Chapter 2: Old Scars, New Secrets

2

Watching me down a bowl of thick, black medicinal soup in one gulp, Aubrey slapped herself twice. “I really deserve to die.”

The bitterness numbed my tongue. My face pale, I forced a smile: “Come out for a walk with me. The President’s story starts ten years ago.”

There’s a crooked old maple in the backyard of the governor’s mansion. After Derek became President, the mansion had sat empty for years. The staff got lazy, and the yard was littered with leaves that rustled underfoot.

I stood beneath the tree, looking up. Sunlight threaded through the old branches, painting gold and shadow on the ground, the smell of earth and autumn thick in the air.

“You might not believe it, but as a kid, I loved climbing trees. In summer, the leaves made a kind of fort—I’d hide inside and snack.”

“Derek and I were inseparable. He’d sneak cookies from the kitchen, and we’d sit up in the tree eating them together.”

“The powdered sugar from the cookies would drift down onto the tutor’s head. The tutor thought he had bad dandruff and started drinking some weird herbal tea the next day.”

Aubrey couldn’t help laughing. “I didn’t expect the President and First Lady to be such little rascals as kids.”

I grinned. “He was even worse than me—always claimed he couldn’t study, destined to be a wild child.”

Who would have thought?

The governor’s mansion backyard always smelled like wet grass and sun-warmed brick, the kind of place you’d get grass stains you could never scrub out. Derek’s family didn’t have many heirs, so the job went to the grandkids. Maybe she saw it coming, but Derek’s mom, the governor’s wife back then, was strict as nails about his grades.

Derek was always getting grounded for hours, stuck doing extra math problems at the dining room table. Not wanting him to feel alone, I’d drag a stool next to him and keep him company.

His determined face had a touch of wildness: “Rachel, I’m gonna become a ruthless study machine from now on. I’ll even eat the grossest dinners, just so my parents regret it.”

I gave him a thumbs up. “That’s pretty heroic.”

He really did stop being picky about food. But no one cared.

I’d sneak him hot sauce, and he’d squeeze my hand, all dramatic: “Rachel, you’re the only one who cares about me. I’ve decided—we’re running away together. Just us, wild and free.”

I brushed his hand off, firm: “I can’t do the starving artist thing. If you want to go, go alone.”

He pouted. “You’re so vain.”

I shrugged. “My dad’s a senator, my mom’s a judge. I was born spoiled—so what?”

Derek thought for ages that day and couldn’t come up with a comeback.

After that, he changed. He started studying for real.

His mom asked why he’d turned over a new leaf.

With ink still on his cheek, he answered, serious as ever: “Rachel’s got everything going for her. I gotta work double-time if I want her to even think about marrying me.”

The sun was sinking behind the old maple as I finished, washing everything in warm amber. Aubrey watched me, her expression softening, as if the world had become just a little bit kinder.

3

The crabapple tree’s blossoms pressed up against the window, scattering pink petals onto the stone path.

Derek planted that crabapple tree himself when we got married, just because I loved crabapples.

At first, Derek refused—he wanted pomegranates, said crabapples were unlucky.

I felt slighted and turned my back to him in bed, burying my head in the pillow.

He started sneaking crabapples into the bed, making goofy noises: “Crabapple spirit greets the Crabapple Queen, long live the Crabapple Queen~”

I twisted away, laughing despite myself.

The next morning, I spotted a sapling in the yard.

I asked, surprised, “Is that a crabapple tree?”

He answered stiffly, “No, it’s a pomegranate tree.”

The staff snickered. The gardener winked at me when Derek wasn’t looking.

I touched the tree, its leaves rustling under my palm.

Aubrey pouted. “Why do I feel like I’m watching a rom-com marathon?”

I tilted my head. “Huh? What kind of food is couple goals? Is it tasty?”

Aubrey waved her hand, laughing, and ducked into the bedroom. “Keep telling the story, I love hearing it.”

The room’s furnishings hadn’t changed, but the memories were faded like old wallpaper. The throw blanket was still on the armchair where Derek used to read to me at night.

Aubrey picked up a tiny knitted cap by the bed, curious. “Is this for your child?”

My heart twisted. I smiled faintly and shook my head. “Our child never made it into this world. The doctor said I’m too weak to carry a pregnancy.”

During pregnancy, I’d throw up until I was wiped out. The smell of food turned my stomach, I couldn’t eat, my mind went numb. I’d lie on the couch, knitting that little cap just to pass the time.

Whenever Derek finished his work, he’d rush to my side. I knitted, he worked on a rocking horse. He said he wanted our child to be the reincarnation of a hero who once rode into battle.

But in the end, I couldn’t keep the baby.

Sometimes I still wake up reaching for a heartbeat that never was. The little cap sits by the bed, soft and empty.

The day the child left, Derek held my hand all night, pressing gentle kisses to my brow.

“It’s not your fault. Maybe the baby changed its mind—not wanting to be pampered, but to wander like a hero.”

While I was still recovering, Derek’s mom set him up with someone else. A few young staffers trapped Derek in the living room, determined to keep him there till he gave in.

I curled up alone on the bed and cried all night, sobbing until I passed out. The old clock ticked endlessly, the room cold despite the heavy blanket.

Half-awake, I was pulled into his arms. Derek was even more upset than I was, telling me how hard it was to escape back to me.

I was relieved, but I still told him sternly to listen to his mom and work hard at having kids.

Derek grinned, all mischief: “I’m not just picky about beds—I’m picky about who I share them with. Doctor’s orders. Want to test that theory?”

He made me blush, so I buried myself in the covers and ignored him.

He hugged me through the blanket, patting me gently, coaxing me to sleep, muttering softly:

“There are millions of women in the world, but only one Rachel.”

His words echoed in the quiet, sinking into my bones, warm as sunshine after a storm.