Chapter 3

I didn't answer Linnea. I went to my parents' house.

Mom saw my red, swollen eyes and kept asking what had happened. I couldn't hide it, so I told her everything from the night before.

Her voice changed with anger.

"What was Peregrine thinking? You're about to get married, and he reported you to the police for harassment? Then he moved out behind your back?"

Dad was furious, too. "The wedding's off. You don't need to see that man again."

They supported my decision to end the engagement.

The next day, they returned the engagement ring to the Vales, along with the money his family had put down for the wedding.

Peregrine called soon after. He almost never called me first.

"Marwen, what's wrong with you now?"

His voice was flat, as if he were talking to a stranger.

I tightened my grip on the phone. "Peregrine, the wedding is canceled. We—"

Linnea's voice cut in before I could finish.

"Peregrine, is she still upset that you filed that complaint? I never would've suggested it if I'd known she'd take it so hard."

"It worked. She finally stopped flooding my phone last night."

Then his tone softened in a way it never had for me.

"Don't blame yourself. She was the one who wouldn't stop. This isn't on you."

His words hit hard. He went on comforting Linnea, apparently forgetting I was still on the line.

Or maybe he simply didn't care.

I swallowed the sting in my eyes. "Peregrine, we're breaking up. I won't bother you again—"

The call ended before I could finish.

I thought he'd accepted what I'd said.

Then Linnea sent another message.

"Marwen, Peregrine went into a meeting. He's going to be busy, so tell me if you need anything. I'll pass it on."

"Also, I helped him choose the furniture and oversaw the renovations at the new condo. Have a look. If you don't like it, I can tell him."

Photo after photo arrived, showing every corner of the place.

I spotted an open bag of chips on the couch.

Peregrine was obsessed with keeping things clean. He'd never let me eat snacks at home.

Once, I'd bought a small bag of chips anyway.

He'd caught me, picked up the bag, and snapped, "Marwen, how many times do I have to tell you not to eat on the couch? If you want chips, eat them somewhere else. Don't bring them in here."

In Linnea's photo, the open bag lay on the couch with crumbs scattered around it.

My finger shook as I swiped to the next picture.

Several strands of hair lay tangled on the clean bathroom floor.

When Peregrine and I had first moved in together, I'd once forgotten to clean my hair out of the bathroom.

He'd stared at it and said coldly, "Marwen, can you clean up the hair you leave in here?"

I didn't answer Linnea.

She texted again.

"Marwen, I stayed at Peregrine's last night. I remembered to take photos for you on my way out, but I didn't have time to clean up the chips or my hair. Hope you don't mind."

That was when I understood.

All his exceptions were for the person he liked.

He liked Linnea, so he answered every message she sent. He let her do whatever she wanted.

Even his years of fussing over a spotless home disappeared for her.