Chapter 2: The Girl in My Slippers

When I finally got home, I stopped dead in the entryway.

There she was—a girl with her hair pulled back in a low bun, padding around in my slippers, slicing apples in my kitchen like she belonged there.

The sweet scent of apples mixed with the warm vanilla of my go-to candle, the one I always lit when stress was high. It was jarring—coming home to find a stranger so comfortable in my space.

She looked up, and for a split second, annoyance flickered in her eyes at being interrupted. Then she smoothed it away, fast.

"Ms. Lillian, I’ve seen your photos—you look even better in person."

She breezed out of the kitchen with the fruit, acting like this was her place, not a hint of awkwardness anywhere.

She moved with a kind of rehearsed ease, balancing the plate, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. For a second, I wondered if she’d practiced this whole act in front of the mirror.

Harrison was out on the balcony, glued to his laptop, so deep in work he didn’t even notice I’d come in.

The academic exchange wasn’t supposed to wrap until the day after tomorrow, but I’d finished my part early and headed home ahead of schedule.

"Ms. Lillian, I’m Daisy. Harrison probably mentioned me."

She set the fruit plate down, lowering her head just so, letting two wisps of hair fall perfectly behind her ears—like she’d stepped right into a role. She looked right at home.

"I’ve been working on my thesis. The grad dorm’s a zoo and I can’t sleep, so Harrison brought me here for a few days."

"Ms. Lillian, please don’t worry. I can handle the chores. You focus on your work—I’ll take good care of Harrison."

I frowned, the muscles in my face tightening on instinct.

Because her dorm was noisy, Harrison brought her here. Seriously?

Harrison and I grew up together. He’s not the kind of guy to blur lines just because he feels sorry for someone.

When we got married, it was because we got each other—we were equals.

Even if love faded, at least we wouldn’t turn into bitter strangers.

In a lot of marriages, being well-matched matters more than being in love. That’s just how it is.

Harrison’s got the brains, the looks, comes from a solid family, no vices.

The Whitmores and Bennetts have been business partners forever. It wasn’t arranged, exactly, but we fit together like puzzle pieces.

And as a husband, he was the best pick I could have made.

Sure, we liked each other—a lot more than just what made sense on paper.

Even now, I can’t help but remember the time he thought I was heading out on a blind date. He flew home from a research conference overseas, just to stand at my door, wild-eyed and out of breath. My heart still gives a little twist thinking about it.

Mr. Cool-and-Collected, totally flustered—just for me.

His hair was a windblown mess, his tie crooked and pulled tight like he was strangling on nerves.

His eyes—bloodshot, exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days.

"Lillian Bennett, if you want to get married, will you marry me?"

I stood there in the doorway, clutching two giant bags of trash, completely floored.

Harrison’s the classic science guy.

Feelings? Not his thing. Never once said he liked me out loud.

Even when he tried to comfort me, it came out awkward.

When I lost first place at school, he’d poke my forehead and grumble, “So dumb. Better luck next time.”

Then he’d grab my test and walk me through every mistake.

But he never once thought about letting me win, just to make me feel better.

...

We just… got married. Everyone thought we were perfect.

I remember the night before I left for my exchange program. After we’d finished packing and the house was quiet, he buried his face in my neck like a little kid.

"Lilly, let’s have a baby."

I whispered yes, my heart full.

If nothing went wrong, we would’ve made it to the end.

But now? Now, it’s starting to look impossible.

I kept my expression locked tight and strode straight in, high heels clicking.

The sharp click of my heels echoed down the hall, slicing right through the weird, heavy silence. For a second, I felt like everyone was holding their breath.

"Oh—Ms. Lillian, I just mopped the floor this morning. Aren’t you gonna change your shoes…"

Daisy slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, just as Harrison finally looked up and saw me.

I shot her a glare—slippers are personal, and I can’t stand the thought of wearing ones someone else’s feet have been in.

Our guest slippers are nothing like these.

Besides, Harrison and I have matching couple slippers. They’re right by the door. Not exactly easy to miss.

Daisy just stared, frozen.

She probably thought I’d let it slide because she’s the Whitmore family’s charity case, a guest Harrison brought home.

But she didn’t realize—I don’t care about any of that.

