Chapter 1

I chased my husband for ten years.

In the end, it was my six-year-old daughter who taught me to let go.

That evening at dinner, I tried talking to Ethan again.

"Ethan, want to take Daisy to the park on Saturday?"

He didn't look up.

I was about to ask again.

Daisy suddenly cut me off: "Mom, Dad doesn't want to talk to you. Can't you see that?"

After Daisy finished dinner, I gave her a bath, told her two stories, and got her to sleep.

When I returned to the bedroom, Ethan was leaning against the headboard scrolling through his phone.

The blue light from the screen lit up his face.

He didn't even lift his eyelids.

In the past, I would've sat next to him and carefully ventured, "Ethan, can we talk?"

Then I'd get a "Talk about what?"

After that, I'd ramble on for ages while he'd say "Mm-hmm," roll over, and go to sleep.

And then I'd be left staring at his back, tears soaking into my pillow.

Tonight I didn't sit down next to him.

I grabbed a blanket and went to the study.

The folding bed in the study was something I bought last year.

At the time, I thought it could be a place to cool off if we ever fought.

But later I realized Ethan and I couldn't even fight.

Fighting requires two people.

He never engaged.

I lay on the folding bed, staring at the ceiling.

My phone lit up.

A message from my mom: Did my baby have a good day?

I replied: Pretty good.

For the past ten years, my reply to my mom was always "pretty good."

The messages I sent Ethan were always paragraphs upon paragraphs.

He wouldn't reply.

So I'd send another paragraph.

He still wouldn't reply.

So I'd call.

He'd hang up, so I'd wait by the door when he got off work.

My friends said I was too clingy.

He said I was too needy.

I thought maybe I had a problem too.

Chasing someone for ten years---how pathetic could you get?

But what Daisy said today was like someone striking a bell next to my ear.

A ringing sound, and something shattered.

Not heartbreak.

It was the shell of some obsession finally cracking.

That night, I slept surprisingly well.

No dreams, no tears, no waking up in the middle of the night to check if he'd replied.

The next morning when my alarm went off, I actually froze for a second.

Turns out you can sleep when you're not waiting for someone to text back.

The next day was Wednesday.

Every weekday morning before, I'd make breakfast for Ethan and set it on the table.

He never said thank you.

Occasionally he'd eat it.

More often, he'd grab a coffee and leave.

Today I only made breakfast for Daisy, then knelt down to braid her hair.

When Ethan came out, he glanced at the table.

He said nothing.

He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, picked up his briefcase, and left.

The sound of the door closing was identical to every one of the past two thousand days.

But for the first time, I didn't rush after him to say "Drive safe."

Daisy looked up at me.

"Mom, you didn't say goodbye to Dad today."

I smiled and pinched her cheek.

"Did Daisy say goodbye to Dad?"

She shook her head.

"Dad walked away too fast."

Yeah.

He always walked away fast.

And I'd been chasing for ten years without ever catching up once.