Chapter 3
On the shoe cabinet, there was still the scented candle William had bought me, a camellia scent, so faint I could barely smell it.
His coat was draped over the sofa.
On the dining table, there was a sticky note he'd left for me before he left.
[I'll make you beef bourguignon when I get back.]
I peeled off the note, folded it up, and set it next to the evidence bag.
Not out of sentiment. It was to remind myself that he was a pro at hiding the knife in the candy wrapper.
I checked the safe. Our marriage certificate, the house deed, the car title, and the company ownership documents were all there.
I took photos, made copies, and put everything back just as I found it.
Then I turned on the computer in the study. The password was our wedding anniversary date. As I typed it in, my stomach twisted again.
The desktop was spotless, with project folders neatly organized by year.
William was always cautious. He never left anything important lying around.
I didn't mess with anything, but plugged in my USB drive and copied all the digital contracts about our joint property, plus the investment records he'd sent me in the past.
Then I dialed a number.
After three rings, someone picked up.
"Emily? Weren't you supposed to be overseas?"
Hearing Sophia Reed's voice, my throat suddenly tightened.
She was a lawyer, my roommate from college. After graduation, she specialized in family law and corporate equity disputes.
"I'm back," I told her.
Sophia hesitated half a beat before asking, "Something happened, didn't it?"
I stared at the stack of papers on the table and kept my voice steady. "William's been cheating on me for at least five years. He has a kid with her, and he might be moving our money around."
There was a loud thud on the other end, as if she kicked her chair.
Sophia cursed, "Damn it!"
For the first time today, I felt the urge to cry.
Not because of William, but because, finally, someone cursed out loud what I wanted to scream but couldn't.
Sophia took a deep breath, holding back her anger. "Don't confront him yet, don't argue, don't sign anything, and don't clear out the house. Just make sure you keep all the evidence safe."
"I know," I replied.
She asked, "Where are you right now?"
"At home," I replied.
"I'm coming over right now," Sophia said.
After hanging up, I went into the bedroom and opened the closet.
William's clothes hung in perfect rows, shirts crisp and ironed, each suit protected by its own dust bag.
I let my fingers brush over the cuffs.
One of his dark gray overcoats was missing a button.
In Grace's post from yesterday, the man's coat was draped over the back of a chair, and sure enough, the cuff was missing a button, just like William's.
I zoomed in on the photo, took a screenshot, and saved it.
At 6:30 PM, the door lock clicked.
I was in the kitchen, stirring creamy vegetable soup. Grains and vegetables bubbled inside the pot, steam fogging the glass lid.
When William pushed the door open, he smelled of rain.
When he saw me, he stopped in his tracks.
"Why are you back already?" he asked.
I turned down the heat and turned to face him.
He was wearing that dark gray overcoat, his hair still damp, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
He probably flew back overnight. Or maybe he hurried over from Grace's, trying to cover his tracks.
I set the spoon down, and it clinked against the bowl.
"The hotel's heating broke, and I wasn't feeling well, so I came back," I said.
William looked me over, searching my face for something. He moved in, wanting to hug me.
I tried to step back, but my heel hit the cabinet.
He wrapped his arms around me, his chest pressing against my shoulder.
"Why didn't you wait for me? You scared me," he said.
His voice was still the same, low, steady, with that familiar mix of reproach and affection.
I caught a whiff of cedar-scented cologne on his collar. It wasn't mine.
I lifted my hand and patted his back lightly. "Weren't you busy?"
He froze for a second, then let go of me right away. "I wrapped things up and switched my flight last minute," he said.
I looked at him and managed a smile. "Bet you're exhausted."
He stared at me, searching my face for any sign I might crack.
I served the soup and set it on the table. "Have some," I said.
William sat down and picked up the spoon. He scooped up a spoonful, but didn't put it in his mouth. "Emily, are you upset?" he asked.
I pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, facing him directly. "No."
"I'll make it up to you for the trip we missed," William said.
"Okay," I replied.
"We'll go next month," William said.
"Okay."
His fingers tightened around the spoon, and the crescent-shaped scar on his hand looked even paler under the light.
I stared at that scar, and suddenly, memories from seven years ago came rushing back.
Back then, we weren't even married. I was arranging my pieces for the show in the exhibition hall when the glass divider just exploded out of nowhere.
He dashed over, grabbed me, and shielded me with his body. Shards of glass sliced open his hand, blood running down his wrist in thin streams.
Even though his forehead was slick with sweat from the pain, he still forced a grin and said, "Were you scared?"
Back then, I really believed that if someone was willing to take a hit for you, they'd never stab you in the back with a lie.
Now I knew people would change, and even the knife that once shielded me could end up cutting me instead.
The doorbell rang.