The World's Stars Burn Bright, Yet We Must Part

The day before my sister-in-law's wedding, I went to pay the HOA fees on the house my mother left me, only to find the locks had been changed.

The one who opened the door was Rosalie, still in her pajamas.

She smiled and held out a key to me.

Stella, I'm going to live here after I get married. Evan said you already agreed.

I turned to look at my husband.

He was perfectly composed. "Rosalie just got married. She can't keep renting forever. You own more than one place anyway. What's the harm in letting her stay a couple of years?"

I didn't argue.

I just called a locksmith.

"Could you come out, please?"

"Someone changed the locks on my own house."

...

When the locksmith arrived, Rosalie was still standing inside the doorway in her pajamas.

When she saw the toolbox, the smile on her face froze for a second.

"Stella, are you really going to change the locks?"

"The wedding crew is coming here tomorrow morning to film the bridal procession, and I've already moved all my things in. If you change them now, what am I supposed to do?"

I looked at Evan.

"Why did she move in?"

Evan frowned.

"Didn't I already tell you? We're just lending her the place for two years."

"When did you tell me?"

"These past few days."

"Did I agree?"

He was clearly getting impatient.

"We're husband and wife. Does every little thing have to go through some formal process?"

Rosalie quickly grabbed his arm.

"Evan, that's enough."

She turned to me, her tone much softer now.

"Stella, I really wasn't trying to take your house."

"Bruce's family has already sent out the invitations, and all the relatives know we'll be living here after the wedding. If you suddenly make me move out now, how am I supposed to explain it tomorrow?"

She sounded so wronged.

As if the one really making things ugly was me.

I didn't argue with her. I just walked inside.

The living room had been completely changed.

The wooden cabinet my mother left was gone, the rattan chair by the window was gone too, and the family photo that used to hang on the wall had been replaced with a wedding portrait of Rosalie and her fianc.

The photo was huge.

The two of them stood on a beach, with a line printed underneath: A new life begins here.

I stood there for a few seconds.

"Where are my things?"

Rosalie didn't get it.

"What?"

"The cabinet in the living room, the rattan chair, and the wooden box at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom."

Instinctively, she glanced at Evan.

Evan looked away.

"Those things were too old. I had someone clear them out."

"Cleared them out to where?"

"A storage unit."

"Which storage unit?"

He finally turned back.

"Stella, Rosalie's wedding is tomorrow. Do you really have to dig all this up right now?"

I didn't say anything.

Rosalie had already gone back to her room, and soon came out carrying a cardboard box.

"Stella, is this it?"

The box was stuffed with my mother's old scarves, old clothes, and a few photo albums.

The one on top was missing a corner.

I picked it up.

The missing part was exactly where the last photo of the three of us had been, taken before my father passed away.

Rosalie followed my gaze, and her face turned uneasy.

"The wedding crew needed to make a photo wall, and they were short one piece of cardboard."

"This one looked pretty old, so I cut off a little."

Evan said from the side, "She didn't even know what was in it."

I closed the album.

"Change the lock."

The locksmith had just crouched down when Evan planted himself in the doorway.

"Don't make a scene."

"After the wedding tomorrow, I'll go with you to get your things back."

I looked at him.

"Who gave her the key?"

"I did."

"And you approved the renovation too?"

He paused.

"Just some minor changes."

I looked down. At the bottom of the box was pressed a design drawing. The master bedroom had a new walk-in closet, and half the wall in the study had been torn out.

The spot where my mother's old books used to sit was marked as a children's room.

Beside it was a line of small print: Space reserved for a crib and children's storage.

I stared at that drawing for a few seconds.

Rosalie wasn't even getting married until tomorrow. She didn't even have a child yet.

Yet in this house, the one she only called "borrowing for two years," a place had already been set aside for her future child.

I set the design drawings on the table.

"Who gave you permission to touch the study?"

Rosalie explained at once, "It's not being torn out right now."

"The designer just drew it up ahead of time. If we have kids down the road, we won't want to go through all that again."

I looked at her.

"Down the road?"

She pressed her lips together.

Evan took the drawings.

"The designer just tossed off a plan. Why are you fixating on one children's room?"

"If you're only staying two years, why change the layout?"

"Can't we live a little more comfortably for those two years?"

He folded the drawing.

"I paid for the renovation myself. I didn't ask you to spend a cent."

I took out my phone and opened our joint bank account.

Three days ago, sixty thousand dollars had been transferred to a renovation company.

The note read: first installment for residential remodel.

I turned the screen toward him.

"Whose money is this?"

Evan's face darkened instantly.

