Chapter 2

I scrolled further back through her posts. About a month ago, Roxanna posted, "Finally finished organizing the closet. Thanks to the person who helped."

The photo showed a perfectly tidy walk-in closet. There was no location tag and no names mentioned, and David was not in the comments.

But I recognized that closet. Those handles were the same ones David and I picked out together. It was the exact same model.

Roxanna and I lived in the same neighborhood, but in different units. My place was in one building, and hers, Apartment 12, was a short walk away.

I put my phone down.

The sky outside was already dark. David still had not come home.

*****

David came home just before eleven o'clock. He pushed the door open, the smell of alcohol lingering on him.

"Did you drink?" I asked him.

"Yeah. My mom opened a bottle of wine before I left," David replied. He changed into his slippers, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. "You know, what you said at dinner tonight really upset my mom."

"What did I say?" I asked.

"That whole 'David gave all the food to Roxanna' thing," he frowned. "Do you have any idea how awkward that made Roxanna feel?"

"So you don't care if I'm embarrassed?" I asked.

"Why would you be embarrassed? I just cracked a few crab legs for Roxanna," David replied.

"Four," I cut in.

"What?" David looked confused.

"Four crab legs. You cracked four, all for her. I didn't get a single one," I said.

David paused for a second and then let out a short laugh. That laugh wasn't because he thought it was funny. It was because he thought I was making a big deal out of nothing.

"Elizabeth, can you stop being so petty? She's Michael's wife, and Michael's not around. What's wrong with my taking care of her a little? If you want some, just crack it yourself," David said.

His words were sharp and direct. They didn't hit hard, but they landed exactly where it had already been worn thin.

I didn't say anything. He headed straight for the shower without another word. The sound of running water filled the apartment.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes drifting to David's phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a new message. The sender was saved as "Roxanna."

Only one line showed up, "About tonight... please don't be upset with Elizabeth. It was my fault..." The rest was hidden.

I picked up his phone, wanting to open it. It needed a password.

David used to set his password as my birth date—081026.

I typed it in. Wrong password.

He had changed it.

I tried his birth date—071115. Wrong password.

Then our anniversary—200618. Still wrong.

Three tries, none worked.

I set the phone back down.

The shower went quiet. David came out, wrapped in a towel. He glanced at his phone, picked it up, checked it, then set it back down. "Get some rest," he said.

He lay down and turned his back to me. Three minutes later, he rolled over, grabbed his phone, and started scrolling. The screen lit up his face.

I kept my eyes closed, but I wasn't asleep. He was on WhatsApp. I heard him mute the notifications.

He was texting with the sound off. That realization made something sink in my chest.

*****

The next day was Sunday. I planned to stay home. David left early in the morning.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Got something to handle at work," David replied.

"On a Sunday?" I pressed.

"Deadline," he said, slipping on his shoes in a hurry. "I won't be back for lunch."

The door closed behind him.

I stood on the balcony and watched his car pull out of the garage and then turn left.

The office was to the right. Turning left led toward the east side of the complex. Roxanna's place was that way.

I stood there for a long time, watching until the car disappeared. Then I started thinking back. Every moment involving Roxanna over the past three years came back, one by one.

The first year after David and I got married, we moved into an older apartment Linda owned. It was a two-bedroom unit. David said it just needed some work.

I paid for the renovation. It cost 100,000 dollars. That was everything I had saved over five years, plus the 20,000 my parents gave me for the wedding.

David said he was short on cash. His business had just started. He promised he would pay me back once things picked up. Three years later, he hadn't paid back a single cent.

The day we moved in, Linda came by, looked around, and said, "Not bad. David has good taste."

She didn't mention that I paid for everything. I didn't say anything either, since we were families.

Roxanna and Michael got married two years before us. They lived in a three-bedroom apartment that Michael bought himself. Around 1,300 square feet.

Michael worked as a project manager and was away most of the time. Roxanna handled everything at home on her own.

Linda always said, "It's not easy for Roxanna. You should help out more."

By "you," she meant David. If a light went out at Roxanna's place, David went over. If something broke, he fixed it. If she needed help moving anything, he showed up.

I once said, "Why not just call maintenance?"

David shrugged. "It's quicker if I just go. Takes five minutes."

The last time he went to fix something, he was gone for three hours.

I asked him why it took so long. He said the pipes were a mess, and it took him a while to fix them. I didn't ask any more questions.

But I remembered that when he came back that day, he smelled like laundry detergent. Not the kind we use at home.

Ours was plain and clean. This one was floral, soft and sweet. Lily always smelled the same.

*****

As I went through everything, a thought surfaced.

When did David start going over there more often?

I opened my calendar and counted.

In the past three months, he left for "work" on weekends eight times. At least three times, he turned left.

I had never questioned it before. Because Roxanna was family. I trusted him. Now, I wasn't sure anymore.