I canceled my ticket to Iceland.

Even the customer service agent sounded confused.

“There are only two seats left on this flight. Are you sure you want to cancel?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”

We had been together for four years.

Every February, he flew to Iceland.

He always said it was for a photography project. On social media, he only posted glaciers and the northern lights.

Whenever I said I wanted to see the aurora too, he would tell me, “It’s too cold there. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Then yesterday, I helped him organize an old hard drive.

Inside was an encrypted folder named **February**.

When I opened it, every photo was of the same girl standing beneath the same northern lights.

The light was soft around her.

Even the strands of her hair glowed clearly in the frame.

The only photo he had ever taken of me was outside our apartment complex.

Backlit.

Out of focus.

My eyes were squinting, and my entire face was blurred.

At the time, he had even laughed and said, “As long as you can tell it’s you, it’s fine.”

So it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to take good photos.

He just never wanted to take them of me.

For four years, he chased the northern lights.

And every time, the same person stood beside him.

The farthest light I had ever seen was nothing more than an Iceland photo he had posted carelessly online.

While I was packing my things, he called me.

His voice was rushed.

“Weren’t you the one who kept saying you wanted to see the northern lights? Why did you cancel the ticket?”

I hung up without answering.

Iceland was too far.

The aurora was too cold.

Since he was never willing to come toward me, I would walk toward the light on my own.

Stella's POV

Half an hour later, Ethan Spencer came home.

“Stella Winters, rebook the tickets. Stop making a scene.”

“I’m not rebooking them.”

I pushed the old hard drive to the corner of the table.

“For four Februaries in a row, you took 3,200 photos in Iceland. She changed into twenty-four different outfits.”

Ethan paused.

“Linda understands composition. She’s the easiest model for me to work with.”

“Easy enough that you had to edit the light on every strand of her hair?”

“That was for work.”

He took off his coat and walked over to sit on the couch.

“Are you seriously going to pick a fight over something work-related?”

I said nothing.

I walked to the entryway and pulled open the drawer on the left.

A set of keys lay quietly inside, attached to a StellaLou keychain.

“Whose keys are these?”

Ethan glanced at them.

“Linda’s. Her fingerprint lock always runs out of battery, so she left a spare with me.”

“Her fingerprint lock runs out of battery, so her spare key is in our house?”

“It was convenient. Don’t overthink it.”

Last month, it poured in the middle of the night.

I couldn’t get a cab after work, so I asked him to pick me up.

He said, “It’s too late. I have a shoot first thing tomorrow morning. Just call a private car.”

That night, I waited outside my office building for two hours.

But on Linda’s social media, she posted a photo.

A black umbrella tilted over her head.

The caption read, “No storm can scare me when my personal rescue team shows up.”

That umbrella was the one Ethan always kept in his car.

“I’m not going,” I said, putting the household registry back into the drawer.

“Iceland is too cold. I really can’t handle it.”

Ethan sighed and rubbed his brow.

“What is it this time? I already agreed to make Iceland our honeymoon trip. What more do you want from me?”

I looked at him.

“You’re only taking me this year because she went to Paris for further study and doesn’t have time, aren’t you?”

Ethan said nothing.

His silence was the answer.

Only because his lens had no one else to focus on did I finally get my turn.

His phone rang.

It was his mother.

Ethan answered.

“Ethan, have you picked out the furniture for your wedding home yet?”

“Not yet. We’re going tomorrow.”

“No need. Linda already picked out the sofa and coffee table for your living room a few days ago. Italian minimalist style. Very tasteful.”

My hand froze around my cup.

“Ma’am,” I said, “that is our wedding home.”

The other end of the line went quiet for a second.

“Stella, you’re there too? Linda does have better taste than you. Those fabric pieces you usually buy just don’t look refined enough.”

I looked at Ethan.

He had his head lowered, replying to a message. He had no intention of saying a single word for me.

I hung up the call.

Ethan frowned.

“Do you have to talk to my mother like that?”

“Linda has good taste. What’s wrong with letting her help?”

“Fine. Let her choose.”

I turned and went into the bedroom.

Ethan followed me in and glanced at my back.

“We’re choosing wedding rings tomorrow. Pick a time.”

“I’m busy.”

“Stella, enough already.

“We’re getting married and settling down. Why do you have to keep making trouble?”

His phone screen lit up.

A new message came in.

Linda: “It’s snowing in Paris today. It’s so cold.”

Ethan picked up his phone and sent her a voice message.

“Dress warmer. Where’s the polar jacket I sent you?”

His tone was gentle, with a hint of soft reproach.

Last winter, I said I wanted a long down jacket.

He told me, “You take the subway every day. Why do you need something that thick? Just get something normal.”

