Chapter 2

The next morning, I took a half day off. I wasn't going to the hospital, and I wasn't going shopping. I went to the bank.

I had David's payroll card, but he also had a savings account. I'd gone with him when he opened it. He'd said it was for emergencies and that he hardly ever touched it.

With my ID and marriage license, I requested the transaction records for all the bank accounts under his name as his spouse. The teller printed everything out for me: thirteen full pages of A4 paper.

I sat on a plastic chair in the bank lobby and flipped through them one page at a time. The payroll account looked normal. Every monthly deposit and withdrawal was exactly what I expected.

But that so-called emergency account wasn't sitting idle. It was active every single month. Money was being transferred in from a business account with the note: [commission].

The amounts varied, from 4,000 dollars at the lowest to 12,700 dollars at the highest. Every month, without fail. I went back eighteen months.

A total of 159,000 dollars had been deposited.

My finger stopped on one outgoing payment. March 15th. 29,000 dollars sent out. Payee: Cartier (Local Branch). Found it.

But that wasn't the part that turned me cold. What really got me was another transfer.

October 8th last year. 70,000 dollars sent out. The recipient was a person's name: Emily Lane. Note: [home purchase payment].

I photographed all thirteen pages of the records, then folded them neatly and put them in my bag. On the way home, I stopped by the stationery store next to our complex and bought a folder.

Clear plastic, with a space on the cover for a label. I wrote three words on it: [Exhibit A].

When I got home, I locked the folder in the second drawer of my nightstand. That drawer held my passport, diploma, and marriage license. David never touched it.

He didn't care about any of that stuff. Just like he didn't care about me.

That night, he got home at eight as usual.

"Why are you home so early today?" he asked, glancing at me as he changed shoes.

"I took a half day. I had a headache," I replied.

"Take meds."

His gaze slid right off my face. Two words. That was the full extent of his concern.

"By the way," I said, bringing soup out of the kitchen, "that Ms. Lane at your company, her last name is Lane, right? She sat at your table at the annual dinner."

He was loosening his tie, and his hands didn't stop.

"Emily? She's not a manager. She's the business supervisor on our team. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought I saw someone who looked like her at the grocery store the other day. Pretty woman."

"Is that so."

He draped the tie over the back of a chair, his tone flat.

"I never really noticed."

'Never really noticed'. One-year anniversary. A Cartier bracelet worth 29,000 dollars. A card signed to Em. A payment of 70,000 dollars toward a home. 'Never really noticed.'

I smiled and set the soup on the table.

"Let's eat," I said.

*****

It took me a week to find out everything about Emily. It wasn't hard. David's company website had employee bios.

Emily, 29, Business Supervisor of Client Team Two, joined in 2021. Her photo showed a delicate-faced woman with smiling eyes, soft and gentle-looking.

Joined in 2021. That was the year David had just been promoted to sales director. He'd been in charge of training new hires.

Then I checked David's WhatsApp. He always used a passcode, but the code hadn't changed once since we started dating. Our daughter's birthday. 1027.

And yet he couldn't even remember what grade she was in this year.

There were no chat records with Emily on WhatsApp. He'd wiped them clean. But he'd missed one thing: his payment history.

I scrolled through it one line at a time. A restaurant in Sunrise District, about 230 dollars per person. He'd been there eleven times. A flower shop near Central Market, every purchase 100 dollars.

Fourteen times total. And there was a hotel too: Sunrise Inn, 130 dollars a night, twenty-three stays in total. Twenty-three times.

I took screenshots. Every single one.

Then I closed WhatsApp, locked his phone again, and put it back on his nightstand charger exactly where it'd been. Same angle. Same direction. Exactly the same.

On Saturday afternoon, David said he was going to play ball. I said okay. Fifteen minutes after he left, I left too.

That place in Sunrise District was called Crane Sushi. I wasn't following him. I was just going there to have a meal.

When I walked in, the girl at the front desk glanced at me.

"How many?"

"One," I replied.

"Right this way."

She led me to a seat by the window. The place wasn't big, with warm lighting, wooden tables and chairs, and decorative prints hanging on the wall.

I ordered salmon sashimi and a pot of sake.

Halfway through the meal, a man and a woman sat down at the table next to me. The man's voice sounded very familiar. I didn't turn around. But I heard everything.

David said, "Em, try the sea urchin."

Emily replied, "No, I don't eat raw food."

"Then should I get you grilled salmon?" David asked.

"Okay."

Her voice was soft, with that sweet little whine at the end. I kept my head down and ate my salmon. My fork stayed steady, but the sake spilled.

A small splash across the table. I wiped it with a napkin and raised my hand for the server.

"Check, please," I told the server.

When I passed their table, I didn't look. Not even once. Not because I was scared. It just wasn't time yet.

When I got home, I took off my coat and pulled out the folder from my bag. There was a new line on the label: Exhibit B.