Chapter 2
William's palm shook with anger as his fingers stabbed at the screen.
He typed out a torrent of scathing retorts, words that finally edged toward real insults.
But the academic in him, the ingrained restraint, seemed to balk.
He deleted the entire lengthy message. What he finally sent was far tamer: [Come home. We'll talk face-to-face.]
The reply was almost instantaneous: [Afraid not. I'm overseas preparing for the exhibition. Won't be back for at least two months.]
This gave William pause.
Normally, such a challenge would have brought me running back.
I never backed down from a fight, never played the coward.
Going home meant facing him, and face-to-face, his verbal arsenal was limited.
Violence or throwing things? Utterly beneath him.
William stood there for a long moment, bewildered, before fresh annoyance took over. He texted back: [You'd better hide out there forever, then!]
The comeback was swift: [And you'd better manage to never come looking for me!]
Provoked, William shot back without thinking: [Me? Look for you? Ha!]
Floating in the air, I had to admire the killer's cleverness.
Whoever it was knew me, and knew William, inside out.
William was due to accompany Sophie on her business trip soon.
If he didn't go looking for me, if he just left as planned, this house would be empty for over ten days.
The killer would have all the time in the world to dispose of my body.
No further messages came.
William set his phone down, took off his overcoat, and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater.
Jaw clenched, his face like thunder, he began the grim task of cleaning up the wreckage.
Then his phone rang.
A fresh wave of anger flashed across William's face; he likely thought it was me calling, ready for a confrontation.
He snatched up the phone, poised to unleash his fury.
But seeing the caller ID, William visibly reined in his temper, his expression softening.
"I'm sorry, something came up. Are you still waiting at the airport? I don't think I can make it tonight," he answered, his voice gentle.
The woman's voice on the other end sounded disappointed. "Oh... William, shall I change my flight to tomorrow as well? We can go together?"
Rubbing his temple with one hand, William bent to pick up a few books while keeping his tone warm. "Sophie, perhaps you should go ahead. I'll join you first thing tomorrow. You've already confirmed with Dean Wright."
Sophie's voice held a thread of barely concealed anxiety. "But this is my first major academic conference. William, I'd really rather wait for you. I'm a bit nervous going alone."
Sophie had always leaned on William.
This was true before my marriage to him, and it remained true after.
With a soft sigh, William glanced at his wristwatch. "I'll come now. Wait for me."
Her voice brightened instantly, taking on a girlish lilt. "Okay!"
He rose, hesitated a moment, then called the live-in housekeeper who was on her year-end holiday back in her hometown.
William offered her multiple times her usual pay to rush back and pack up his study.
It was a room filled with his precious collections, which he didn't trust to any random cleaning service.
After detailed instructions on how to handle the books and the rug, he finally hung up.
When he left the study, his face was still etched with worry, but he left the house anyway, heading straight for the airport.
In his hurry, William didn't even bother with his overcoat, simply draping it over his arm as he strode into the departure lounge.
Sophie, seated and waiting, spotted him from afar and immediately sprang up, nearly colliding with him as she threw her arms around his.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. "I thought you might not come."
William smoothly withdrew his arm. "Sorry, something came up last minute."
A flush of embarrassment and hurt crossed Sophie's face as she took a step back. "Sorry, I forgot again."
A year ago, before William married me, he and Sophie had been a couple, close and affectionate.
Any anger he might have felt had long since faded from his expression.
As he looked down at her, a flicker of pity and guilt passed through his eyes.
Sophie hung her head. She was dressed lightly, and as if feeling the chill, she rubbed her arms.
After a moment's hesitation, William draped his overcoat over her shoulders.
A pang struck my heart.
I remembered that not long ago, William had also lent his jacket to Sophie on campus.
A childhood friend sent me a photo, and I confronted him angrily when he got home.
That night, in a rare good mood, he had chuckled and held me, coaxing, "Alright, alright. It won't happen again."
What stung wasn't just him lending his clothes to someone else.
It was that the overcoat was one I had designed myself. I had stayed up late to sketch the patterns before having it custom-made.
In our year of marriage, I had tried to be a good wife.
But then, I was the one who had barged in and torn them apart.
I had no right to complain.