The first thing Ethan saw when he opened our front door wasn’t me.

It was his younger brother raising a champagne glass.

“To family!” Michael shouted.

Music filled the living room. People laughed. Half the neighborhood seemed to be inside our house. Someone had moved my favorite reading chair into the garage to make room for a rented cocktail table.

I was standing in the kitchen, my sleeves rolled up, pulling another tray of baked chicken from the oven.

Nobody heard the front door close.

Nobody except me.

I looked up and froze.

Ethan stood there with a suitcase still in one hand. His jacket was wrinkled from the flight. He looked around slowly, his smile fading before his eyes found mine.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked at the oven mitts on my hands.

The apron.

The stack of dirty dishes behind me.

“Emily?”

I opened my mouth, but Margaret appeared before I could answer.

His mother hurried across the room with the kind of smile she only used when strangers were watching.

“Ethan!” she cried. “You should’ve told us you were coming home early!”

She hugged him tightly.

He didn’t hug her back.

His eyes stayed on me.

“What’s going on?”

Margaret laughed.

“We wanted to surprise everyone with a little welcome-home party.”

Ethan glanced around the room again.

“Then why is Emily in the kitchen by herself?”

Ashley walked over carrying an empty wineglass.

“She insisted,” his sister said casually. “You know Emily. She likes staying busy.”

I lowered my eyes.

That answer had become their favorite.

Emily likes cleaning.

Emily likes cooking.

Emily likes staying home.

Emily doesn’t need friends.

After hearing it enough times, people stopped asking questions.

The Phone I Hadn’t Held in Three Months

Ethan set his suitcase down.

“Emily,” he said quietly. “Come here.”

Margaret stepped between us.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Let her finish first.”

He looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Then he repeated himself.

“Emily. Come here.”

I took off the oven mitts.

My hands were shaking.

When I reached him, he touched my wrist.

There was a burn mark near my thumb from grabbing a hot pan two days earlier.

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Where’s your phone?”

Nobody spoke.

I stared at the floor.

“Emily?”

I swallowed.

“I… don’t have it.”

Silence spread through the room.

“What do you mean you don’t have it?”

Margaret answered before I could.

“She misplaced it weeks ago.”

Ethan turned toward me.

“Is that true?”

I couldn’t lie anymore.

I slowly shook my head.

“Your mom has it.”

The room went completely still.

Margaret forced another smile.

“She asked me to keep it because social media was upsetting her.”

Ethan blinked.

“Emily asked you to take her phone?”

No one answered.

His expression changed.

Not angry.

Worse.

Confused.

He reached into his pocket and handed me his own phone.

“Call yours.”

Margaret’s face lost its color.

Nobody moved.

The ringtone started almost immediately.

Not upstairs.

Not outside.

It came from Margaret’s purse.

Every head turned toward her.

She slowly gripped the leather strap.

Ethan didn’t raise his voice.

“Give it to her.”

Margaret hesitated.

Then she took my phone out and handed it over.

The battery was nearly dead.

I hadn’t touched it in almost three months.

Everything I Missed

More than three hundred unread messages.

Voicemails.

Missed calls.

My college roommate.

My cousin.

Two neighbors.

Even Ethan.

I opened our message thread.

Every text he had sent over the past three months had been answered.

Except…

I hadn’t written a single one.

I scrolled upward.

There they were.

Short replies.

“I’m fine.”

“Busy today.”

“Don’t call during dinner.”

“I’m visiting friends.”

I stared at them.

I had never typed any of those words.

My hands started trembling again.

Ethan watched my face.

“Emily?”

I looked up.

“I never sent these.”

Ashley crossed her arms.

“Maybe you forgot.”

I turned the screen toward Ethan.

“Look at the dates.”

He frowned.

Several messages had been sent while I had been sitting beside Margaret watching television.

Another had been sent while I was driving Ashley to a salon appointment.

One had been sent during a doctor’s visit.

I remembered every one of those days.

None of them made sense.

Ethan slowly looked at his mother.

“Who had access to Emily’s phone?”

Nobody answered.

Michael suddenly laughed.

“Come on. We’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Ethan ignored him.

He looked back at me.

“Tell me everything.”

I took a deep breath.

“After you left for Singapore…”

Margaret closed her eyes.

She already knew.

I wasn’t going to protect her anymore.

The House That Slowly Became a Cage

I told Ethan about the first week after he left.