Chapter 3: Childhood Promises, Present Pain

My body swayed, barely able to stand.

I braced myself against the brick, legs trembling. The world tilted, the porch lights smearing into halos through the rain. I felt small—so much smaller than I’d ever felt before.

The rain pounded down, as if it wanted to wash me away.

Every drop was a reminder of my mistakes, relentless and cold. The thunder echoed somewhere far away, a drumbeat to my humiliation.

Ethan looked down at me.

He crossed his arms, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze held none of the warmth I used to crave.

"You accused Rachel in public. Was it just to humiliate her? You know the answer."

His tone was almost clinical, like he was diagnosing a disease. My cheeks burned in spite of the cold.

He gave a faint, cold smile.

It was the kind of smile people wear when they're done pretending to care.

"But what right do you have to humiliate her?

If not for our engagement, would you have ever left small-town Ohio to be fostered in my home?

Did you really think you were a princess?"

His words twisted in my chest. For the first time, I realized just how fragile my place here really was.

Rachel coughed softly and said, "It's so cold, Ethan, can we go back?"

She was shivering, arms wrapped around herself. The wind tugged at her skirt, making her teeth chatter. I wondered if she was more afraid of the storm or of being alone with me.

Ethan's gaze fell on the hem of her skirt, now stained with rainwater.

He frowned, noticing the muddy streaks. He shrugged off his letterman jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

He frowned, then led Rachel inside and closed the door.

"Be careful not to catch a cold again."

His words were gentle for her, but the click of the door behind them was a slap to my face.

The last bit of light vanished.

I was left in the dark, porch lights flicking off as if even the house itself had turned its back on me.

My eyelids grew heavy. Maybe I was just too tired.

The exhaustion wrapped around me like another blanket. My thoughts slowed, the cold seeping into my bones.

Hugging my knees, I squatted by the door and fell asleep from exhaustion.

I buried my face in my arms and let the darkness take me, too weak to do anything else.

Maybe, once asleep, I wouldn't feel cold anymore.

I hoped, as the world faded, that maybe my dreams would be warmer than the night.

But in my dream, it was warm.

I found myself back in my childhood bedroom, the walls plastered with magazine cutouts and hand-me-down fairy lights. The air smelled like cinnamon toast and childhood secrets. The world felt safe, untouched by heartbreak.

When Ethan was five, he was just as cool and quiet as he is now, not much of a talker.

He would sit in the sandbox, methodically building perfect towers while the other kids shrieked and stomped through the grass. Even then, his silences meant more than most people’s words.

His parents wanted to take him back to Chicago to live.

The Millers always had one foot in the city, but Ethan never liked skyscrapers or city noise. He wanted wide open sky and the sound of crickets at night.

Ethan ignored them, turning his round little head away.

He’d cross his arms and fix his gaze on the cracked driveway, stubborn as ever. You couldn’t move Ethan Miller when he’d made up his mind.

He walked up to me and took my hand.

His grip was small but determined, a silent promise that whatever came next, we’d face it together.

"Don't separate me from Maddie."

His voice was high and serious, the kind of declaration only a kid can make and mean every word.

The first time I tasted a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, I was so happy I could burst.

The chocolate melted on my tongue, salty and sweet. I’d never tasted anything so decadent. My face must’ve lit up, because Ethan grinned at me for the first time all day.

I was jumping around and didn't notice what he was saying.

The world was reduced to joy—a candy bar and a friend who cared. I bounced on the balls of my feet, the echo of laughter filling the air. Trading Pokémon cards on the playground, or playing tag until the streetlights flickered on. Those were the days.

In the end, the two families discussed it and decided to bring me to the city too, to be fostered by the Miller family.

I remembered my mom sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Miller, sipping coffee and hashing out the details. It all felt so grown up, so final. But Ethan just wanted us together.

So I could have a better education.

Mrs. Miller said the city schools were better, that I deserved a chance. At the time, all I cared about was not losing Ethan.

Ethan squatted in front of me, his baby-fat cheeks chubby and round.

He looked up, eyes wide, like he was searching for a promise in my face.

"Maddie, come with me."

He offered the world in three words—just like that.

I hesitated. "But I don't like the city..."

The thought of leaving behind my treehouse and the muddy creek made my stomach clench.

Ethan's face fell and he snatched away my Reese's.

He knew exactly how to get my attention. He brandished the candy with mock-seriousness, holding it just out of reach.

"Then you can't eat this. And you won't get to eat it in the future either."

His logic was flawless, at least to a five-year-old.

For the sake of chocolate, I quickly gave in and reached out to grab it back.

My priorities were clear—friendship and chocolate trumped everything else.

"I'll go with you, Ethan, just give it back!"

The promise was sealed over a sticky, melting Reese’s. I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears.

"Ethan. Ethan."

His name echoed in the dream, warm and sweet, before dissolving into the cold reality of morning.