Chapter 4

"Am I wrong?" I looked at him. "Isn't that what marriage is? Legally sanctioned long-term sex? And he's paying me for it. 1.67 million dollars. That's not a small amount."

Michael didn't say anything. He stared at me.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, dropping my gaze and picking at my food. "I'm not crazy. I'm more clear-headed than ever."

"People who are clear-headed don't say things like that," he replied.

"Then what am I supposed to say?" I looked up, tears suddenly splashing into my bowl. "Should I cry? Should I act like I'm going to end it all? Should I beg him not to leave me?"

Michael stood up and walked over, pulling me into a hug.

"If you want to cry, then cry," he said. "You don't have to hold it in when you're with me."

I buried my face in his shoulder and finally broke down. I wasn't crying quietly. I was sobbing uncontrollably, so hard that I could barely breathe.

Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. All of it turned out to be a joke.

When I finally stopped crying, I looked up. Michael's shoulder was soaked.

"Sorry," I said, my voice hoarse.

"Oh, Emily," he said, ruffling my hair. "You never need to apologize to me."

We sat back down to eat. The food was cold, but neither of us cared.

"What are you going to do next?" Michael asked.

"First, I'm going to look into Claire," I said. "Then, I want to meet her."

"Meet her? What do you want to do?"

"Nothing," I said, taking a sip of soup. "I want to see what kind of woman could make him give up three years of marriage, give up on me."

"Emily, I really think you shouldn't go. What's the point? It'll make you feel worse."

"No," I shook my head. "I have to. I can't sleep if I don't."

Michael saw I wouldn't budge, so he said, "Then I'll go with you."

"No, I'll do this on my own."

"No way. I'm not letting you go alone."

"Michael," I said, meeting his eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore. I'm twenty-nine. It's time I faced things on my own."

"You are my sister. To me, you will always be my kid sister."

I smiled, but the more I smiled, the more I felt like crying.

After we finished eating, Michael started to clear the table, but I stopped him. "Go home and get some rest. You've been on duty all night. You must be exhausted."

"Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself?"

"Yeah," I said. "I want to be alone for a while."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "If anything comes up, call me. Don't try to handle it all by yourself."

"I know."

As I walked him to the door, Michael turned back. "Emily, remember, no matter what happens, I'm here. Mom and Dad are here too. You're not alone."

"Yeah."

The door closed behind him.

I went back to the living room and sat down on the couch. It was already dark outside. I didn't bother turning on the lights and sat there in the darkness.

My phone lit up. It was a message on WhatsApp. I picked it up to check.

It was from James: [Monday morning at nine, the city hall. Don't forget your documents.]

I stared at the message for a long time. Then I replied: [Okay.]

After a moment, he sent another message: [Do you want me to have my driver pick you up?]

I replied: [No, thanks.]

James: [Okay.]

That was the end of the conversation.

I scrolled through our chat history. Three days earlier, I had asked if he was coming home for dinner. He said he was working late. I sent him a sticker that said "Take care of yourself." He never replied.

Looking further up, it was all the same. If I asked something, he'd give a short answer. If I reminded him about something, he'd barely respond.

Turns out, it had been like this for a long time, and I never even realized it.

No, I was fooling myself.

My phone rang again. This time, it was an unknown number. I answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Emily Lane?" The woman's voice was sweet and gentle.

"Yes, that's me. Who's this?"

"I am Claire Summers," she said. "James' wife, can we meet?"