I turned around and looked at him.

“Ethan, why exactly do you want to marry me?”

He didn’t even look up.

“Because you’re quiet and steady. You’re suitable for marriage.”

The next day, I didn’t go with Ethan to choose the wedding rings.

Instead, his assistant, Zack, sent me a message.

“Stella, Ethan went to pick up the rings. He asked me to push your wedding dress fitting to next week.”

“Does he have something else to do?”

“Yeah. He said he’s going to the airport to pick up a friend.”

Other than Linda Summers, Ethan didn’t have any friends he would personally go to the airport for.

That afternoon, Ethan came home.

He placed a small velvet box on the coffee table.

“I picked up the ring. Try it on and see if it fits.”

I opened the box.

Inside was a plain band.

No diamonds.

No detail.

The most basic style possible.

“Which store did you buy it from?”

“Online.” He poured himself a glass of water. “The stores charge ridiculous prices. No need to pay a premium for a brand name. Besides, you do housework all the time. A diamond ring would just get in the way.”

I opened the other shopping bag he had brought back.

Inside was a cashmere scarf from a luxury brand.

Deep space gray.

Soft enough to melt in my hands.

“Was this bought online too?” I asked.

He walked over, took the scarf from my hands, and stuffed it back into the bag.

“That’s for Linda. She just got back from Paris, and it was cold there. I picked it up at the duty-free shop on the way.”

“One scarf. Twenty-three thousand dollars.” I looked at the receipt.

Ethan frowned, already impatient.

I said nothing else.

I slipped the plain band onto my finger.

It was a full size too big.

It hung loosely on my ring finger.

“It’s too big.”

He glanced at it.

“Bigger is better. Your fingers will swell when you get pregnant anyway. It’ll fit then. Just make do with it.”

For four years, that was exactly what I had been doing.

Making do.

That evening, a message popped up in Ethan’s college group chat.

“Welcome-back dinner for Linda tonight! Same place as always. Everyone come!”

Ethan stood in front of the closet, choosing a shirt.

“Come with me tonight. You should meet everyone.”

“I’m not going.”

“You’re my fiancée. It’ll look bad if you don’t show up.”

So I changed and went with him.

By the time we arrived at the private room, everyone was already there.

Linda was sitting beside the seat of honor, the twenty-three-thousand-dollar cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Ethan! Stella! You’re here.”

Linda smiled and waved.

Ethan walked over naturally and sat down beside her.

I sat on his other side.

The server brought the menu.

Ethan took it and started ordering without hesitation.

“Grilled sea bass, sauce on the side. Roasted vegetables, no garlic. And lemon herb salmon, no scallions.”

Linda propped her chin on her hand and smiled sweetly at him.

“Ethan, you still remember I don’t eat scallions or garlic?”

“We’ve known each other almost ten years. How could I forget?”

Someone at the table started teasing them.

“Ethan’s memory is all reserved for Linda.”

The waiter asked, “Would you like anything else? Our tomato basil soup is one of our specialties.”

“Let’s get one. Stella likes it.” Ethan closed the menu.

I looked at him.

“I’m allergic to basil.”

The private room went silent.

The smile on Ethan’s face stiffened.

“Since when?”

“For four years. I ate basil once and broke out in hives all over. You were editing photos at the time and told me to go buy medicine at the pharmacy by myself.”

His grip tightened around his glass.

“That was a long time ago. I forgot.”

Linda quickly poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me.

“Stella, don’t be mad at Ethan. His head is full of work. How could he remember every little thing in daily life?”

“Did he forget,” I asked, “or did he just never care enough to remember?”

Ethan slammed his glass onto the table.

“Stella, do you have to embarrass me in front of everyone?”

He turned and called the server over.

“Cancel the soup. Replace it with something she can drink.”

Linda let out a soft sigh.

“Stella, are you still upset about those photos from Iceland? You and Ethan are about to get married. Don’t let me come between you two.”

Someone beside her couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Stella, Ethan only went there for work. Aren’t you being a little controlling?”

“Exactly. Marriage is for the long run. If you’re going to keep checking up on him and getting jealous over everything, who could stand that?”

Ethan sat there without saying a word.

He let everyone accuse me.

He never shielded me from any of their open or hidden attacks.

Because in his eyes, I deserved it.

I stood up.

“I’m going to the restroom.”

I splashed cold water on my face, then walked out of the restroom.

At the end of the hallway, Ethan was paying the bill at the front desk.

Linda stood beside him. With complete ease, she reached into the pocket of his coat and took out his car keys.

“Ethan, I’ll go start the car and turn on the heat. It’s freezing outside.”

