rehearsed.

“It’s usually a little livelier,” she said softly. “But… with Dad in the hospital… it’s just me.”

Lucas’s eyes moved quietly around the room.

Chloe's father’s slippers sat untouched by the door.

A folded blanket rested on the sofa—where he used to sleep most nights.

An old mug sat upside down on the counter, waiting for his next morning tea.

Everything carried the faint ache of someone missing.

“You’ve been handling everything alone?” Lucas asked, his voice gentler than before.

I shrugged, trying to look casual, though my fingers tightened on the hem of my dress.

“Someone has to. And Dad hates when the place gets messy, so… I try to keep it the way he likes.”

Lucas stepped closer, careful not to bump into the low table or the narrow aisle between the couch and the wall.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said quietly, and he meant it.

I looked up at him, tired but steady.

“Thanks. Really.”

Silence settled again.

“Here—drink some water,” I said, handing him a glass before patting the couch.

“Sit. I’ll pack my things.”

Then I slipped into my room.

I pulled a small suitcase from under my bed and began packing, but there wasn’t much left. I had sold most of my things when money ran short.

While folding clothes, I found a photo frame—the three of us, the perfect family portrait.

My mother smiling so brightly.

My father hugging us close.

One sickness had shattered everything.

“Forget it,” I whispered to myself, placing the frame gently into the suitcase.

When I finished, I looked around the room one last time before stepping out and closing the door.

Lucas was still sitting on the couch, talking on the phone.

I walked toward him quietly, but he noticed and motioned me to sit beside him.

I did.

“Okay,” he said into the phone, then hung up.

“You’re done?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at my suitcase.

“Only one?”

“Is it… too little?” I asked.

“No,” he said simply.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Okay.”

In the car, a sudden jolt of panic went through me.

I hadn’t told Dad about the marriage.

I had promised him I would tell him “when I was ready,” but sitting here now, I realized how wrong it felt—how unfair. Dad deserved to hear it from me, not accidentally from someone else later.

I swallowed hard and quickly turned to Lucas.

“I… didn’t tell my father yet. About the marriage. I know I should’ve, but things happened so fast.”

Lucas didn’t get angry. Expression less as he is. 

“All right,” he said calmly. “Then let’s go see your father now. It’ll be better to tell him sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, relieved and terrified at the same time.

At the hospital, fear twisted in my stomach.

We walked down the hallway until we reached my father’s ward.

“Let’s go,” Lucas said.

“Okay… here goes nothing,” I whispered.

I pushed the door open.

Dad was watching UFC, but the moment he heard my voice, he paused the video.

“Chloe, my baby! Come, let’s watch UFC together,” he said cheerfully.

“Dad… I have something to tell you,” I said.

“Oh? What do you—”

Before he could finish, Lucas stepped inside and took my hand.

The sudden gesture made me stiffen, but I didn’t pull away.

Dad’s expression turned sharp.

“What the hell is going on? Chloe, tell me what’s going on!”

“Dad—that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I… I love Lucas, and he loves me too. So we got married today.”

I looked straight at him.

“Father, I—”

Before Lucas could finish, a book came flying straight toward him.