Chapter 3
The soup on the table sloshed out of the bowl. Nadia jumped, startled, her eyes instantly welling with tears.
"I'm sorry, honey… I just… wanted us to be a little more prepared…" her voice trembled.
"If you really can't take it anymore, then quit. I'll figure something out with the money."
As I looked at her tear-filled eyes, the fire in my chest instantly died.
She had been quietly enduring everything with me, bending over backwards to support me… and here I was, snapping at her like a child. I couldn't even give her a better life, yet I was making her the outlet for my frustration. Shame washed over me.
"It's not really about the bonus or the promotion," I said with a tired sigh. "I just… I thought if I became a director, I'd finally have a real shot at chasing my dream—to design AI chips…"
"I know, babe. You've been through a lot," she said softly. "And I… I keep holding you back. I can't share your burden—I've only added to it." She wrapped her arms around me again, gently soothing me.
"…Forget it. I'll just keep going for now," I muttered after a long silence. "I won't quit—yet."
Nadia was quiet for a moment. Then she picked up her fork, reached into her bowl, and placed something into mine.
A fried egg.
"When did you stash that?" I blinked in surprise.
"It was the last one in the fridge," she said with a faint smile. "You've had a rougher day. You eat it."
I stared down at the egg. My throat tightened.
Later that night, I was woken by the sound of a text message.
Half-asleep, I opened my phone. It was from Foster.
Foster: [David, I'm so sorry… I really didn't know it would end up like this…]
I glanced over—Nadia wasn't in bed. The bathroom light was on, and I could hear her voice, low and hushed.
"Yeah… sell the bag as soon as you can… I don't care about the price, I just need the cash…"
I frowned and got up, stepping quietly toward the door. Through the small crack, I saw her standing at the sink, phone in hand, typing quickly.
On her screen was a secondhand luxury resale app. She was uploading photos—close-ups of an Hermes bag in near-new condition.
"Nadia?" I gently pushed the door open.
She quickly locked her screen and turned around, a flash of panic on her face. "You're awake?"
"You're selling a bag?" I asked, frowning. "Where'd you get a Hermes?"
"Oh… a coworker asked me to sell it for her," she said, forcing a laugh as she shut off the tap. "She needed the money but didn't want to post it herself."
"Okay." I said nothing more, just nodded and turned back toward the bedroom.
But once I got back in bed, I couldn't fall asleep.
—Just last week, she'd said her dad's diabetes had gotten worse, and they needed money for imported medication.
—A month ago, she told me her "best friend" needed help selling a Cartier watch.
—Before that, when her mom had a sudden "heart issue," I overheard her quietly borrowing money over the phone in the middle of the night…
Too many times.
Why does someone around her always urgently need money?
Why is it always something expensive?
Why…
Thursday night. I was working late, going over details of our new R&D proposal, when my old college friend Florine Barrett called.
"David!" she said cheerfully.
"Remember that tech industry mixer I mentioned? It's tomorrow night. You can bring a plus-one—any chance you've made up your mind? Come with me?"
"I can't. I've got a proposal to revise tomorrow. Still swamped. Ask someone else," I replied.
"Oh, come on! I don't want to go with anyone else. It's my last event in the country before I leave. Don't you want to see me one last time?"
"Please? Just this once, for old times' sake," she added.
"Florine, I'm married. It really wouldn't be appropriate." I hung up.