Chapter 4

I always thought life would just go on like this.

Ordinary, but enduring.

But in the second year of our marriage, Mia became Leon's intern.

She got in through Grant Holdings' campus recruitment. Her resume was pretty average compared to all the elite candidates. But during the final interview, Leon took a second look at her and said she looked familiar, reminded him of me in college.

When the recruiter asked about her strengths, she pulled out a hand-knit scarf from her bag and said she'd brought a little gift for the interviewers.

Leon signed her on the spot.

The first time I saw her at the office, she was standing on her tiptoes, placing a cup of coffee on Leon's desk.

The latte art was delicate, and next to it was a small bag of homemade cookies, wrapped in pink paper and tied with a string. When she saw me walk in, her hand trembled and she nearly spilled the coffee.

Leon stood up and casually introduced her as the new intern, saying she was diligent and picked things up quickly. Then he turned to her and said, "This is my wife, Tara. Say hello."

She lowered her head shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hello, Tara."

I smiled and nodded. "Hello."

She was still standing there, her eyes drifting toward the cookies on Leon's desk, as if waiting for him to try one.

Leon didn't notice, and I didn't say anything. As I was leaving, I glanced back.

She was quietly tidying up the papers on his desk, arranging each one neatly before slipping out and closing the door behind her. The hallway light fell on her face, and I saw her lips pressed together, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes.

That night, when we got home, I told Leon, "Maybe you should find another intern."

Leon said, handing me a glass of water. "She just graduated, living alone in this city, got ripped off when renting her place, and her pay isn't much.

"I think she's dependable, so I'm giving her a hand, nothing more. Are you really going to read too much into this? She's only a coworker."

But this "coworker" slowly became a thorn between us that wouldn't go away.

Mia'd text Leon late at night. [The light in my rented place is broken and I don't know who to call to fix it.]

Leon glanced at his phone, and I told him not to go. He agreed, then sat on the couch and texted her back. [Call the property management.]

She didn't call the property management. The next day at work, she showed up with red, swollen eyes. When her coworkers asked what was wrong, she shook her head and stayed quiet.

Word got around at lunch that Mia had to shower in the dark last night and ended up slipping and falling.

When Leon found out, he frowned and said, "If something happens again, call me."

After that, her problems kept coming. The water pipe burst, her electricity ran out, the neighbors downstairs complained. Every single thing happened at night, and every text came with some sad little emoji.

I lost my temper once. Leon handed me his phone and said, "Here, you deal with it."

I looked through their chat history. Leon barely replied, only stuff like "Call the property management," "Call the police," or "Go to the pharmacy."

But Mia always answered right away, never missing a beat, like she could take anything and still have more to say. No matter what he threw at her, she'd keep coming back with another message.

One night, Leon was actually home for once when his phone lit up. I glanced over and saw a message from her.

Mia: [Mr. Grant, it's my birthday today. My coworkers bought me a cake, but when I was cutting it by myself, I suddenly started crying. Thank you for taking care of me these past six months. I'm raising a glass to you.]

She even sent a selfie: a small cake in front of her, two cups on the table, as if she was hoping someone would join her.

Leon didn't reply. But the next day, when I logged into his bank account to check the mortgage payment, I saw he'd sent her about seventeen hundred dollars at eleven last night, with a note: Overtime bonus.

That night, I stood out on the balcony, watering my orchid. One pot, then another. The water spilled out from the bottom, soaking the whole tile floor.

Nina Carter called me up. She snapped, "Can't you tell she's doing it on purpose?"

I said, "Yeah, I can see it."

"So why don't you divorce?"

I stayed silent.

Back then, I thought marriage was like this. Some problems, I didn't try to fix, not because I couldn't, but because I figured if I endured, they'd fade away.

Some thorns, I didn't pull out, not because I didn't want to, but because it hurt too much. I was scared of the pain.

And then, Mia ended up pregnant.