Chapter 1

Jeremy was a total clean freak. Whenever I touched his shirt, he'd spray disinfectant three times over.

He said it was some kind of mental quirk, so we'd been living like a sexless married couple for three years.

On the Carnival day, I made donuts and waited for him to come home.

But he walked in with a young woman, holding her waist gently like she was made of glass.

The girl suddenly felt queasy and threw up all over his favorite custom-tailored suit.

Normally, Jeremy would flip his lid over a single stray hair on his clothes. But right then, his eyes were filled with nothing but tenderness for her.

Instead of pushing her away, he softly wiped the mess from the corner of her mouth with his sleeve. "This is Sophie. She's pregnant and can't stand any cooking fumes."

He turned to me, talking to me like I was some hired help. "Fix her sour cream pasta. She's hungry."

I stood there in the shadows and spoke quietly. "What about me? I went to get my medical test results today, and—"

He cut me off, sounding fed up. "You're perfectly healthy. Missing one meal won't starve you."

I let out a bitter laugh and headed quietly to the kitchen. I didn't bother telling him I was dying.

Steam curled up from the pot.

I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Swonica.

Jeremy, this time, I'd leave you for good.

*****

The water boiled, bubbling away loudly.

I grabbed the pasta from the cabinet and tossed it into the pot.

Sophie's soft, sweet voice drifted in from outside, sounding a little apologetic. "Jeremy, your suit is messed up. Why don't you throw it away?"

"It's fine." Jeremy's tone was gentle, a side of him I'd never heard before. "It's only a piece of clothing. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters."

My hand holding the fork gave a slight tremble.

Last time I accidentally splashed water on his sleeve, he'd taken the jacket off right away, dumped it in the trash, and made me wash my hands ten times over.

Now the suit was covered in vomit, yet he acted like it was nothing.

It turned out that he only acted like a clean freak for certain people.

I picked up the plate and walked out of the kitchen.

Jeremy had taken off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

He was in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, pouring water for Sophie.

He frowned the second he saw me. "What took you so long?"

"Boiling water takes time." I set the plate down on the table.

Sophie glanced at the pasta, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, Elaine. It smells amazing."

She picked up her fork, twirled up a strand of pasta, and took a bite.

"Be careful. It's hot," Jeremy warned her.

My stomach was growling, and a sharp burning pain flared up.

The doctor said this was a normal symptom of late-stage stomach cancer.

I headed back to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of oatmeal.

I'd barely sat down when Jeremy's eyes landed on me. "What are you eating?"

"Oatmeal," I replied.

"It looks so cheap and plain." He turned his nose up in disgust. "Stop moping like that. You'll ruin Sophie's appetite."

I kept my head down and sipped the oatmeal.

It was hot as it slid down my throat, easing the sharp stomach ache a little.

Sophie was enjoying her meal, with some sauce smudged on the corner of her mouth.

Jeremy grabbed a napkin and wiped it off for her without a second thought.

His move was so smooth, like he'd done it a hundred times.

I watched them, and my oatmeal suddenly turned tasteless.

I once wished he'd wipe my mouth for me.

It was our first year of marriage, and we went out for fancy food.

I had sauce smudged on the corner of my lips. I was about to ask him to wipe it off, but he handed me a mirror instead.

"Wipe it yourself. You look messy," said Jeremy.

Back then, I thought he was a total clean freak.

Now I knew that he had only thought I was gross all along.

Sophie finished eating and set down her fork.

"Full?" Jeremy asked.

"Yep, my little one's full, too." Sophie rubbed her belly, looking utterly content.

Jeremy stared at her belly, his eyes softer than I'd ever seen them.

"Go rest." Jeremy stood up and steadied Sophie. "You'll take the master bedroom tonight."

I snapped my head up.

The master bedroom was Jeremy's private space.

Even I had to sanitize myself head to toe and change into special pajamas to step inside.

But now Sophie was about to walk in with her dirty clothes from outside.

"Jeremy," I called out to stop him.

He paused and shot me an annoyed look.

"The master bedroom hasn't been disinfected yet," I continued.

"No need," he said flatly. "Sophie's pregnant. She can't stand the smell of disinfectant."

"But—"

"Elaine." He cut me off, his tone icy. "I make the rules here. If you've got a problem with it, go sleep in the guest room."

With that, he led Sophie into the bedroom.

The door clicked shut, and it blocked my view.

I sat there at the dining table, staring at my half-finished oatmeal.

The pain in my stomach kept getting worse.

I pulled a pill bottle out of my pocket, tipped out two painkillers, and swallowed them dry.

A bitter taste spread through my mouth.

I stood up and started clearing the table.

Jeremy came out of the master bedroom and saw me tidying up.

He walked over, pulled a credit card out of his wallet, and tossed it on the table. "Take this for your trouble."

He didn't glance at me but demanded, "Take Sophie out tomorrow to buy baby stuff. You've got decent taste."

I picked up the card and slipped it into my pocket. "Alright, Mr. Wilson."

That distant way I addressed him caught him off guard for a second.

He turned around and looked me up and down. "What did you call me?"

"Mr. Wilson." I gave a faint smile. "What's wrong with that?"

He narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to read something on my face.

But I stood there calmly, showing no emotion.

At that moment, I suddenly felt a huge weight lift off me.

I'd made up my mind to leave three days later.

"Suit yourself." He let out a cold huff and turned toward the study. "Don't think putting on an act will make me care about you more."

The second the study door closed, the smile dropped off my face.

I took out my phone and checked my flight details.

It was a one-way ticket bound for Zaville, and I still had 72 hours left until boarding time.