Chapter 2

At exactly nine o'clock, I swiped my card at the entrance of the company building.

I work in data risk control at an internet firm, a role that demands nothing less than constant clarity and rationality from me.

Once inside, instead of heading to my own desk, I walked straight to the department head's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Nora Wilson, the head of the department, was reviewing some reports.

She looked up at the sound of the knock. "Sarah, you're here early. What's up?"

I placed a document on the corner of her desk. "Nora, I'd like to resign."

Nora hesitated for a moment before reaching out to pick up the paper. "Resignation? Heading over to Greyfield? What's with the sudden decision?"

"A company over there reached out to me," I answered. "The position is more focused, and I feel like a change of scenery."

She raised an eyebrow. "But your husband works at the hospital here, doesn't he?"

"That's my own call. It doesn't have anything to do with him." My voice stayed level, but my tone made it clear there was no room for discussion.

She studied me for a good two seconds, probably looking for some sign of hesitation or emotion I might be trying to hide.

In the end, she just sighed. "I hired you myself, and I've always trusted your work. It'd be a shame to lose you out of the blue. Have you really thought this through?"

"Yes, I have," I said. "And I truly appreciate everything you've done for me."

"All right, then," she said. "If you've made up your mind, I'll get the process started on my end. It'll probably take about a month."

"I'd appreciate that."

I left her office, went back to my desk, turned on my computer, and carried on with the usual flood of models and reports as if nothing had changed.

Around me, people were still talking about where to go for dinner over the weekend. No one noticed the extra application form sitting on my desk.

At lunchtime, Rachel called, and her words came tumbling out at lightning speed. "Sarah, what are you even doing? Are you seriously putting the apartment on the market? And your Twitter, you locked the whole thing down. I can't find any of your old posts anymore."

"I changed the privacy settings. That's all," I said, keeping my voice even.

"So you saw it, right?" she pressed. "That post he put up last night, the one with him and his female assistant standing together. I was so furious I almost threw my phone across the room."

"I saw it," I said.

She sounded genuinely floored. "You saw it, and you don't feel anything? You didn't even post a single rant about it? Did he operate on your brain or something?"

I walked into the pantry with a glass of water and found an empty corner to stand in. "Rachel, I'm perfectly clear-headed right now."

"I don't think so," she snapped. "He's blatantly posting something like that, practically crossing the line out in the open, and you're acting like some detached observer."

"He's not going to be the one to ask for a divorce," I said.

"And what makes you so sure?" she demanded.

"Because he cares about his reputation," I explained. "The public image he's built at the hospital is what really matters to him. A marriage falling apart wouldn't help his career at all. What he needs more than anything is a wife who doesn't stir up trouble."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

Then Rachel asked, "So what are you going to do? Just let things drag on like this?"

"I've already handed in my resignation," I said. "I'm preparing to move to Greyfield."

Rachel's voice shot up immediately. "What? You're going to Greyfield? Are you planning to just take off overnight? You're swapping out your job and your whole marriage at once?"

"I'm changing jobs, not quitting without a backup," I said.

Then I paused and glanced out the window at the grey, overcast sky. "As for home, somewhere a person doesn't even bother coming back to sleep for half a month at a time just doesn't feel like home to me."