Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Michael froze for a second.
The phone screen was still lit up.
"She's all alone here, no family, no friends," he instinctively explained.
I nodded and handed him his jacket.
"Go ahead," I said.
He didn't take it.
I added, "She's got a stomachache. If you don't go, she'll be hurting all night. But if you go, at least I can stop pretending to be asleep."
His face changed.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
I smiled. "I mean, I know you sneak downstairs every night at 11:30, come back at 12:30, always shower twice, and your clothes reek of disinfectant. I notice everything."
His hand froze mid-air.
Another message appeared on the screen.
She texted, [Are you busy? It's fine, I can handle it myself.]
I read it out loud for him.
When I finished reading, I looked at him.
"She's really something. Even when she needs you, she asks so politely," I said.
He finally took the jacket.
Before heading out, he turned back to look at me.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just taking care of her," he said.
I said, "I'm not overthinking it.
"I'm starting to let it go."
The moment the door closed, I turned on the bedside lamp.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed and shot a text to Emily on his phone.
I texted, [He's on his way down. Make sure to savor the pain. Don't let tonight's performance go to waste.]
Three seconds later, the typing bubble popped up.
Then it disappeared.
No reply ever came. I put the phone back and lay down to sleep.
That night, Michael didn't come back until 2 a.m.
His footsteps were light as a feather, like he was afraid of waking me up or maybe scared of facing his own guilt.
He stood at my bedside, watching me for a long time.
I kept my eyes shut.
Thinking I was asleep, he reached out, his hand hovering, about to brush my cheek.
I rolled over.
His hand found nothing but air.
The next morning, for the first time ever, he made me breakfast.
The fried eggs were burnt around the edges, and when he poured the milk, some splashed onto the table.
He slid the plate in front of me.
"She really did have a stomachache last night," he said.
I took a bite of bread.
"Alright," I replied.
"I'm not lying to you," he said.
"I know."
The way I replied was really starting to get on his nerves.
"Can you stop being so mean?" he snapped.
I looked up. "So how am I supposed to act?"
He didn't say a word.
I spoke for him.
"I guess I should be more understanding, more considerate, more easygoing. Maybe I should be like her and never ask for anything, be grateful whenever you stay with me," I said.
He frowned.
"Why do you have to make it sound so harsh?" he said.
I set my cup down.
"Harsh? When she says it, you think it's sweet, don't you?" I spoke.
He was left speechless.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
I got up to answer it.
A woman was standing outside.
She was dressed in a white dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her face very pale, and she was holding an insulated lunchbox.
When she saw me, she paused for a moment, then gave me a gentle smile.
"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Reed," she said.
She called me Mrs. Reed like it was the most natural thing in the world, all sweet and innocent.
Like she hadn't been the one texting my husband at midnight, asking him to come down and keep her company.
I stepped aside.
"Come on in," I said. She clearly hadn't expected me to let her in.
Her eyes darted around the room, taking everything in.
When she spotted the burnt fried eggs on the table, her smile faltered for a split second.
"I made some soup. Since he was up so late taking care of me last night, I figured he might be a little worn out this morning," she said.
She placed the insulated lunch box on the table.
"Hope you don't mind, I whipped it up and didn't mean anything by it," she added.
I stared at the soup, then shot a look at him.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway, and for the first time ever, he actually looked nervous.
"Why did you come up here?" he asked.
She lowered her head.
"Should I not have come?" she whispered.
With that one line, she made herself look like the victim.
And suddenly, we were the bad guys.
Back then, I probably would've put up with it.
I'd pour her a glass of water, say it was no big deal, and do my best to keep the peace.
But that day, I didn't feel like playing along anymore.