"I can't touch our joint account?"

"You can."

I put the phone away.

"From now on, my salary won't be transferred into this account."

He froze for a second.

"Stella, what's that supposed to mean?"

A voice suddenly came from the doorway.

"What's it supposed to mean? Family lends her a place to stay, and she's actually keeping a tally."

Diane walked in with two relatives.

Clearly Rosalie had just called them over.

The moment she came in, she went to take Rosalie's hand.

"You're getting married tomorrow. How are you going to face anyone with your eyes all swollen from crying?"

Rosalie lowered her head.

"Mom, let it go."

"If Stella doesn't want me here, I'll go stay at a hotel tonight."

Diane immediately turned to me.

"This house has sat empty for years. What's the harm in letting her live here for two of them?"

"Your mother loved you so much. She'd never want to see you fighting with your own family like this over an empty house."

I looked at her.

"So that's why you moved all of her things out?"

Diane choked on that.

Evan said in a low voice, "We only put them away for now."

"And the photo album?"

No one spoke.

I asked again, "Why is the study being turned into a children's room?"

Rosalie's eyes reddened again.

"Stella, I already said it's just a design."

"Bruce's parents thought the house was small, so I figured we could put the study to use."

"If you don't like it, I won't change it."

Every sentence out of her was a retreat.

But from start to finish, no one asked whether this was even a house they had any right to remodel.

Diane sighed.

"Rosalie's getting married tomorrow."

"Now that all of her in-laws' relatives know she has a wedding home, if you suddenly throw her out, what will people think of the Matthews family?"

"You're well-off, you don't need this place. She just got married, and this is the hardest time for her."

"Isn't it only right for a sister-in-law to give her little sister-in-law a hand?"

Evan rubbed the space between his brows.

"Enough."

He turned to me.

"Let's get the wedding over with first."

"We'll deal with the house later."

Later, again. Find the furniture later, discuss the renovation later, talk about the house lateras long as Rosalie needed it right now, anything that belonged to me could be taken first.

I was about to speak when Rosalie lifted her hand to wipe her tears.

Her sleeve slid down a little.

And suddenly I saw the thing on her wrista thin gold bracelet, with a very faint scratch on the inside.

When I was little and didn't know any better, I'd nicked it with a pair of scissors.

After my mother died, that bracelet had stayed locked in the jewelry box in my bedroom.

I stared at her hand.

"Where did that bracelet come from?"

Rosalie stopped short and instinctively tugged her sleeve down.

But Evan spoke first.

"I gave it to her."

I slowly turned my head.

He still didn't think it was any big deal.

"You never wear it anyway."

"Rosalie's getting married tomorrow, and Mom says she needs a nice piece of gold to bring as her keepsake."

He paused.

"I'll buy you another one later."

I looked at Evan and didn't say anything for a long time.

The year my mother passed away, he was the one who helped me sort through her belongings. That gold bracelet had been at the very bottom of the jewelry box, and beside it was a note my mother left, with only three words on it: For Stella.

Evan had seen it. That day he even told me, "Put the valuable things away somewhere safe, so you don't lose them later."

Now he'd taken them out himself.

I held out my hand. "Take it off."

Rosalie instinctively covered her wrist.

"Stella, I'm getting married tomorrow, and the stylist already set everything to match this. I'll only wear it for the one day, and I'll give it back to you right after the wedding."

"Give it back now."

Diane's face darkened at once.

"Stella, it's just one bracelet. Rosalie is the bride tomorrow. Do you really have to embarrass her in front of all these people?"

I didn't look at her. I just asked Evan, "Did you open the jewelry box too?"

He paused.

"I know the combination."

"So?"

"I figured you never wear them anyway."

He said it so naturally, as if it were a cup he'd used for years, an old piece of clothing packed away at the bottom of a trunk. As long as I didn't touch it often, it automatically became something he was free to dispose of.

Rosalie's eyes reddened. She slowly slipped the bracelet off and set it on the coffee table.

"Stella, I'm so sorry. I really didn't know this was something your mother left. Evan only said you had a lot of jewelry and that this one suited the look best."

I picked up the bracelet, turned, and went into the master bedroom.

The old wardrobe had been torn out. My mother's camphorwood jewelry box was shoved into the very back of the new closet. The clasp was crooked, like someone had forced it.

When I opened it, two necklaces and a pair of earrings were missing.

"Where's the rest?"

Evan followed me in.

"Mom took them to match Rosalie's outfit."

I turned to look at him.

"How much did you take?"

"Just a few pieces."

"How many?"

