Chapter 2
Peyton replied, "I just got back from the military court. What happened?"
"Nolan's cheating on me," I said.
Peyton was silent for a while and finally asked, "Are you sure it's Nolan?"
"His car was here, with military plates. He called the kid Jonas himself, and the kid called him Daddy," I replied.
"Send me the photos," Peyton said.
I sent her the photos and the video.
Peyton said, "I will look into that woman."
As I pushed the door open, Nolan was busy in the kitchen.
He greeted, "Welcome back, Clara."
He brought out a bowl of soup from the kitchen and smiled at me.
He continued, "Why do you look so pale? I made you some soup. You barely ate anything this morning."
His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his apron was perfectly in place.
He looked nothing like the man from four hours ago, carrying another kid in that villa's garden.
I asked as I took the bowl, "Are the drills over?"
He replied, "Yeah, it was a long morning."
He sounded so casual, like everything was normal.
"Have some soup. You look terrible," he added.
The lotus root was meltingly soft, which I liked.
It was just like the one we used to order at that little restaurant outside the military academy.
Back then, his monthly allowance was only thirty dollars, and he'd save up for three days just to treat me to a bowl of pork rib soup.
When paying, he always quietly slipped the last rib into my bowl.
I teased him for being so stingy, and he tapped my nose and said, "Once I get promoted, I'll make this soup for you every day."
Then he really did it.
On our wedding day, he said on the stage, "Clara, it took me eight years to go from the military academy to the military compound. The next eight years, I'll give you a home."
Thunderous applause filled the place.
I cried so much my makeup was ruined.
When I was pregnant, he was more anxious and excited than I was.
When he saw the test showed I was pregnant, he was stunned for three seconds, then suddenly picked me up and spun me around in circles.
"I'm going to be a dad!" he shouted.
He was so loud that the whole building could hear him.
During my entire pregnancy, he woke up early every morning to check my temperature and make breakfast for me, and he didn't miss a single doctor's appointment.
He even bought a parenting book, and the pages were so worn from all the times he'd flipped through it.
On the inside cover, he wrote, "For our little Jonas, mommy and daddy are waiting for you to come home."
Jonas was what we called the baby. But Jonas never got to come home.
I was unconscious for three days because I lost so much blood.
When I finally woke up, Nolan was sitting by my bedside with red eyes.
"Where's our baby?" I asked. He didn't say a word.
"Nolan, where's our baby?" I cried out.
He hugged me tightly, his voice trembling as he said, "Clara, please don't be sad."
I was frantic, desperate to get to the delivery room.
He held my shoulder and said sorry over and over again.
Then the nurses and doctors came, and everyone told me the baby was gone.
He was too small, and they couldn't save him.
I refused to believe it. I begged them to let me take a look, just once.
But no one would let me see him. Nolan said it was already handled.
"Let it go. It's not good for you," he said softly.
I was stuck in postpartum depression for an entire year.
He stayed with me all the way, never leaving me alone.
Everyone said he was a good husband.
My phone buzzed. Peyton sent me a message.
Peyton: [That woman's name is Vera Sloan. Don't rush. Give me three days to check things out.]
Then I deleted the message and looked up.
Nolan was sitting across from me, looking at me. "What's wrong? Is the soup not good?" he asked.
I replied, "It's good."
In the evening, I got a friend request on my messaging app.
The note read, "Vera Sloan."
The verification message read, "Hello, Clara. I'm Nolan's executive secretary. I might need to coordinate some work matters with you."
I stared at that name for a long time.
After I accepted her request, I scrolled through her social media feed.
On the day of my prenatal checkup, Nolan said he had an important military meeting and was two hours late.
There was a photo of a cup of coffee with the caption, "Commander was in a great mood today and treated us all to coffee."
On my birthday, Nolan said he had to entertain military leaders, so I reheated the meal three times before finally throwing it in the trash.
There was a photo of a bouquet with the caption, "Someone said work's tough, I should treat myself a little better."
Vera messaged me, saying she wanted to get familiar with Nolan's daily habits so she could handle his schedule more smoothly, and invited me to meet at a cafe.
When I pushed open the door, a woman in a white knit sweater smiled at me.
Her smile was soft, but her eyes were sharp.
It was her. She changed her white dress for a white knit sweater, but I knew her face.
"Clara, come and sit here," Vera said.
She smiled sweetly, and her voice matched.
She lowered her head and stirred the cup, saying, "Thank you for coming.
"I just started working in this military region, so I'm still figuring things out. Could you share what Nolan likes to eat day-to-day?"