Chapter 2

At noon, I made up an excuse and took half a day off. I headed straight to that address.

It was in this city, 2.5 miles from my place, in the same district.

The apartment complex looked newer than where we lived.

Those were high-rise apartments, and there were more than twenty floors.

I stood outside the entrance of the apartment complex, watching people come and go. I didn't know if I should get in or leave.

The security guard glanced at me and asked, "Who are you here to see?"

I replied, "I'm delivering a package."

"Which building?"

"Apt. 603, Building 12."

I gave the security guard the address from the food delivery app.

He waved me through, letting me into the complex.

I took the elevator up to the sixth floor and stopped in front of Apt. 603.

There was a shoe rack by the door, holding three pairs of shoes.

One pair was men's sneakers, size 8. David always wore size 8.

Another pair was women's white sneakers.

And the last pair was tiny, with cartoon prints. It was Kids' shoes.

I stood at the door. The smell of someone cooking drifted in from next door.

Right then, I started to wonder if maybe I was wrong about all this.

Maybe the guy living here was not David.

Plenty of guys wore size-8 sneakers.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Then I noticed a small note stuck to the shoe rack. The handwriting was all wobbly, like a kid had scribbled it: [Daddy's shoes, Mommy's shoes, my shoes.]

The letters were messy, clearly written by a little one—probably a three or four-year-old just learning how to write.

I took several steps back and leaned against the wall in the hallway.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from David. [Honey, the project team has a meeting tonight, so I can't do a video call. Turn in early, okay?]

It was sent at 1:12 p.m.

He said he was in Germino, but Germino was seven hours behind our time.

It was 1:12 p.m. here, so that would be 6 a.m. in Germino.

Who held a project meeting at six in the morning?

David always sent his messages during the daytime in Germino, which meant nighttime in our country. I never questioned it before.

But this message was different. It meant that David was right here in this city. He always had been.

I stood in the hallway on the sixth floor of Building 12. It had been over 1,800 days since David supposedly "went abroad".

I'd been paying the mortgage, taking care of Mavis, and spending my life all alone for five years.

And David was 2.5 miles away, living with a woman named Sarah Thompson, and a kid who could already write "Daddy's shoes".

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the first floor.

Then I walked out of the apartment complex.

The sunlight was gentle. February's sun warmed my face a little.

I grabbed lunch at the company cafeteria—a five-buck set. I only managed to eat half, and then tossed the rest in the trash.

This was the first time in five years that I didn't finish my food.

When I got home that evening, Mavis had made dinner.

"It's the weekend, so I made you something extra," Mavis said, pointing at the pasta.

"Thanks, Mavis," I replied.

I sat down at the dining table. The chair across from me was empty.

I'd been married for five years, and I'd eaten over 1,800 meals at this table. Most of the time, the seat across was empty. Sometimes, Mavis would join me for dinner.

But most days, she ate in her own room, watching TV with her plate in hand. She said she was used to it.

Sometimes, when I ate alone, I would set out an extra fork across from me.

I was not sure why. Maybe it made the table feel a little less empty.

But tonight, I didn't bother.

After dinner, I washed the dishes, wiped down the table, mopped the floor, and dried the water stains on the kitchen counter.

Then I went back to my room and closed the door.

I unlocked my phone and started digging through David's food delivery account. He'd let me use his membership last year, so I still had the login info.

Every order from the past three months had been sent to the same place—Apt. 603, Building 12.

Each meal was for two people, and there was always a kids' meal, too.

The most recent order was yesterday.

Last night, when David video-called me, the background was a plain white wall. He said he just got home after working overtime.

That was his home, not ours.

For the next three days, I didn't go back to that place.

I started checking another angle—Mavis's phone.

Every day at noon, she'd take a nap for about two hours, leaving her phone charging in the living room.

On the first day, I checked her transfer records.

There were also some messages between her and David about money.

The most recent message was from David. [Mom, did you transfer the money this month?]

Mavis replied: [Yeah, same as always, on the 15th.]

[Alright. Sarah says the baby needs stage-three formula now. It costs more, so add another 300 bucks.]

[Alright. But Haley...]

[Just ask her for it. She won't notice anything.]

[Alright, then.]

The chats happened on the 18th of last month.

I stared at David's message. [Just ask her for it. She won't notice anything.]

Then I put the phone back exactly where I found it, making sure the angle and position were right.

I went back to my room and sat down.

My hands were shaking, and it wasn't because I was cold.