Chapter 2
Cloris began talking to the door.
At first, she just whispered to the door, but soon it became a routine. Every day after coming home, she'd pause at the entrance and talk about what happened that day, like confiding in a hollow tree.
One day, she said, "My boss yelled at me again today, saying my plan wasn't good enough. I know I'm not great, but did he really have to call me out in front of the whole department?"
No response from inside. Then, a pack of nuts was pushed through the crack in the door, with its slogan "Daily Nuts: Energy Booster".
She smiled. "Thanks."
Another day, Cloris said, "I want a divorce."
The guy slid a pack of tissues through the crack.
She said, "I'm not crying."
Then, a note was pushed through the crack. It was the first time she'd ever gotten a note.
Cloris's heart skipped a beat as she bent down to pick it up. The note had only a few words, written in neat, graceful handwriting: [Don't be afraid.]
She stared at those words for a long while, then carefully folded the note and tucked it into her pocket.
Another day, Cloris said, "I'm not brave enough."
This time, a job listing was slipped through the crack, cut out from a newspaper. It was for a company Cloris always wanted to join, but never felt qualified for. The opening matched her major perfectly.
On the back, a sticky note read: [Give it a try.]
That night, Cloris failed to fall asleep. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She wondered how those seven years of marriage had slipped by, and when she had become someone too scared to apply for jobs.
She used to be a star student, won design awards, and her professors always said she had unlimited potential.
The next day, she updated her resume and finally hit send.
A week later, she got an interview offer.
On the morning of her interview, Cloris found a piece of candy in the crack of the door.
She let the sweetness melt in her mouth before heading out the door.
She passed the interview.
When she got the job offer, she stood by the door for a long while.
"I got the job," Cloris said, her voice trembling. "The salary is fifty percent more than what I make now."
There was a brief silence, and then a soft sound came from the other side of the door, like someone was quietly moving a chair.
It was the first time Cloris had ever heard anything from her neighbor's room.
She smiled. "Thank you, my neighbor."
On their wedding anniversary, Larry didn't come home, just like Cloris knew he wouldn't.
He claimed he was away on a business trip and wouldn't be back until next week. But when she checked his Apple Health, she saw he'd walked 8,000 steps today, all of them around the east part of the city.
That night, her in-laws picked up the kid, leaving her alone at home.
She went to the supermarket, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and came home to sit on the floor, drinking by herself.
After her third glass, she looked at the door and said, "I want to kill him."
Nothing came from the crack.
She added, "Just kidding."
Still no response from the other side.
She smiled, finished the rest of the wine, then dropped to the floor and threw up. Afterward, she leaned against the wall and groggily fell asleep.
The next morning, sunlight woke Cloris up.
When she woke up, she realized there was a blanket over her, not one of hers. It was a deep gray cashmere blanket, soft and warm.
There was a brand new fruit knife slipped through the door crack, still sealed in its packaging.
On the handle, a sticky note read: [Don't get your hands dirty.]
Beside it was a mug of honey water.
Cloris sat on the floor, clutching the mug to her chest, and tears suddenly spilled out. She cried for a long while.
After she finished crying, she got up, washed her face, and went to see a lawyer.
The lawyer told her she could get a divorce, but she'd need proof—his affair, the division of the assets, and the custody, everything needed evidence.
So she started collecting proof: saving screenshots, making screen recordings, keeping chat history, and printing out hotel bookings.
She stored everything in an encrypted folder, calling it "Work File".
Larry never suspected a thing. He still left early and came home late. He'd sometimes have dinner at home, sometimes help the kid with homework, and once in a while he'd ask Cloris, "Why are you losing weight lately?"
Cloris would say, "I'm on a diet."
"Why are you on a diet? You're in good shape."
Cloris smiled, keeping quiet.
That night, she got home late because she'd tailed Larry all the way to the hotel.
She spent two hours sitting in the convenience store across the street, watching the hotel window glow through the floor-to-ceiling glass, and did nothing.
She bought a bottle of water, perched herself on a high stool, and took slow sips.
The clerk, a young girl, kept giving Cloris sidelong glances, looking like she wanted to speak up but stopped herself.
At 11:30, Cloris stood up and went home.
When she got home, she found a cup of orange juice in the crack of the door. It was her favorite.
She had no idea how her neighbor knew, but she sat by the door, cradling the cup, and slowly drank it all.
After finishing the orange juice, Cloris spoke to the door, "I went to catch my husband in the act today, but I couldn't bring myself to go upstairs."
After a moment of silence, a faint sound came from inside, like something dropping to the floor.
"Are you alright in there?" Cloris asked.
No one responded.
Cloris waited for a while, and then headed back to her apartment.
The next morning, she found a note slipped through the door crack: [He doesn't deserve you.]
Cloris looked at those words, smiled, folded the note, and put it together with the others.