Chapter 3

Only after we got closer did I realize the truth.

His timid, fragile nature came entirely from the home he grew up in.

Luke wasn't biological to Mr. and Mrs. Miller; they had adopted him from an orphanage.

Years into their marriage, they hadn't been able to conceive, so they filed for adoption.

The heartbreaking part was that they never adopted him out of love.

Mrs. Miller had visited a psychic who claimed the couple was destined to be childless, but suggested that adopting a child with a "blessed sibling chart" might trigger good fortune and bring a biological baby into the family.

That was the only reason they brought Luke home.

Unfortunately, after taking him in, Mrs. Miller still never got pregnant.

They turned all their bitter resentment and frustration straight onto Luke.

They blamed him for failing to bring them a child, cursing him as a useless mouth to feed.

Screaming at him and hitting him became a daily routine.

More than once, gossiping with neighbors on the porch, Mrs. Miller would complain loudly: "It's all that useless boy's fault! If I'd picked a different kid at the shelter, I'd have a house full of my own babies by now!"

Every time I heard that, I wanted to charge over and tear into them.

Luke always grabbed my arm, holding me back.

"Don't you hate them?" I asked, my heart breaking for him.

"No," Luke whispered with a faint, sorrowful smile. "They gave me a home."

During middle school, when kids go through growth spurts, Luke was perpetually starving. He never dared to eat his fill at dinner because he was terrified Mrs. Miller would yell at him.

So, I started nagging my mom to cook extra food and pack oversized portions for my school lunch.

At lunchtime, I would pretend I couldn't finish it, shoving half my food onto his tray claiming I didn't want to waste it.

I guarded his fragile pride with everything I had, terrified that an awkward word might embarrass him.

I thought I was being so sneaky until one week when Luke called in sick for two days.

I told my mom I didn't have much of an appetite and asked her to pack less food.

"Did Luke take the day off?" my mom asked casually from the stove.

My jaw dropped. It turned out my parents had known about my little cover-up the entire time.

"Poor kid," my mom sighed quietly, her eyes softening.

When we were little, I once invited Luke over for dinner. When he went home, Mrs. Miller beat him black and blue with a broomstick.

"Do we starve you here? Do we not clothe you? Begging for scraps like a stray dog—you're completely humiliating this family!"

His desperate sobs echoed down the hallway that night.

I sat curled on my bedroom floor, crying silently into my knees.

Later in high school, Luke spent every winter break and summer vacation working part-time jobs.

He kept a tiny fraction for bare living expenses and handed every remaining dollar to the Millers.

Only then did their icy expressions thaw slightly.

"If we hadn't paid to raise you, you'd still be rotting in an orphanage. Handing over your paycheck is the bare minimum you owe us."

On my birthday, Luke used his summer earnings to buy me a high-end thermos. He scolded me gently, telling me I drank too much iced coffee and needed warm water when I felt sick.

I teased him for being a total dork, but the second I got home, I carefully locked that thermos in my bedside drawer, treating it like the most precious treasure on earth.

After we graduated college, Luke finally confessed to me. He used two full months' salary to plan an elaborate, breathtaking proposal.

He told me he had grown up, and from now on, it was his turn to protect me.

He sang our favorite song, holding a giant bouquet of bright sunflowers, taking steady, nervous steps toward me.

He looked like a prince walking straight out of a fairytale.

He said I was just like a sunflower—warm, radiant, and full of life.

He called me his personal sun.

But what he never realized was that he had always been my sun, too.

In that moment, I truly believed I was the happiest woman alive.

And he truly kept his word, spoiling me beyond belief. Being with him meant I never had to worry about a single detail.

He was my rock, my safe harbor.

Whenever we went out for seafood, I never once had to peel my own shrimp.

He saved every penny to buy me cute dresses and sweet surprises, carefully curating tiny sparks of romance.

He wouldn't spend a dime on decent clothes for himself, but he dropped an entire paycheck without flinching to buy us front-row concert tickets.

When I sprained my ankle, he stayed at the clinic for two straight weeks, barely getting a full night's sleep while he watched over me.

He would squeeze my hand, his eyes brimming with tender guilt. "Nina, I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I swear I'm going to work harder so I can give you the life you deserve."

He always felt he was falling short, unaware that those quiet days were the happiest times of my life.

My parents adored him, and the Millers treated me warmly.

I was convinced we would walk hand in hand forever.

I took Luke's endless devotion completely for granted, saving my worst, most selfish moods for the person closest to me.

I believed with absolute certainty that he was a gift sent from heaven.

I was arrogant enough to think he would never, ever walk away.

Until the day he broke up with me.