She yanked off the slippers and set them in front of me, voice shaky: "S-sorry, at home we all share slippers. I didn’t know you had so many rules… And I’ve never seen such cute slippers before…"

Her cheeks went red, and she looked honestly embarrassed, but I caught her watching me from the corner of her eye, searching for some sign I’d let her off the hook.

Harrison came in from the balcony, glass of water in hand. Daisy turned to him, eyes glistening, looking for backup.

But the man she counted on didn’t take the bait.

The second Harrison saw me, something softened in his usually cool eyes—a kind of warmth that always made my chest tighten, just a little.

"You finished early? Why didn’t you call so I could pick you up?"

He set his glass down, voice gentle, and for a moment I almost forgot why I was mad.

I tossed my bags onto the couch, about to speak, but Daisy’s watery voice cut in.

"Harrison, I’m sorry. I think I made Ms. Lillian mad. I really didn’t know I couldn’t wear her slippers… Should I buy a new pair to make it up to you…?"

Harrison shot her a glance, then turned to me.

"This is Daisy, the one I told you about. She just got into grad school. Her dorm’s a mess, so she’s staying here for a few days."

I knew the Whitmores had sponsored a handful of students.

Daisy Monroe was one of them.

Her family has four daughters and a baby brother; Daisy’s the oldest.

If it weren’t for the Whitmores, she probably would’ve married off at eighteen, just like her sisters.

I knew about her.

But I didn’t know that while I was away on business for a month, she’d been living in my house, wearing my slippers.

"Ms. Lillian, I’m just a country girl who doesn’t know much. Please don’t hold it against me. Teach me, since we’ll be living together…"

From the country?

Living together now?

I let out a dry laugh, the sound scraping in my throat. "Then what about the hair clip you’re wearing? The perfume? I kept those in the master bath. If you don’t have these rules at home, didn’t school ever teach you not to touch other people’s things?"

I sneered and tossed the slippers in the trash.

We have four pairs of guest slippers in the cabinet, but she just had to pick the couple slippers that belong to me and Harrison.

Harrison frowned, his voice a little helpless: "We’ll buy a new pair after dinner. It’s just slippers."

His tone was soft, like he could smooth out any wrinkle with enough patience. But I wasn’t having it.

I shot back: "I haven’t slept in fifteen hours. I’m not going out just to buy slippers."

Harrison opened his mouth, then shut it.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

Daisy wiped her eyes, voice small: "Sorry, Ms. Lillian. I’ll mop the floor again, and I’ll buy new slippers too."

We have a robot vacuum. No need to act like you’re suffering for my sake.

I headed straight to my room, the sound of Daisy’s suitcase zipping and muffled sobs following me down the hall.

As I closed my door, I could hear the vacuum whirring and Daisy dragging her suitcase out. The house felt weirdly silent—like the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring.

When I came out after washing up, Daisy was gone.

Harrison sat on the sofa, eyes down, profile sharp, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Are you mad? Why?"

We’d promised—no silent treatments, no guessing games. Just talk it out, always.

"Harrison, bringing a girl home to stay isn’t something you’d normally do."

I laid it out, no sugarcoating.

He covered his mouth, laughing quietly, eyes soft. "Are you jealous, Lilly? I thought you didn’t care about me at all."

For a second, I was thrown. Sweet words always get me—but this wasn’t what I needed to hear.

"She’s just a student the Whitmores sponsored. Her dorm situation and, well, some social issues meant she needed a place to stay. The places my parents suggested were either too far or not ready…"

I forced a smile. "Harrison, if it weren’t for the Whitmores—if it weren’t for you—would any of this really be a problem for her?"

All that about hating the dorm, not getting along with roommates—

They don’t sound like things a girl scraping by would say.

And she’s twenty-seven, not some teenager.

She took two extra years to finish high school, then spent three more grinding just to get into grad school.

Maybe Harrison buys her story, but I don’t.

All those cutesy videos and quick comment replies—her intentions are plain as day.

Honestly, you don’t need women’s intuition to see it.

"Yeah, so I sent her home."

He sat down next to me, head dropping onto my shoulder. "I’ve been so tired lately. I can’t sleep right when you’re not here…"

Harrison can live without anyone—but not without Lillian Bennett.

"You have to trust me."

I thought about it, then nodded.

If twenty-plus years of friendship could be shaken this easily, what was the point of marrying Harrison in the first place?

I’ve always believed he’s a good man. Even if there wasn’t much love, he wouldn’t do anything shady.