Chapter 2: Three Years, Three Rules

In our three years of marriage, Caleb and I stumbled through a lot. But we supported each other.

We learned to read each other’s moods without words, falling into an easy, distant rhythm—he’d fix the leaky faucet; I’d set aside leftovers for his late nights. There was a kind of quiet teamwork, like a pair of coworkers who’d been on the same shift too long.

At the toughest time, he visited every one of his dad’s old students, but not a single door opened for him. I shamelessly begged my father for his sake, kneeling outside his home office for half an hour, pleading for him to help Caleb find a job.

The rug in front of Dad’s office was rough beneath my knees. He didn’t open the door, but I knew he was listening. When I finally stood up, my legs tingled and my pride stung, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Loyalty is all you have, some days.

Caleb is smart; as long as he’s given a chance, he’ll rise.

Just as I expected.

He chose the least noticeable of the city councilmen, patiently helped him, became his right hand, and waited until the councilman was elected mayor.

In the first month of the new mayor’s term, a joint hearing by the three highest courts retried Charles Lin’s case. Mr. Lin was finally exonerated, the Lin brothers’ jobs were restored, and Caleb himself received the mayor’s favor—

He was appointed as the mayor’s chief advisor.

When the official letter arrived, I was admiring flowers at Mrs. Parker’s house. Mrs. Parker clapped her hands and smiled at me:

“You really are a lucky girl. Back then, nobody in town dared to marry Caleb, but now the Lin family has produced three college grads, and you’ve finally made it.”

She said it with a wink, her southern drawl softening the words. The other ladies nodded, teacups clinking, eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of envy. It felt like being on display at the county fair, blue ribbon pinned to my chest.

The other ladies looked at me and chimed in:

“Natalie really has good judgment.”

They said it like I’d picked a prize pig, not a husband. Their laughter drifted through the garden, warm but edged with something else—a reminder that they were always keeping score.

Among all those looks, I caught a pair of autumn-brown eyes. After meeting my gaze, she quickly looked away, pretending nothing happened and lowering her head.

That was Grace Foster—quiet, graceful, the kind of girl who made you feel clumsy just by being in the same room. Her family’s money showed in every detail, from her manicured nails to the way she folded her napkin. The air between us crackled with things unspoken.

I didn’t respond, just smiled.

“Yes.”

From the day I married Caleb, I’d been waiting for this day.

Others saw me as radiant as a flower, but only I knew in my heart: Caleb neither liked me nor treated me well. He already had someone else in his heart—precisely the woman who had just looked away.

Miss Grace from the Foster family.

Now, I just happened to have a divorce agreement ready, waiting for Caleb to sign it, as we agreed three years ago.

Afterward, we’d part ways, each free to remarry.

The document burned a hole in my purse all afternoon. I felt oddly peaceful, the way you do when you know a storm is finally about to break and you’ve already put up the shutters.