Chapter 2

The day I was released from the hospital, I pushed open the door to find Ari lounging in the living room, dressed in casual pajamas, sipping water from a glass.

Then, Chloe emerged from the bedroom, wrapped snugly in a bath towel.

Ari caught sight of the hefty bag of meds in my hand and shrugged off my look with a careless, 'Don’t shoot me that glare! Chloe lost her keys, so she crashed here last night.'

But crashing for the night doesn’t usually involve the master bedroom, does it?

I decided not to press him, shrugging with a simple 'mhm' as I stepped inside.

Noticing my lack of reaction, Ari’s expression soured. He quickly ushered Chloe, now dressed, towards the door, muttering, 'I’ll take her downstairs.'

Left standing in the living room, my eyes inadvertently caught the glaring lace panties sprawled on the bed in the master bedroom. My fists clenched instinctively.

I drifted over to the balcony, watching Ari below as he enveloped Chloe in a tight embrace, gently kissed her forehead, and considerately opened the car door for her.

A bitter smile crept onto my lips.

Once, Ari and I shared moments just like that.

He was two years my senior, already in the workforce when I was just starting college.

Even with his late-night shifts, he’d always manage to meet me at the university for dinner.

He’d hold my hand like that, hail cabs for me, pull me into tight embraces by the roadside, swearing he couldn’t bear to part from me.

I once believed that such love would lead us to grow old together, so I turned down Oakley’s offer to study abroad, choosing to stay in the country for him.

Never did I imagine I’d end up so heartbroken.

The sound of the door handle turning snapped me back to reality. Ari walked in, scanning the untidy room, his brow furrowed.

'You’ve been back for days and haven’t bothered to clean up. It’s embarrassing having Chloe here,' he complained.

'I’ve been in the hospital,' I replied coolly.

Ari looked me up and down and scoffed, 'Stop pretending. You weren’t sick, so why were you in the hospital?'

He sauntered over to the sofa, pinched the bridge of his nose, sprawled out with his legs casually resting on the cushions, then absentmindedly ordered, 'Come over and massage my legs.'

Ari used to work late into the night, coming home complaining of soreness, prompting me to pay for lessons to learn massage techniques, just to ease his fatigue. Years of habitually catering to him made these acts seem like a given.

Yet, all of this hinges on love.

'If you need a massage, go pay someone else.'

'Ari, let’s get a divorce,' I said, feeling oddly relieved once the words were out.

Unexpectedly, Ari flew into a rage, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at me. 'What kind of tantrum are you pulling now? I’ve been flying back and forth internationally, constantly on the move. I’m tired! Can you cut me some slack?'

The wounds on my body made me slow to react, and I took the blow directly. The situation made me want to laugh.

His flights aren’t for me, nor his hustle, yet he brazenly demands my understanding? The door slammed shut behind him.

I didn’t try to stop him as I had before; instead, I quietly walked into the bedroom.