The Key to My Heart

Three years of marriage, and I never once had a keycard to our penthouse. Seventeen flights of stairs. I climbed them on foot, every single day, for three whole years. It all culminated on that freezing evening. I stood outside the locked lobby door, clutching a birthday cake I'd bought for my husband, Ethan, while my hands and feet went completely numb. A late-autumn drizzle mixed with sleet, chilling me to the bone. Shivering, I dialed Ethan's number. All he said was, "Can't you just take the stairs? Think of it as a workout." Before I could reply, the line went dead. Right then, the glass lobby doors slid open from the inside. It was my adopted sister, Kylie. She playfully swung a sleek keycard between her fingers, flashing me an innocent smile. "Hey, Chloe! Mom and Dad asked me to drop something off for Ethan. Locked out again, huh?" I watched numbly as she stepped outside. Seconds later, Ethan hurried after her. He handed her an exquisitely wrapped gift box, his handsome face softening with pure adoration. From start to finish, he didn't spare me a single glance. When I finally dragged myself up the seventeen flights to the apartment, I asked him why Kylie had a keycard when I didn't. He clicked his tongue, his face tight with irritation. "The building management only issued four cards. Mom and Dad have two, I have one. The last one went to Kylie. She drops by all the time—how inconvenient would it be if she didn't have a key?" A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Four keycards, and not one for the woman of the house. After seven years by his side, I was still nothing more than an outsider. If this home had no room for me, I wasn't going to beg to stay. By the time I carried the cake into the kitchen, the frosting had already started to melt. Ethan sat lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone without looking up. "There are some dirty mugs in the sink. Wash them while you're at it." I set the cake box onto the coffee table with a dull thud. "Ethan, we've been married for three years." He lifted his gaze, his sharply cut brows knitting together. "Your point?" "For three years, I haven't had a keycard. I've climbed seventeen floors every single day. Why does Kylie get one over me?" His scowl deepened, and he leaned back into the cushions. "Chloe, what is wrong with you tonight? Making a scene over a piece of plastic—do you have to be so petty?" "Kylie is your sister, and her health has always been delicate. It's completely natural for your parents and me to look out for her. You're the older one; can't you show some grace for once?" I stared at him, suddenly finding the whole situation pathetic. Back in high school, my parents bought Kylie an expensive designer dress, tossing me whatever oversized castoffs she didn't want. The one time I dared to speak up, my mother slapped me with words, calling me an ungrateful brat and making me stand out in the cold hall all night. Back then, Ethan wiped away my tears, his eyes brimming with heartache. If they won't love you, I will. In college, to buy me the pair of running shoes I wanted, he lived on dollar-store bread and canned beans for an entire month. Back then, the love in his gaze was searing. Chloe, one day, I swear I'll build us a home. A place that belongs solely to you and me. Now the home existed, yet I was locked out of it. Seeing my silence, Ethan stood and stepped closer. "Kylie gets self-conscious easily. Don't go bringing this up in front of her and making things awkward." He reached out, trying to ruffle my hair like he used to. Instinctively, I pulled away. His hand froze in midair. His expression darkened in an instant. "Chloe, what kind of childish tantrum are you throwing now?" Right then, his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call from my mother. Ethan answered. My mother's face appeared on screen. "Ethan, sweetie, happy birthday! Kylie baked your favorite apple pie, and we're just waiting for you to come over and have a slice!" On the screen, Kylie stepped into the frame wearing the very cashmere sweater Ethan had given me for my last birthday. She flashed a timid, sweet smile. "Ethan, I'm not the best baker, so please don't tease me if it's too sweet." Ethan's harsh demeanor melted instantly. "Anything you make tastes incredible, Kylie." My mother caught sight of me standing in the background, and the warmth vanished from her face. "Oh, Chloe's there too? Good, saves me a text. Kylie's graduating soon, and I want her to move into your spare room so you two can look after her." The blood in my veins ran cold. Kylie shrank