“Go ahead. Turn on the passenger seat warmer too.”

Ethan didn’t even look up. He was still checking the bill.

The understanding between them was so natural, like water flowing over flat ground without the slightest resistance.

I walked over just as Ethan finished paying.

“Let’s go home,” he said, glancing at me.

When we reached the underground parking garage, Linda was already sitting in the passenger seat.

She had kicked off her heels and changed into a pair of fluffy flats.

When she saw me coming, she smiled apologetically.

“Stella, I have an old ankle injury, so I can’t wear heels for too long. The passenger seat has more legroom, and I can stretch my legs out. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”

Before I could answer, Ethan had already opened the rear door.

“Stella, sit in the back.

“Linda’s back isn’t good. I adjusted the passenger seat exactly to support the curve of her lower back. It’s too much trouble to change it back and forth.

“It’s only a thirty-minute drive anyway. Just make do.”

With the words “too much trouble” and “make do,” he blocked off everything I could have said.

I got into the back seat.

The car pulled out of the garage.

Linda’s phone screen lit up, and the car’s Bluetooth connected automatically. Soft jazz began flowing through the speakers.

“Oh,” Linda said, turning to Ethan. “Why does your car still connect to my phone first by default?”

Ethan kept his eyes on the road, his tone casual.

“It’s still connected from last time. I never changed it.

“Your playlist is fine. Besides, it saves you from complaining that my taste is outdated.”

He didn’t disconnect it.

He didn’t switch to anything else.

He simply let her preferences fill the space that belonged to me and him.

At a red light, the car stopped.

Linda casually opened the center console and took out a tube of hand cream.

She squeezed a little into her palm, rubbed it in, then naturally took Ethan’s right hand from the steering wheel and applied some to the back of his hand too.

“The wind is harsh in winter. The back of your hand is starting to peel.”

Ethan didn’t pull away.

He let her rub the cream into his skin.

“I’m about to be a married man. Who cares if my hands are a little rough? Why bother with this sticky stuff?”

He complained, but his tone was relaxed and completely unguarded.

After she finished, Linda passed the hand cream to the back seat.

“Stella, do you want some? This brand is really moisturizing.”

I looked at the familiar logo on the tube.

Last month, the back of my hands had cracked from the cold. I had asked Ethan to stop by the department store after work and buy me a tube.

He said going to the counter was too out of the way.

Then he brought me a two-dollar jar of petroleum jelly from the convenience store downstairs.

And now, the hand cream he had never bought for me sat naturally in Ethan’s car.

It belonged to Linda.

“No, thanks.”

I looked away and turned toward the window.

The car stopped outside Linda’s apartment building.

“Ethan, I still don’t know how to connect that new robot vacuum to Bluetooth. The instructions are too complicated. Can you come upstairs and help me set it up?” Linda unbuckled her seat belt.

Ethan turned off the engine.

Then he looked back at me.

“Wait here for ten minutes. I’ll go upstairs and connect it to the Wi-Fi, then come right back down.”

As he spoke, he pulled out the car key out of habit.

The engine stopped, and the heat inside the car cut off instantly.

“Leave the key,” I said, looking at him. “I want to keep the heater on.”

Ethan frowned.

“It’s only ten minutes. There’s still some warmth left in the car. Why waste gas by leaving the engine running?

“We’re getting married soon. Once you start living a real married life, you need to learn how to be practical. Stop being so delicate all the time.”

He used “married life” so confidently, as if he were teaching me how to behave.

Then he closed the door and walked into the building side by side with Linda.

I sat alone in the back seat.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then half an hour.

The last trace of warmth in the car disappeared, and the cold air slipped through the gaps around the windows like needles.

I opened the car door, called a cab from the roadside, and went home.

When I reached the bedroom, I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed and opened the closet.

One by one, I folded my clothes and placed them inside.

On the bathroom counter, my skincare products occupied only a small corner at the edge.

Most of the space was taken up by Ethan’s colognes and men’s hair products.

In the toothbrush holder sat Ethan’s blue electric toothbrush.

Beside it was a pink one.

Linda had left it behind the last time she stayed over.

Ethan had not let me throw it away.

He said she would need it the next time she came.

Two suitcases.

Half an hour.

That was all it took to pack up four years of my youth.

At half past midnight, Ethan sent me a message.

“The robot vacuum’s motherboard was broken. I took it apart and filed a repair request for her.

“You took a cab home? Why didn’t you tell me?

“Keep the receipt for the cab fare. I’ll reimburse you. In the future, when we’re married, don’t be so careless with money.”

I opened the message and replied with one word.

“Okay.”

Then I held down the chat box and tapped delete.

The entire conversation disappeared in an instant.