His Separation Anxiety, My Forever Serenity

Howard James carried Willow Charles inside, pulling a suitcase half her height. He said, "Selena, Willow has separation anxiety. Her parents aren't here, so I feel better having her stay with us." I looked at Willow standing behind Howard; she wore a white dress and nervously clung to his shirt like a frightened rabbit. "Hello, Selena." Her voice was soft, but her eyes flicked quickly over the space between Howard and me. I nodded, saying little—after all, she and Howard grew up together like brother and sister, so it would seem so cruel to refuse her. But in the days that followed, Willow's "dependence" began to take on a different meaning. Howard was on the phone in the study; she stood by the door holding a glass of water and wouldn't leave until the call ended. When we ate, she always put peeled shrimp into Howard's bowl, completely ignoring me sitting across from her. One night, when I got up to use the bathroom, I caught her lingering outside the door, her ear pressed against it. "Willow, what are you doing here?" I asked softly. She jumped, then hurriedly explained, "Howard's afraid of the dark, so... I'm waiting for him to come out." The sound of running water still came from inside the bathroom. I looked at her flushed ear tips, and for the first time, felt a wave of unease. What really broke me was that night, a week later. I worked overtime until after ten, and the moment I opened the door, I saw Willow lying on the sofa in Howard's arms, their lips pressed together. The bag in my hand dropped to the floor with a thud. Howard suddenly pushed Willow away, stood up, and walked toward me. "Selena, don't misunderstand—Willow just fainted, I was doing CPR." Willow sat on the sofa, clutching her chest, her eyes red. "Selena, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just suddenly got dizzy..." I stared into Howard's eyes, but his gaze flickered away, unwilling to meet mine. "CPR?" I repeated those four words, my throat tightening, "Does it really have to be mouth-to-mouth for so long?" No one answered me. The grandfather clock ticked in the living room, the air thick with awkwardness and disgust. I didn't argue anymore. I bent down, grabbed my bag, and headed straight to the bedroom. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." That night, I locked myself in the guest room. Howard knocked on the door, but I didn't open it. I leaned against the door, listening to his sighs outside. It felt like something inside me had been ripped open, cold wind pouring in nonstop.