back behind my mother, biting her lip. "Mom, it's fine. I can just stay in the campus dorms. I don't want to be a burden to Chloe..." My mother's tone snapped instantly. "Chloe, it's just your sister crashing at your place for a while. Why do you always have to hold a grudge over everything?" Ethan joined in, frowning at me reprovingly. "Mom's right. It's settled." He hung up, grabbed his car keys from the counter, and turned toward the door. As he brushed past me, he paused as if suddenly remembering something. "By the way, toss that cake. I don't like sweets." The door clicked shut, plunging the luxury apartment back into dead silence. I looked down at the half-melted cake on the table. He didn't hate sweets. He just hated anything that came from me. Years ago, before we graduated, the diner owner Ethan worked for had gifted him a small slice of chocolate cake. He had cradled it inside his coat like a precious treasure, sprinting all the way back to our tiny studio. Chloe, this is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. You have to take the first bite. Tears fell without warning, blurring my sight. In my pocket, my phone vibrated. It was an email from my former art director: Chloe, about the exchange program at our Milan headquarters we talked about—your spot got approved. Have you made up your mind? My fingers hovered over the screen. I typed: I'm talking it over with my family. I locked the screen with a self-deprecating smile. An outsider in my own marriage... who was I supposed to talk it over with?The next afternoon, building maintenance called my phone. "Ma'am, we received a complaint about clutter left in the hallway outside your unit. It's violating fire safety codes. Please clear it immediately." Confused, I opened the front door. Every single succulent pot I had kept on the console outside had been hurled across the floor. Ceramic shards and potting soil were strewn everywhere. I had raised those succulents from tiny cuttings when we first moved in. As I picked up the wreckage, a sharp ceramic edge sliced into my finger. Crimson welled up immediately. Just as I finished throwing away the dirt, Ethan walked off the elevator. "You threw my plants away?" I asked, voice trembling. He stood in the entryway mirror, adjusting his silk tie, entirely unbothered. "Yeah. Kylie mentioned she gets allergies around foliage and the smell was giving her a headache." He glanced at my bleeding hand and pointed toward the hallway console. "Band-Aids are in the drawer." I stared at him. "They're succulents. They don't even have pollen." "Does it matter? If it makes her uncomfortable, it doesn't belong here." Always Kylie. Swallowing the rising fury, I asked, "When did she even get here?" "I drove her back late last night. It was late, so I had her sleep in the guest room." He stated it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I walked past him into the guest room. My easel, canvases, and years of design drafts had all been shoved unceremoniously into a dark corner, buried under branded shopping bags and pink luggage. "Where are my things supposed to go?" "Kylie has a lot of luggage, so I told her to use this space for now." Ethan followed me in, eyeing my sketches with disdain. "You haven't touched this stuff in years anyway. Why let it collect dust?" I shook with rage. "Ethan, that's my entire portfolio! That's my life's work!" "Can your little hobby put food on the table?" He cut me off, exasperated. "Chloe, you're not an art school kid anymore. Stop clinging to these childish dreams. Your job right now is to keep this home running and support my business. Not hiding in a room all day painting useless scribbles." A hollow laugh escaped me. Those "useless scribbles" had won a design competition three years ago—the prize money that provided his very first round of startup capital. Back then, he had swept me up and spun me around the room. Chloe, you're brilliant! I swear to God, I'm going to give you the happiest life imaginable! The promise still echoed in my ears, but the man who spoke it had long forgotten. I looked straight into his eyes. "What if I told you I received an offer to work in Milan?" Ethan blinked, then scoffed out loud. "You? Stop kidding yourself." "Even if you had the chance, you wouldn't go. Who's going to take care of Mom and Kylie? Chloe, it's time you grew up." Grew up. I had been the grown-up for over twenty years. My mother said: You're older, you need to let your sister have it. Ethan said: Be mature. Kylie is family, you have to accommodate her. It seemed that as long as I was the "mature" one, everyone felt