Chapter 2

"Do you want me to let my driver take you home?" he asked, with the kind of polite, almost distant tone one'd use with a coworker.

"No need," I replied, turning away. Each step felt like I was walking on a knife's edge—weak, unsteady, and every inch hurt.

Back at our luxurious home that had long lost its warmth, I fished out my stomach meds from my bag and forced them down without water.

The pill got stuck halfway down my throat, and that bitterness lingered in my mouth.

I heard the door opening in the entryway. David was back.

"Carrie, are you feeling any better?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of guilt he couldn't quite hide.

I didn't respond, just kept my eyes fixed on the deep, endless darkness beyond the window.

"I was talking about you on stage today," David tried to explain.

"You know damn well who you were talking about. Was it really Carrie, or was it Kerry? Don't pretend you don't know," I said coldly.

"Carrie, can't you just stop being unreasonable? We've been married for years. Do you still have to treat me like the enemy?" David shot back.

"So that's why you mentioned another woman's name instead of mine?" I cut in quietly. "And in front of everyone, you made her out to be gentle, someone who knows how to behave? Then tell me, David, what am I to you?"

He fell silent for a moment and then grew annoyed. "Carrie, do you have to make such a big deal out of this? It's just a name! I get that things haven't been easy for you, but I'm under so much pressure. Can't you be more understanding?"

"Oh, so you want me to be 'understanding'?" I nearly laughed. "Like her, gentle and always knowing when to step back?"

"Yes! Just like her," he blurted out, and then caught himself, trying to soften his words. "Carrie, we used to be great together. Why is it all fighting now? Isn't it because you've become so bossy, always coming at me like this?"

"Yeah, why is that?" I murmured. "Do you remember when we were eighteen? You told me all you had to offer was love, that you didn't have a penny to your name. And I just smiled and said it didn't matter. I had enough love for both of us."

David's eyes wavered for a moment. I could see he was lost in those muggy summer nights, too, just like me.

It was that summer after graduation. I'd gotten my acceptance letter to Northbridge University, while David decided to give up on college because his family couldn't afford it.

I always knew how smart he was, how much he could've done if only he'd been given a shot.

"Carrie, I need you," he choked out, clinging to me as if I were the last lifeline.

For ages, I struggled with the choice. But when I thought about all he'd done for me, I steeled myself and gave up my own dreams, just so I could stay by his side.

Once, David was the light that cut through the darkness of my life.

At sixteen, after my alcoholic father left me covered in bruises, I hid in a shadowy alley, crying like my world was ending.

At my lowest point, David tracked me down, got me to a clinic, covered the medical bills, and even threatened to call the police on my father.

"You shouldn't have to go through any of this," David said back then with that fierce look. "Someday, we'll escape all this and have a world of our own."

So I ripped up my acceptance letter and moved in with him, into that cramped little shoebox apartment.

Inside that sweltering, humid place, the only thing fighting off the heat was an old fan sputtering in the corner.

David picked out the lone piece of meat and dropped it into my bowl, then hunched over his own bread.

"Carrie, sticking with me, you really had it rough," he murmured.

I shook my head, pushed the meat back into his bowl, and grinned. "Just wait till you make it big. Then you'll treat me to Michelin every day."

He looked up at me, his eyes shining vividly beneath the dim yellow light. "Absolutely. Once Voyage Technology is listed, I swear, I'll lay the finest things in the world at your feet."

Those days were tough.

We crammed ourselves into that shoebox-sized room, shared a single power strip, and split a piece of bread.

In the winter, my fingers were so frozen that I could barely help him with his spreadsheets, but I still tried. He'd hold my icy feet against his chest, just to keep me warm.

In the summer, when he got heatstroke hustling for work, I carried him all the way to the clinic and stayed by his bedside through the night.

At our roughest, the company barely had a few hundred bucks left. My stomach problems started from starving so often back then.

David hugged me, gently rubbing my aching stomach, his eyes red and full of guilt. "Sorry, Carrie. I put you through this again."

He'd skip his own lunch and hike a few blocks to buy soup for my upset stomach, letting it cool before feeding me one gentle spoonful at a time.

I saw how worry made his eyes go red, and I rubbed my head against him, feeling closer than ever.

"It's okay, Dave. With you by my side, it doesn't hurt at all," I whispered.

"When we're rich, the first thing I'll do is cure your stomach and spoil you until you're chubby and glowing," he used to promise.

Eventually, our company really started to succeed.

We went from that tiny apartment to a thousand-square-mile pad, and then all the way up to having our own floor in an actual office tower.

We finally left that cramped rental and settled into a spacious new home.

He showered me with designer bags, but slowly, he stopped caring whether I'd eaten or not.

He did keep his promise, giving me everything we once dreamed of. But somewhere in all that success, we ended up losing each other.

My stomach still hurt now and then, but these days, I kept that pain to myself.

He was always busy. Whenever I called, it was the same old story: "I'm in a meeting" or "I'm out with clients.".

He didn't even bother to listen when I mentioned feeling sick. If I did bring it up, he just threw out a careless "drink some warm water" or "tell the assistant to grab you some meds".

"You weren't always like this, David," I said, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"That was back then, Carrie," he replied, a trace of impatience showing. "We're not kids anymore. You've got to tough out these little aches and pains.

"There's just too much going on. I really don't have the time to fuss over every small thing."

After that, I almost never mentioned my pain to him anymore.