Chapter 2

My plane landed in Atlantic City. As soon as I turned on my phone, I received a call from the manager of an Italian restaurant.

"Mrs. Moretti, tomorrow's housewarming dinner has been moved to Miss Bellini's place, correct?"

I had booked that dinner half a month ago.

On the confirmation form, [Dante and Elena's New Home Dinner] had already been changed to [Clara's New Home Party].

The guests and the menu had not changed at all.

"Who changed it?"

"Mr. Moretti."

I canceled the reservation and got the deposit back.

Less than two minutes later, Dante called.

"You canceled the dinner?"

"That was my housewarming dinner."

He paused.

"I had someone check. You ran off to Atlantic City. Clara happened to move some new furniture in, so what's the difference if she uses it?"

"The name was changed, but the menu and guests stayed the same."

I raised my voice.

"That was the first time I was inviting my friends to our home."

He sounded helpless.

"It's all in the Moretti family neighborhood. Which floor isn't home? Come back, and I'll make it up to you."

I hung up and told my friends the dinner was canceled.

Not long after, the interior designer updated her social account.

The layout in the photos was painfully familiar. It was Dante's family house.

The caption read:

[Miss Bellini's residence completed according to the original plan. Thank you, Mr. Moretti, for confirming every detail.]

I opened the photos.

On one design drawing, several familiar lines stood out clearly.

[Plant roses on the terrace.]

[Adopt a cat after moving in.]

[Go to the neighborhood market together on weekends.]

[If we have a child one day, save the south-facing room.]

Six years ago, when Dante and I were living in a cheap apartment in Queens, we had written that life plan together.

In the final inspection photos, the flower boxes, the cat tree, and the south-facing room had all been completed.

The life he promised to build with me six years ago had now landed first in Clara's home.

I had just closed the files when the hotel front desk called.

"Ms. Rossi, Mr. Moretti extended your room for fifteen more days and upgraded you to an ocean-view suite."

Soon, a staff member brought up a new room card and a breakfast order.

Warm milk.

Oatmeal without cinnamon.

Delivered to the room every morning at ten.

All of them were my habits.

Dante's messages came right after.

[Didn't you always want to go to Atlantic City? Since you're there, stay a few more days.]

[Don't sleep until the afternoon and go out on an empty stomach. Your stomach can't handle it.]

[I'll come pick you up in fifteen days after I finish the family business.]

We had been married for three years, and he had always remembered these little things.

I stared at the breakfast order. Then a bank notification suddenly popped up.

[Family Travel Fund expense: $12,000.]

We had opened that account six years ago.

Back then, my salary was low, and I deposited three hundred dollars into it every month.

Later, after Dante took over the family dock business, I wanted to close it.

He said, "Keep it. From now on, I'll take you somewhere every year."

I opened the statement.

The recipient was a travel company.

The itinerary lasted fifteen days.

Four names were listed together:

Dante.

Clara.

Vivian.

Grace.

The day after tomorrow, they would fly to Miami, then go to New Orleans, and finally Chicago.

So when he said he would pick me up after finishing family business, he meant after traveling with them.

I kept scrolling.

This route was also the one Dante and I had planned together six years ago.

Back then, he said we would go when we had money.

Later, he said we would go after we got married.

After we married, he told me to wait until the main house was ready.

Last month, when we moved, he even packed the travel booklet into his suitcase.

"Once we're settled, we'll go."

Now, not a single stop on that route was missing.

Only my name was missing from the list of travelers.

I sent everything to my lawyer, then called the front desk and canceled the hotel extension.

"Anything Mr. Moretti prepared for me does not need to be delivered. Please dispose of it."

That afternoon, I received an offer from a private seaside club in Atlantic City.

I replied: [I can start tomorrow.]