entitled to strip me of everything I owned. Just then, Kylie padded out of the master bathroom, rubbing her eyes. She wore one of Ethan's oversized dress shirts, making her look remarkably frail and helpless. "Are you two fighting?" she whispered, her wide eyes landing on me. "Chloe, please don't be mad. It's all my fault. I didn't know you still needed this room. I'll pack my bags and leave right now." She moved toward the suitcases with a delicate, trembling motion. Ethan instantly stepped forward, catching her arm. "Where do you think you're going? This is your home." He whipped around to face me, his voice icy. "Chloe, I'm warning you. If you give Kylie a hard time, you and I are done." My mind drifted back seven years. When Ethan's first venture failed, we lived in a cramped, drafty studio barely larger than a storage unit. There was barely room for a single mattress. With no heat in the dead of winter, he would hold me tight through the night, using his own body heat to keep me warm. He had kissed my forehead, whispering: Chloe, I'm so sorry you have to suffer like this. The second I make real money, I'll buy you a massive house. With a private dressing room, and an entire studio just for you. I turned around and walked back to the master bedroom. Looking at the blood seeping from my cut finger, I pulled out my phone and sent an email: Milan. I'm taking the offer.Over the next few days, I quietly organized my documents and sorted out what little I needed to take. On Thanksgiving, my mother insisted on hosting a family dinner. I spent hours in the kitchen, sweating over boiling pots and a roasting turkey, while laughter drifted in from the living room. "Kylie really is blossoming into such a lovely young lady," my aunt cooed. "Honestly, standing next to Ethan, they look like a couple from a magazine!" "Tell me about it," my mother chimed in, beaming. "Our Kylie is so sweet and attentive. Not like some people, who walk around acting like high-and-mighty princesses." Carrying the final platter into the dining room, I heard my mother holding Kylie's hand, addressing the relatives. "Kylie actually knows how to show affection. Unlike Chloe, who always wears that miserable, sour face, as if the world owes her millions!" I set the dish down without a word. Throughout dinner, my mother heaped food onto Kylie's plate. Ethan sat beside Kylie, carefully deboning fish for her. "Ethan, you're the best," Kylie chirped, turning to me with an innocent grin. "Chloe, you're so lucky to have a husband like him!" I kept my head down, eating mechanically, offering no reply. My aunt cleared her throat. "So, Chloe, you two have been married three years now. When are we getting a baby? A woman's place is taking care of her family, after all." Before I could open my mouth, Kylie spoke up. "Auntie, don't pressure her! Ethan mentioned Chloe is still dreaming about studying art abroad." My mother's face instantly soured. "A married woman, instead of settling down and supporting her husband, running off chasing foolish nonsense!" I looked at Ethan. He carefully avoided my eyes, casually sipping his wine as if none of this involved him. The food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. I put down my fork and stood up. "I'm full. Excuse me." "What kind of attitude is that?!" My mother slammed her palm onto the table. "The whole family is sitting right here! Who are you rolling your eyes at?" Kylie sprang to her feet, grasping my wrist with tear-filled eyes. "Chloe, please, it's my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up. Please sit back down. Mom and Ethan are just worried about you." The more saintly and fragile she acted, the more petty and vindictive I appeared. "Let go," I said, yanking my arm back. With a dramatic gasp, Kylie stumbled backward into her dining chair. Her glass wobbled and tipped over, red juice splashing completely across her pristine white designer dress. In the next second, Ethan shoved me hard out of the way, lunging to catch Kylie. Caught completely off guard, I lost my balance. The back of my head slammed violently against the sharp edge of the mahogany credenza. My vision went black, and a deafening ringing filled my ears. "Kylie, are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Ethan panicked, checking her arms. A warm, sticky liquid trickled down the back of my neck. I reached back with a trembling hand; my fingers came away slick with blood. "Chloe, have you lost your damn mind?!" Ethan spun around, glaring at me with sheer disgust. His eyes registered only the stain on Kylie's dress, completely blind to the blood pooling