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Chapter 2
Ethan Winters and I were childhood sweethearts.
For as long as I can remember, I was his little shadow—following him around day after day, calling out, "Brother Ethan!"
He was always a quiet kid—cool, distant, never one to show much emotion. But I was stubborn. The more he ignored me, the harder I clung to him.
"Brother Ethan, wait up!"
"Come ride the carousel with me, please?"
"Someone's picking on me—help!"
I was slow at everything, always a step behind. And while Ethan acted like I was a nuisance, he always cleaned up the messes I left behind.
Of course, he had his own way of teaching me lessons.
Once, I broke his favorite paintbrush—he chased me down and drew whiskers on my face in revenge. Another time, I got muddy handprints on his brand-new shirt. He didn't yell—he just framed the shirt and hung it where everyone could see. Silent judgment at its finest.
When I threw a tantrum and refused to eat, he'd coldly threaten, "Fine. I won't talk to you anymore."
He knew exactly how to get to me.
Because my biggest fear was always the same—him shutting me out.
I remember one day, someone jokingly asked him if he'd marry me when we grew up.
I was just a kid at the time, happily chomping on an apple. Without hesitation, I beamed and said, "Of course! I'm going to marry Brother Ethan!"
His face turned bright red as he grabbed a tissue and wiped apple juice off my cheek. "Clean your face. You're such a mess."
The Summers and Winters families were old friends. We lived just a few blocks apart, practically family. I was constantly sneaking over to the Winters' house, sticking to Ethan like glue.
He was three years older than me, already calm, composed—so much more grown-up than the boys my age.
Back then, I believed that if I could just carve out a little place in his world, it'd be mine forever.
But time has a way of shifting everything.
Neither of us could have imagined that something as sweet and certain as childhood love… could be undone by something as unpredictable as fate.