Chapter 1
Every time my husband went on a business trip, water started dripping from the balcony upstairs, like clockwork.
I went upstairs to check, and the neighbor gave the same old excuse, "Oh, sorry! I must have forgotten to turn off the tap."
Whenever my husband was home, the upstairs was perfectly quiet, as if no one lived there.
This time, the moment he left, the balcony started dripping again.
I stormed in with two renovation workers.
What I saw inside made my legs go weak, and I collapsed to the floor.
It wasn't just a leak... it was something else entirely...
*****
After five years of marriage, I'd figured out a pattern.
Every time my husband, Desmond Carney, went on a business trip, the balcony upstairs would start leaking, right on cue.
Each drop struck the exact same spot on the balcony, like it was perfectly timed.
It was like a metronome, pounding away at every taut nerve in my body.
I'd gone upstairs to confront her before.
The woman upstairs was Hanna Dejesus, in her thirties and single.
Every time she opened the door, she was always in loose pajamas, her hair a mess, and an apologetic expression on her face.
"Oh, Kenia Browning, I'm so sorry," she'd say.
"Look at me, I forgot to turn off the tap again."
"I'll take care of it right away, I promise."
She was always so nice about it that I couldn't even get mad.
All I could do was swallow my frustration and head back downstairs.
Strangely enough, whenever Desmond was home, the apartment upstairs was dead silent, like nobody lived there at all.
Forget about leaks, even footsteps were nowhere to be heard.
I mentioned it to Desmond once.
He always laughed and pulled me into a hug.
"You're just overthinking things, Kenia," he'd say.
"Hanna lives by herself, so it's pretty normal for her to forget things sometimes," Desmond said. "And honestly, she's always so polite about it. We really shouldn't get too worked up.
"Keeping the peace with our neighbors is the most important thing."
Desmond always made it sound so reasonable, like I was the one overreacting and being difficult.
After hearing it so many times, I even started to wonder if maybe I was the problem.
Was I really just being too sensitive?
This morning, Desmond headed out with his suitcase again.
He kissed me on the forehead by the door.
"Honey, I'll be gone for two weeks. Take care of yourself while I'm away. Call me if you need anything," he said.
I nodded and straightened his collar for him.
"Take care out there," I said.
The moment the door closed, my heart sank.
Figures, it wasn't even noon yet.
And that damned, familiar dripping sound echoed across the balcony, right on cue.
I rushed to the balcony and looked up.
On the ceiling of my balcony, right near the corner, a small wet spot had already started to spread.
Droplets were forming in the center of that stain, then dripping down.
They hit the tile floor, bursting into tiny little splashes.
Anger and irritation hit me like a wave.
Why was it always when Desmond's out of town? Seriously, what kind of twisted luck was this?
I grabbed my phone, barely holding back my anger as I dialed Desmond's number.
The phone rang forever before he finally picked up.
The background was noisy as hell. He must've been at the airport.
"Hey, honey, what's wrong?" His voice already sounded impatient.
"It's leaking upstairs again," I said, my voice icy.
There were a few seconds of silence on the other end.
Then Desmond let out a resigned sigh. "Kenia, this again? Can't you just cut me some slack? I'm about to board my flight. Just go upstairs and tell Hanna, okay? She probably just forgot to turn off the tap again. It's really no big deal."
With every word, I felt my heart turn colder.
"Desmond, don't you think this is a little too strange?" I said. "Why is it always when you're out of town? Why can't she ever forget when you're actually home?"
"Kenia!" His voice suddenly got louder, almost scolding. "Can you quit overthinking this?
"Are you seriously thinking there's something between Hanna and me? She's nearly forty! What do you think could even happen between us?
"Can you stop making up stories because you've got nothing better to do at home? Okay, that's enough. I need to board my flight. Just handle the leak yourself. It's really nothing."
Desmond ended the call, cold and abrupt.
Hearing the endless beeping from my phone, I just stood there, feeling ice crawl over my skin.
Yeah, it was just nothing.
It was just another ugly mold spot up there on the ceiling, another bucket sitting out there on the balcony, catching drips, and my sleep being ruined by that never-ending dripping sound.
But to him, none of it mattered as long as he could have his peace of mind.