He frowned. "Stella, do you really have to interrogate me like this?"

I didn't answer. I just called Diane. But the ringtone went off in the living room.

Diane stood in the doorway, her face grim.

"The things are all at my place. Nothing's lost."

"Bring them back now."

"They're needed tomorrow."

"Now."

She stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a cold laugh.

"So the things your mother left are precious, but the Matthews family's reputation is worthless, is that it?"

I put the bracelet back in the box.

"Why should the Matthews family's reputation have to be propped up with my mother's things?"

The living room went quiet.

The locksmith had already changed the lock cylinder and came over with the new keys. I kept only one and put the rest in my bag.

Evan's face darkened when he saw what I was doing.

"You won't even give me a key?"

"This is my house."

"I'm your husband."

"Then you of all people should know you can't just take things without asking."

The locksmith was bagging up the old cylinder he'd removed when he suddenly looked up.

"Was this lock just changed a few days ago? It's still pretty new."

I nodded.

"I didn't change it."

The locksmith glanced at Evan.

"When an outside locksmith comes into a complex like this, they usually have to register with the property office. You'd better ask what paperwork they left on file at the time."

Right then I called the property front desk and asked the manager to come up.

A few minutes later, the property manager arrived.

After hearing me out, he looked down and searched the system for a while.

"There is a record, yes."

He turned his phone toward me.

"Submitted half a month ago. The applicant is listed as Ms. Henson herself."

The property manager pulled up the registration records.

On the day the request to change the locks was filed, I was away on a business trip.

But the system said "Owner consents," with a photo of my ID uploaded below it.

I knew that photo well. Two months ago, Evan had said the company needed to update its records on family members and asked me to send it to him.

I held the phone up in front of him.

"What is this?"

Evan glanced at it.

"The property office needed documents, so I used it."

"Who said you could use it?"

"Stella."

He lowered his voice.

"I'm just changing a lock for Rosalie, I'm not taking your house and selling it. The property office wouldn't allow the work, so I had to find a way."

The property manager looked a little uncomfortable.

"Mr. Matthews said you were busy with work and had entrusted him to handle the paperwork. We saw he was your husband, and he'd come here with you before, so..."

"So you didn't call me?"

The manager paused.

"No."

I nodded.

"Please pull up every construction and moving registration from this past month for me."

Evan spoke up at once. "Why are you looking into all that?"

"To see exactly how much of my house the two of you have touched."

The manager quickly brought up the records.

The earliest one wasn't half a month ago. It was twenty-seven days ago.

Rosalie and her mother came to measure the place.

Twenty-four days ago, the designer arrived.

Twenty-one days ago, the moving company came. After that came tearing out cabinets, painting walls, delivering furniture, installing lights.

More than a dozen entries in all. I scrolled down page by page.

In other words, when Evan first told me that "Rosalie might want a house closer by after she gets married," they had already finished taking the measurements.

When he asked me, "Isn't it kind of a waste that your mom's place has been sitting empty all this time?" the renovation plans were already drawn up.

He hadn't made a last-minute decision for his sister. He'd only been waiting for the right moment to inform me.

Seeing that I wasn't saying anything, Diane softened her tone.

"Things have already come this far. What's the point of chasing down who did what first? Rosalie's getting married tomorrow. Let her get through the wedding first."

I looked up.

"Where did my cabinet and my wicker chair go?"

Evan said, "Didn't I already tell you? They're in storage."

"There's no record of a delivery to storage in the moving log."

His expression stiffened, and I kept scrolling.

In the entry from twenty-one days ago, the purpose of the vehicle was listed as: old furniture removal.

Not a move. A removal.

I looked at him.

"Which storage?"

Rosalie's lips moved.

"Stella, that furniture really was so old. The renovation guys said there was nowhere to put it, so we..."

"So you what?"

Diane cut in.

"What's the use of keeping old things? That wooden cabinet is huge and heavy, and the wicker chair's finish was peeling."

"I asked where they went."

No one answered.

I picked up the contact number on the registration and dialed it right in front of them.

Once I gave the man the complex and the date, he spent a while going through his records.

"That run, I remember it. The wooden cabinet went to the secondhand furniture market on consignment, and the customer said they didn't need to keep the rest, so those were handled as scrap furniture."

I gripped the phone.

"What about the wicker chair?"

The man thought for a moment.

"The one by the window?"

"Yes."

"The legs on that were loose."

He paused.

"That one probably just got thrown out."

I didn't say anything. The man on the other end asked again:

"What's wrong? Didn't you all say the family agreed to have it cleared out?"

I looked at Evan. He avoided my eyes.