Chapter 1
At the annual company party, Brian Foster was called up on stage to peel an apple.
He waved his hands with a smile. "I can't. I don't know how to do it."
The host shoved a fruit knife into his hand.
He tried three times, but ended up butchering the apple. The peel was in pieces, and the fruit was all gouged and messy.
The audience burst into laughter.
Brian scratched his head and returned to his seat, leaning over to smile at me. "It's all hacked‑up."
I didn't respond.
For ten years at home, every night he'd hand me an apple with the peel always a single, unbroken spiral.
I stared at his still-smiling face, my throat tightening.
There was no way a guy who'd been peeling apples for ten years didn't know how.
Unless he was just pretending. Maybe he didn't want someone to find out the truth that he was good at it.
*****
As the party ended, Brian put his arm around my shoulders and led me out.
The hallway was packed, people jostling and pushing past each other.
I shot him a look and asked, "Why'd you say you couldn't peel an apple today?"
He froze for a moment, and then quickly smiled. "Peeling apples for you at home is one thing, but doing it on stage is a whole different story.
"I got nervous, and my hands shook."
I just nodded and didn't ask any more questions.
There was a long line at the elevator, so we stood in the crowd and waited.
He glanced down at his phone, the screen lighting up for a moment.
I couldn't see what was on it, but he locked it almost instantly.
Way faster than usual.
When we got home, he slipped on his slippers and went into the kitchen to wash some fruit.
When he brought out the fruit plate, there was a perfectly peeled apple sitting right on top.
The peel draped gracefully in one long, translucent ribbon.
He handed it to me, acting naturally. "The food at the party was so greasy. Have some fruit to freshen up."
I took a bite.
It was as sweet as always.
But for the first time, I couldn't taste anything at all.
Brian sat on the couch, replying to messages, his fingers moving quickly across the screen.
I pretended to watch TV, but kept glancing at his screen out of the corner of my eye.
At the top of the chat box, the contact name was "Julia."
He sent a short voice message.
Then he flipped his phone over and set it face down on the armrest.
"Honey, tomorrow's Saturday. Where do you want to eat?" he asked.
I kept my eyes on the TV, my voice calm. "Whatever."
*****
After his shower, Brian went straight to bed.
Once his breathing was steady, I tiptoed over and picked up his phone.
I used his fingerprint to unlock it.
I scrolled to WhatsApp.
Julia's profile picture was a white camellia.
The chat history was completely erased.
Spotless, not a single message remained.
Then I checked his transfer records.
The last transfer was made at 3:17 this afternoon.
The recipient was Julia Stone.
The amount was 2,400 dollars.
Nothing in the memo.
I stared at the screen for ages, and then put the phone back where it was.
When I was back in bed, Brian rolled over and draped his arm around my waist.
"Chloe." He was calling my name in his sleep.
His voice was so soft, so gentle.
I lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling all night.
*****
On Monday at noon, I told my coworkers I had some errands to run and drove over to Brian's office.
I didn't go in.
I parked outside the café across the street, grabbed an Americano, and settled in by the window.
At half past twelve, people from Brian's office started coming downstairs for lunch.
I spotted Brian.
He was wearing a gray down jacket, left hand in his pocket, right hand carrying a clear plastic bag.
Inside the bag were two apples.
They were quite big.
He didn't head out the main entrance, but turned into the public lounge on the first floor.
I set my coffee down and stared at the scene inside through the big windows.
Brian sat on a bench, with a woman sitting next to him.
She was wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, her hair tied in a low ponytail.
Brian pulled an apple and a fruit knife out of the bag.
He moved with practiced ease.
He angled the knife slightly in his right hand, wrist turning smoothly and steady.
The peel spiraled down in one long ribbon.
He peeled it all in one go, never breaking the strip.
Just like the ones he peeled for me at home.
He handed the peeled apple to the woman.
She took it and took a bite.
Brian smiled and wiped the knife with a tissue.
Then he started peeling the second apple.
The second apple was for himself.
I sat in the café, my fingers turning icy cold.
Ten years.
For ten years, I'd been eating apples he peeled for me.
I always thought that was something just between us.
It turned out that it wasn't.
I pulled out my phone, opened Brian's company website, and scrolled to the "Team Members" page.
I saw Julia Stone, head of the admin department.
No doubt about it. The woman in the photo was the same one I'd just seen through the glass.
I typed her name into my notes app.
Then I locked my phone, started the car, and drove back to work.
I pulled up at a red light.
My hands trembled on the steering wheel.
It was not because I was cold.
The light flipped green. Someone behind me laid on the horn.
I took a deep breath and hit the gas.
When I got back to work, I sat in the car for ten minutes.
Then I checked my reflection and fixed my lipstick.
When I walked into the office, no one noticed anything was off.