Always First

My husband, Ace Hensley, has always been meticulous about ranking his life by priority. On our shared calendar, red meant non-negotiable, yellow meant flexible, and gray meant it could be pushed back at any time. His mom's birthday was red. Dinner with friends was yellow. Anything involving me was always gray. For seven years, I had always come last. On our wedding anniversary, I waited at the restaurant until the candles burned down to nothing. He pushed our dinner to the following week and sent me a voice message. "Peyton Griffin is a germaphobe. She wouldn't let the movers touch her boxes, so I went to help. You're the most understanding. We'll make it up another day." I stared at the cold food without asking him a single question. Instead, I opened the history of our shared calendar. My follow-up endoscopy had been moved so he could pick up Peyton's cat. When my dad had surgery, he missed it because he was helping Peyton change her locks. Even on the day we were supposed to make our marriage official, he stayed with Peyton while she picked out a mattress, leaving me alone at the courthouse until it closed. Every gray appointment he pushed aside was followed by one of Peyton's red appointments. There was only one note beneath them: [Always first, no matter what.] I stared at those words for a long time before remembering something Ace had once told me. "There's no favoritism in a plan. Things just have different levels of importance." Only now did I realize that in his hierarchy, my health, my family, and our marriage all ranked below one cardboard box of Peyton's. I deleted our shared calendar and sent the divorce papers to my lawyer. He loved living by a schedule, didn't he? Starting today, I was removing myself from every plan he had for the rest of his life. Chapter 1 When I got home, only one floor lamp was on in the living room. Ace Hensley still wasn't home. The vase I'd swapped out before leaving that morning sat on the dining table, the white roses inside already drooping. I'd originally prepared them for our anniversary. Now they looked more like a small funeral held in advance for our marriage. I stood in the entryway and slipped off my shoes. Ace used to say he could always recognize the sound of me coming through the door. He said that no matter how late it was, as long as he heard those sounds, he knew someone was waiting for him at home. But now I understood. It wasn't me he loved. He loved having a home where the lights were always on, and someone was always waiting for him. I didn't go to the kitchen. I went straight to the study. In the cabinet at the very back was the bag where I kept my important documents: my passport, bank cards, my dad's medical records from all his surgeries over the years, and the deed to the small house my grandmother had left me. None of those things had anything to do with Ace, but they were the things I needed most to take with me after leaving him. I'd just put the documents into my bag when I heard the lock click. Ace was home. He changed his shoes while looking down at his phone, exhaustion written across his face after dealing with whatever trouble had come up. "I finished helping Peyton with everything." He tossed his car keys onto the entryway cabinet, as though only then remembering I was there. "You're home?" I hummed in response. He glanced toward the dining room and paused when he saw the wilted flowers on the table. "Still mad?" He loosened his tie, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. "Didn't I say I'd make it up to you next time? Peyton was moving by herself, and she had so much stuff. Her mentor asked me on his deathbed to look after her. I couldn't just ignore that." I zipped my bag shut. "Of course you couldn't." Ace looked up at me. Maybe it was because my voice was too calm. He seemed more uncomfortable because of it. "Angel, you weren't like this before." "What was I like before?" "At least you used to listen to me when I explained." I looked at him. For seven years, he had an explanation every time he broke a promise. Peyton's cat was stressed, so he had to take it to the vet. Something was wrong with the plumbing at Peyton's place, so he had to go take care of it. Peyton's allergies. Her colds. Her move. Her locks. Her insomnia. Her life was like a house that was always leaking. And Ace was always the first person to show up with a toolbox. As for me, I could endure a stomachache. Our anniversary could be made up later. My father's surgery could wait. Even if the courthouse closed before we got there, we could always go another day to make our marriage official. I used to think he was simply too responsible. Later, I realized that responsibility had never been the problem. Favoritism was. Ace walked over and reached out to touch my face. "Don't be mad. I'll make a reservation tomorrow night and take you to that Japanese place you love." I turned away, avoiding his hand. His hand stopped in midair, and his expression darkened. "Angel." "Ace, I have to go out tomorrow." "Where?" "To take care of something." He frowned. "What could possibly be more important than our anniversary?" Hearing those words from him was almost laughable. I didn't answer. I simply put the bag of documents at the very bottom of my suitcase. Ace saw it and finally realized something was wrong. "Why are you packing?" "Just taking some of my own things." He stared at the suitcase for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. "All right, enough with the act. Isn't