Chapter 2

The third time Michael suggested Susan move in was at the dinner table that Friday night.

The first two times had occurred in my previous life, and in this life, I only allowed him to mention it once.

"The dorm the department assigned her is too far, and biking in winter isn't safe," he said.

Then, he picked up some food, his tone casual yet leaving no room for argument. "Our spare room's empty anyway. Let her stay for a while so I can supervise her thesis work more easily."

I set my fork down and looked at him. "You have other students, don't you?"

Michael paused for a moment. "The others live on campus, so it's not an issue for them."

"Then let her live on campus, too."

"Her situation is different—"

"In what way?" I cut him off. "Is it her grades, her family background, or is there something else?"

Michael's fork froze midair, and for the first time, he didn't have an immediate response.

I picked up my fork and continued eating. "At our age, having a young girl living here? People will talk. You're a professor, and your reputation matters."

My points were perfectly logical and left no room for debate.

Michael set his fork down, took a sip of his drink, and fell silent.

That night, he stayed up late. I could hear him in the study, speaking on the phone in hushed tones.

I lay on my side, watching the sliver of streetlight slip through the curtains, my mind drifting back to those early days when Michael was just a lecturer, and we had first moved into this neighborhood.

Back then, his salary barely covered our expenses. We rented a place in an old, rundown building where the water heater constantly broke down. In the winter, I had to boil water on the stove for a bath.

David was just seven, dreaded the cold, and cried every time. I'd try to soothe him while adding hot water to the tub, my hands turning red from the heat.

Michael was always next door, preparing his lessons, never stepping in to help.

I never held it against him. I genuinely thought that it was how it worked in a partnership—each of us handling our responsibilities, both moving in the same direction side by side.

But the truth was that he'd always planned to leave me behind once he reached a certain height.

He kept the light on in the study until almost midnight before finally turning it off.

I closed my eyes and felt a calmness that was so deep that it almost felt unfamiliar.

*****

Susan was really smart; I had to admit that.

Once she realized moving in wasn't an option, she switched tactics and started showering me with affection.

She visited me every few days, always bringing something—sometimes pastries, sometimes fruit. And there was even a scarf she claimed she found online, saying the color suited someone my age.

She helped me chop vegetables and wiped down the stove. She asked where I grew up and what my favorite hometown dishes were, her eyes focused as if she were noting down important details.

In my previous life, I had been deceived by those eyes for three whole years.

This time, I welcomed her in, took the gifts she brought, thanked her, chatted a bit, and made sure she felt comfortable in the living room.

As soon as she stepped out, I gathered the pastries and fruit into a bag and took them to the security guard at the front desk. "Take these; my blood sugar's too high, so I can't have anything sweet," I said.

The guy chuckled and thanked me. I dusted off my hands before heading back upstairs.

Michael had no idea what was really happening. All he noticed was Susan bringing gifts and me accepting them, so he thought everything was going his way.

I wasn't about to burst his bubble; I had more important things to deal with.

Jason pulled up the account statements from the last three years. That so-called student aid had been transferred out a total of forty-one times. When I saw the total amount, my hand trembled slightly.

It wasn't the money that upset me; it was the memory of how I used to nod in agreement and say, "Yeah, we should do our part," when Michael said, "Helping students in need is a good thing."

I'd felt happy back then, thinking he was a genuinely kind person.

Jason said, "If the recipient was always the same account, this will work strongly in your favor legally."

"I understand," I replied and then locked the copy in a small drawer of my own, keeping the key close to me.

At the same time, when my pre-marital fixed deposit matured, I quietly transferred it to a separate personal account, one that Michael had no clue existed.

I'd opened it while he was away on a business trip, and I'd never brought it up.

This money was mine, and I wasn't going to let a single penny slip away.

*****

On the day David came over for dinner, he brought his wife, Lily, and his daughter, Rosie.

Rosie was four and had just learned to say "Grandma." As soon as she walked in, she ran straight to me and hugged my legs.

I picked her up, and she tugged at my earrings, smiling her gap-toothed baby grin.

It was one of those rare moments in life that felt genuinely warm and real.

At the dinner table, David poured wine for Michael and served food to Lily. Halfway through the meal, he finally turned to me and casually asked, "Mom, how have you been lately?"

I replied, "I'm doing fine. Sleeping well, eating well."

"Dad said you've been going out alone a lot recently," he said, picking up a piece of fish. "Where do you go?"

"Just grocery shopping and taking walks." I met his gaze calmly. "Did your dad mention that to you?"

David gave an awkward little laugh. "Just making conversation. Nothing serious."

I didn't buy it at all.

In my previous life, six months before Michael brought up the divorce, he did the same thing—planting little seeds in our kids' minds with comments like, "Your mom hasn't been herself lately," or "She's been a bit emotional."

By the time the divorce agreement arrived, my kids had already labeled me as some unstable, unreasonable woman blocking their dad's happiness.

I hadn't noticed it then, but this time I did, and I had no intention of exposing him. Instead, I quietly noted it, adding it to the things I was storing away in that locked drawer.

Lily said Rosie had been having a hard time settling down at night, not used to sleeping anywhere other than home.

She glanced at me and added, "Mom, if you're not busy, why don't you come stay with us for a few days? Rosie is really attached to you."

On the surface, it seemed like a sweet request, but I could see right through it now.

"Maybe when the weather warms up," I replied. "The roads are slippery in winter, and my legs aren't what they used to be."

She let out a low "Okay," and her smile faded a bit.

Michael didn't say a word throughout and kept drinking.

I noticed that whenever he fell silent, I'd unconsciously watch his expression, hoping to catch a glimpse of regret, guilt, or at least a hint of the warmth he used to show me years ago.

But there was nothing.

He was staring out the window, and outside, there was nothing but a row of corridor lights.