Chapter 1

In the seventh year of our marriage, Charles Chandler told me there was another girl who understood him better than I ever could.

He insisted it wasn't cheating; it was a soul connection.

Charles said it so calmly, with a hint of apology in his eyes.

I didn't make a scene. I quietly signed the divorce papers.

That night, a robotic voice suddenly echoed in my mind, "Host detected! Activating Life Choice System. Option A: Instantly receive 30 million dollars. Option B: Earn 20 cents every second."

I froze.

Twenty cents a second, twelve dollars a minute, seven hundred and twenty dollars an hour.

I didn't pick A or B.

I asked the Life Choice System, "What are Charles and the other girl doing right now?"

After three seconds of silence, the Life Choice System showed me a live feed.

*****

When Charles said those words, I was ladling soup for him.

It was his favorite soup. I had simmered it for three hours until it was rich and flavorful.

"Anna," Charles said softly from across the table, "I need to talk to you about something."

I set the bowl in front of him and smiled. "Funny, I have something to tell you, too."

He blinked in surprise. "You go first."

"You go first." I settled back into my seat and picked up my fork. "It's pretty rare for you to actually want to talk to me."

I surprised myself with that comment.

When did Charles talking to me become such a rare thing?

Charles either missed the self-deprecating tone in my voice or didn't want to acknowledge it. A layer of golden oil glistened on the surface. His face was reflected in it, his expression impossible to read.

"I met someone," he said.

My hand froze, fork halfway to the plate.

"It's a girl," he added.

I set down my fork and took a sip of water. The coldness lingered all the way down my throat to my stomach.

"And then?" I asked.

Charles looked up at me, his eyes holding something I couldn't quite read. It was not guilt, not shame, but a quiet, almost peaceful apology.

It was a strange feeling, like when someone accidentally stepped on my foot and said "sorry," but their expression made it clear it was really an accident; they didn't mean anything by it.

"Anna, I didn't cheat," he said. "I never touched her, not even held her hand. But I..."

Charles paused, as if trying to find the right words.

"But you found someone who gets you better than I ever could," I said for him.

He blinked, then gave a small nod.

After seven years of marriage, at least I had learned one thing. That was how to speak the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

"She's a new designer at my company," Charles began, his voice carrying a warmth I'd never heard before. "One night, I was working late, smoking on the rooftop, and she came up, too.

"She asked why I wasn't going home, and I told her I didn't want to. She didn't ask anything else and stayed there with me for half an hour."

I listened, like an outsider hearing the story.

"We started working late together, grabbing late-night snacks and talking," he continued. "Anna, do you know that feeling? When you say something, and the other person instantly gets it?

"When you don't say anything, they still know what's on your mind. With her, I never have to explain myself, never have to give context. I can say whatever I want."

I finally spoke up. "So, what exactly do you want from me now?"

Charles looked at me, his gaze so honest it sent a chill through me.

"I don't know," he said. "I felt like I should tell you. I don't want to sneak around behind your back as most people do, and have you find out eventually. I don't want to lie to you."

"Don't want to lie to me," I echoed.

"Anna, I admit I have feelings for her," Charles said softly, as if afraid of hurting me. "But it's not cheating. I haven't done anything to betray you.

"I... I realized there's someone in this world who understands me better than anyone else. And it happens to be someone other than you."

"Happens to be," I echoed the word.

He frowned. "Don't be like that. Talk to me."

"I am talking normally," I said, standing up and starting to clear the table. "Are you finished? Are you going to have the soup or should I pour it out?"

Charles froze. "Anna..."

"I have something to tell you, too," I cut him off, stacking the bowls. "My mom's having surgery next week, so I need to go back home for a while. Maybe two weeks, maybe a month. You'll have to manage on your own."

He opened his mouth, looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, all he said was, "Oh, okay."

I took the dishes into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and started washing up.

Water gushed as I kept my head down, watching the soap dissolve the grease and carry it away. My finger touched the edge of a bowl; it was hot.

Hold on, the water was cold. Why was the bowl hot?

I looked down and saw a red mark on my finger. Must've been from holding the soup bowl earlier. I didn't notice it then.

I ran my hand under the faucet, cold water stinging the burn. But the pain barely registered, like there was a layer between me and it, never reaching my heart.

I hadn't noticed when Charles showed up in the kitchen doorway.

"Anna," he said, "aren't you mad?"

I didn't turn around. "Would it change anything if I got mad?"

"Don't you want to know who she is? Aren't you curious what she looks like?" he added.

"Do you actually want to tell me?" I replied.

Charles fell silent.

"See?" I put the last bowl in the dish rack, dried my hands, and turned to face him. "You don't want to tell me, and I don't want to know. It's rare for us to be so in sync about something."

Charles stood in the doorway, the kitchen light illuminating the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. Seven years ago, when I first met him, his face was smooth, and when he smiled, he looked like a boy who hadn't quite grown up.

Now he was thirty-four, smiled less, had lines at the corners of his eyes and stubble on his chin; he looked so much more grown-up now.

I suddenly remembered something.

"Charles," I said, "do you remember how you tried to win me over back then?"

Charles paused. "Why are you asking that all of a sudden?"

"Just tell me," I said.

He thought for a moment, looking a bit awkward. "Well, I talked to you every day, took you out to eat, walked you home..."

"And what did you say back then?" I looked at him. "You said talking to me was so easy that I always got what you meant, even when you didn't say anything. You said you'd never met anyone who understood you as I did."

Charles's expression changed.

I smiled. "Turns out your so-called understanding has a shelf life; It was seven years."

"Anna..." he called out.

"That's enough," I said, waving him off. "I'm going to pack my things. Get some rest."