this just your way of getting me to comfort you? I already said I'd make it up to you. What more do you want? If you're still upset, we'll talk about it tomorrow." As he reached the door, he added one more thing. "Oh, right. Peyton has a follow-up appointment at the hospital tomorrow. You don't have anything scheduled in the morning, do you? You can give her a ride on your way." I stood where I was and said softly, "I'm not free." Chapter 2 Ace turned around, a flicker of impatience crossing his eyes. "What could you possibly have to do?" I looked at him. "Ace, from now on, don't make her problems my responsibility." He was silent for two seconds. Then, as if I'd said something completely unreasonable, he raised a hand and rubbed his brow. "Angel, she doesn't have anyone else. What's wrong with me taking care of her? You're my wife. Isn't it only right that you help me shoulder some of the responsibility?" Suddenly, I felt like even arguing with him was a waste of energy, so I nodded. "You're right." Ace's expression softened. He thought I'd given in again. But I'd only finally understood. In his eyes, I didn't even have the right to say no. The next morning, Ace was up unusually early. He stood in front of the closet choosing a shirt, his phone lying on the nightstand. The screen lit up. A message from Peyton came through. [Ace, I couldn't sleep again last night.] A photo followed. A hospital IV dressing was taped to her pale wrist. Ace immediately picked up his phone, his brows drawing tightly together. [Why are you at the hospital again?] Her reply came quickly. [It's nothing. I guess moving was just exhausting. Don't worry about me. I can go by myself.] Ace stared at the message for a few seconds before calling her directly. "Wait for me at the hospital. I'm on my way." Only after saying that did he seem to remember I was still sitting on the edge of the bed. "Angel, don't worry about taking her. I'll go." I lowered my head and put the last document into the file folder. "Okay." Ace paused while fastening his cufflink. He probably hadn't expected me to agree so readily. Before, whenever Peyton appeared, I'd always go quiet for a long time, not because I wanted to stop him from going, but because I was waiting for an explanation. I was waiting to hear, "I'll be back soon" or "You're more important than she is." But I'd waited seven years for those words. Ace walked to the door, then glanced back at me. "Didn't you have something to do today?" "Yeah." "What?" "Meeting my lawyer." He froze. I thought he would at least ask why. But Ace only frowned, as though I had once again complicated his schedule. "Does it have to be today?" "We already made an appointment." He glanced at his phone. Peyton was calling again. The ringing was urgent. Ace hesitated for a moment, then softened his tone. "Push the lawyer's appointment back. Peyton's alone at the hospital right now. I can't leave her there." I looked at him. "Ace, today is about something I need to take care of." "I know." He sighed. "But her situation is different." "Her situation is always different." His expression darkened. "Can you stop holding Peyton over my head? She's my mentor, Benjamin Terry's widow. I promised him I'd take care of her. You know that. Why can't you just understand?" I suddenly remembered three years ago. The day my dad had surgery, Ace had said the exact same thing. Peyton's front-door lock had broken that day. She'd cried on the phone, saying she was scared. Ace had held my hand and promised he'd take her home and then go to the hospital. But I waited outside the operating room until dawn and never saw him. Later, he said, "Your dad had doctors there, didn't he? Peyton was alone at home. There was literally no one else to take care of her." The person being abandoned always had to find reasons to justify the one being favored. I picked up my bag and walked past him. Ace reached out and grabbed my arm. "Angel, what the hell are you trying to pull?" I lowered my eyes to his hand. That hand had once held mine outside the courthouse, promising he would never make me wait alone. But afterward, he'd made me wait so many times. Wait for his calls. Wait for his promises. Wait for the day he'd finally put me first. I gently pried his fingers away. "I'm not trying to pull anything. I just don't want to wait anymore." As the door closed behind me, I heard him call my name. But the next second, Peyton's phone call came through again. He didn't come after me. Chapter 3 The law office wasn't far from home. After reviewing the documents I'd brought, Daniel Peralta looked up at me. "Ms. Hensley, are you sure you want to go through with the divorce?" I nodded. "Absolutely. "If Mr. Hensley refuses to cooperate, the process could take some time." "That's fine." I paused before adding, "I'm not in a hurry to get him to sign." Daniel looked surprised. I smiled. "He always assumes I'll wait. So let him wait for once." When I left the law office, the sky was heavily overcast. I received a message from Ace. [Peyton's blood sugar dropped, and she fainted for a moment. I stayed with her while she finished her IV.] A few minutes later, another message came through. [I'll be home for dinner tonight. I bought your favorite chicken.] I stared at the screen for a long time. He was always like this. He'd hand someone else the knife, then come back and try to comfort me with a meal. As if as long as he was willing to make it up to me, I was supposed to forget why I was hurt in the first place. When