Chapter 3: The Stand-In’s Last Act

The house went quiet—so quiet you could hear the fridge humming.

After a moment, she pulled a gift box from her bag and handed it to me. “I saw this on my way home. Thought this tie would look good on you, so I grabbed it.”

Her voice was softer now, almost uncertain. She didn’t meet my eyes. I took the box, feeling the awkwardness hang in the air. The gift felt like an afterthought, a last-minute peace offering.

She changed, quick, like someone who’d just gotten caught.

I just grunted, not even reaching for the box.

Rachel didn’t say anything else. She just set the box on the table and went to dry her hair.

I glanced at the gift box. The ribbon on top had clearly been retied, and there was a card that read, “To Aaron.” But if you looked close, you could see black pen marks around my name. Underneath, faintly, the letters: Lucas.

Ha. Even a guilty gift was just something someone else didn’t want.

The sight of it made my chest ache, but I forced a smile. I’d learned to expect leftovers. Just more leftovers. I tore the card in half and tossed the box in the trash.

I don’t have a habit of picking up other people’s garbage.

“Aaron, cut some fruit for me. I’ll eat it later.”

From the bathroom, Rachel called out while blow-drying her hair.

She loved bossing me around.

Especially with little things like this.

If I didn’t do it, she’d complain, “You can’t even handle a small thing. You’re so petty and childish.”

If I did, then next time she’d act like a porcelain doll, always needing to be waited on.

No matter what, she always found something to criticize.

But this time, I didn’t have to care about her feelings anymore.

“If your hands aren’t broken, do it yourself. I’m not your housekeeper.”

I took a bite of the apple, not caring.

The crunch echoed in the kitchen. The taste was sharp, almost sour. For once, I didn’t bother to slice it for her or arrange it on a plate.

The hair dryer stopped.

From the bathroom, Rachel’s indignant voice called out.

She stormed in, ready to yell, but stopped when she saw the box.

She froze.

All her anger vanished in an instant.

After a while, she forced down her emotions and asked, “You don’t like the tie?”

“No. I don’t like it.”

I answered flatly.

Rachel looked at me, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Silence stretched between us.

I didn’t say anything else. I had no intention of continuing the conversation. I turned to the sink to wash my face, brush my teeth, and then headed to the bathroom to shower.

The routine was mechanical—face scrub, toothbrush, towel slung over my shoulder. I moved through it on autopilot, not giving her a second glance.