in my hair. "She was only trying to calm you down! How could you shove her?!" "I didn't push her," I whispered, clutching the back of my head. "We all saw it!" My mother pointed a shaking finger at me. "You're just jealous because everyone loves Kylie! How on earth did I raise such a cruel, vicious monster?!" Kylie wept softly against Ethan's chest, trembling. "Don't blame Chloe... it was my own clumsiness... Ethan, please don't yell at her..." I looked at Ethan cradling Kylie, and at my mother and relatives glaring at me with open hatred. A sudden, terrifying numbness washed over me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, though tears slipped down my cheeks. "You're right. I'm vicious. I can't stand the sight of her." I turned toward the hallway. Behind me, Ethan's voice rang out, cold and merciless. "Chloe Vance, you apologize to Kylie right now!" I walked into the guest room and locked the door behind me. Blood dripped from my hair, staining the collar of my white knit sweater. Using cotton pads and antiseptic from a small first-aid kit, I cleaned the gash myself, hissing in agony as the alcohol burned into the open wound. Outside, the commotion eventually died down, followed by the heavy slam of the front door. Half an hour later, my phone vibrated. A text from Ethan: Kylie had a panic-induced arrhythmia because of you. We're at the emergency room. Are you happy now, Chloe? Staring at the screen, a dull, hollow ache throbbed in my chest. Then, an email notification popped up: Flight confirmed. Departure tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM.Ethan didn't come home that night. My head was bandaged clumsily, and every step I took sent waves of dizziness crashing through me. I pulled out my single carry-on suitcase. Three years in that apartment, and everything that truly belonged to me couldn't even fill a small bag. Halfway through packing, the bedroom door was shoved open. My mother stood in the doorway. Seeing the suitcase, she paused, then sneered. "What do you think you're doing? Running away from home? Let me tell you, Chloe, don't you dare try pulling this cheap manipulative stunt on us!" "Save your little mind games for someone else!" I ignored her, folding my sweaters in silence. Enraged by my lack of reaction, she lunged forward, trying to yank the suitcase off the bed. "If you leave, who's going to cook? Who's going to clean up after this house?" I finally paused, looking up into her furious eyes. "Don't worry, Mom. Once I'm gone, Kylie can take much better care of you all." Choked by my answer, her face turned purple. "Is that how you speak to your mother?! You ungrateful little bitch!" Her hand swung through the air, slapping me hard across the face. The force snapped my head sideways. The metallic taste of copper flooded my mouth. Before another word could be said, the front door opened, and Ethan walked in. He looked haggard and exhausted. Seeing me and the open luggage, his eyebrows drew together. "What drama are you stirring up now?" My mother immediately spun on him. "Look at her! Threatening to pack her bags! Talking back to me like dirt!" Ethan's cold eyes fixed on me. "Chloe, unpack the bag. I'll let yesterday go. Don't push your luck." Looking at his arrogant expression, I let out a soft laugh. Just then, Kylie, who had been lingering outside the door, rushed inside in tears, throwing her arms around Ethan's sleeve. "Ethan, please don't fight with Chloe because of me! It's all my fault! I'll move out right now, I won't stay here anymore!" From behind his shoulder, her eyes caught mine. Beneath the tears was an unmistakable glint of triumph. Ethan wrapped an arm around her, speaking in a tender whisper. "It has nothing to do with you. Don't cry." When he turned back to me, his gaze was completely devoid of warmth. "Chloe, this is my final warning. Apologize to Kylie. Or deal with the consequences." Zipping my suitcase shut, I gripped the handle, stepped around them, and walked toward the foyer. Ethan's voice rose sharply behind me. "Chloe! If you walk out that door today, we are done!" My footsteps didn't falter for a single second. I walked straight out into the hallway and pressed the elevator button. My phone chimed with a text from Ethan: Your mother just fainted from high blood pressure because of you. If you have an ounce of conscience left, get your ass back here right now! Seconds later, another message flashed: Chloe, you'll regret this. I hailed a cab straight to JFK. Sitting in the back seat, I powered down my phone. This time, I was going far away. This time, I was finally choosing myself.