I got home, Ace still wasn't there. I went into the study and packed up my computer, camera, and work materials. There was a thick travel album on the bookshelf. The first page held photos from when we'd just started dating, taken on a trip to the beach. Back then, Ace had held me and said that after we got married, he'd take me to a new city every year. He really did end up visiting a lot of cities. It was just that most of the time, Peyton was the one beside him. Peyton was afraid of the cold, so he took her to Coral Bay to chill on the beach. When Peyton went through a breakup, he took her to Redwood Lake to clear her head. And whenever I wanted to see the ocean, he always said we'd go when he wasn't so busy. Once he wasn't busy, there was always something going on with Peyton. I closed the album and placed it at the bottom of a cardboard box. At six that evening, Ace came home. He was carrying a chicken and a bag of fruit, a smile on his face as he walked through the door. "Hungry? I told Peyton to go home first." He said it like he expected praise. But I noticed a faint lipstick mark on his shirt cuff. It wasn't my shade. Ace didn't notice the boxes I'd packed. He simply carried the food into the kitchen. "Peyton was pretty upset today. She kept saying she was afraid of causing trouble for us." He paused, as though he needed to explain her behavior on her behalf. "She's actually very considerate." I looked at him. "Is she?" "Of course." Ace turned back toward me. "She even told me to come home and spend some time with you." For a moment, the whole thing felt absurd. Peyton had taken my anniversary away from me, taken the time that should have belonged to me, and in the end, she could still play the generous one, graciously giving Ace back to me for a few hours. Ace actually thought that made her considerate. His phone rang. I didn't need to guess who it was—Peyton. Ace answered immediately. Her voice came through, trembling with tears. "Ace, I think someone broke into my house." Ace's expression changed instantly. "Don't move. I'm coming right now." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I called after him, "Ace." He stopped. "What now?" "The chicken isn't cooked yet." He looked irritated. "Just eat without me. Peyton's situation is more urgent." I nodded. "Okay." Ace opened the door, finally seeming to realize that something about my calmness was off. He looked back at me. "Angel, don't overthink this just because of something so minor. I'll come back and spend time with you later." The door closed. I stood in the empty living room and suddenly remembered something he'd once said. "There's no favoritism in a plan. Things just have different levels of importance." Turns out, he hadn't been short on time. Every single time, he'd simply put me in the slot that could be canceled. I took out my phone and called a moving company. "Could you come at eight tomorrow morning? "Yes. One suitcase and two boxes. The destination is the airport." At seven-thirty the next morning, I dragged my suitcase out of the bedroom. Ace hadn't come home all night. The chicken was still sitting untouched on the dining table. The bag of fruit contained mangoes, which I hated. Ace remembered that Peyton couldn't eat spicy food and was allergic to seafood, but he'd never been able to remember that mangoes gave me a rash. I used to remind him. Eventually, I stopped. Because if someone truly kept you in their heart, you shouldn't have to repeatedly teach them how to love you. Once the movers arrived, I gave the house one last inspection. I didn't take anything we'd bought together—the sofa, the dining table, the curtains, and the floor lamp. I'd picked each of those things out, one by one. But there was no reason for me to take them with me anymore. A home was never created by decorating a space. It was created when someone asked if you were tired when you came home, when someone remembered what you couldn't eat, when someone moved you from the last slot on their schedule to the very first place in their heart. This place had everything, except me. At 8:40, Ace finally sent me a message. [Peyton was terrified last night. I stayed with her while she gave her statement to the police. Are you awake? Don't be mad. I'll be home at noon.] I didn't reply. My flight was at one. Daniel had already sent the divorce agreement to Ace's email. All I needed to do was hand over the final signed authorization before boarding. Before leaving, I placed the spare key on the entryway cabinet. Beneath it was a note. There was only one sentence: "Ace, you don't need to leave a place for me in your schedule anymore." At noon, Ace came home. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was the study, half empty. The space where I'd kept my computer was bare. The jasmine plant I'd cared for on the balcony for five years was gone. Only one pair of my slippers remained in the entryway shoe cabinet. Ace stood in the doorway, his face slowly paling. He called my phone. No answer. He called a second time. Still nothing. Then he finally saw the key and the note beneath it. His phone rang at that moment. It was Daniel. "Hello. Am I speaking with Mr. Hensley? "I'm Daniel Peralta. Ms. Hensley has asked me to deliver the divorce agreement to you. She also asked me to let you know that her one o'clock flight has already taken off." Ace gripped his phone, his voice tightening. "Where did she go?" There was a second of silence on the other end. "Ms. Hensley said you don't need to know."