Chapter 2
Chloe remembered the day they took that photo. The photographer asked them to look into each other's eyes, but Noah just looked right past her, gazing out the window, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely.
She only found out later that it was Rachel's birthday that day.
Chloe walked over and turned the frame face down on the table.
She grabbed her phone and booked a flight for tomorrow afternoon. She just picked a random small town down south, somewhere she'd never been, and Noah had no clue about it.
After booking the ticket, she sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the test report out of her bag, unfolded it, and read it again.
Early-stage stomach cancer.
Her doctor said it was highly treatable, as long as she followed the treatment plan.
She folded the report back up and put it away. Then she opened her phone, blocked Noah on WhatsApp, deleted his number, and unfollowed him on every social media platform.
After all that, she lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The hum of the hair dryer drifted in from the living room, mingling with Rachel's soft laughter.
Chloe closed her eyes.
The next morning, Chloe was up at six.
She washed up, then changed into the outfit she'd packed the day before, a simple white T-shirt and jeans. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, fresh-faced, not a trace of makeup.
In the mirror, her complexion looked a bit sallow, with faint shadows under her eyes, but her spirit seemed steady enough.
She pulled her suitcase out of the bedroom.
The living room was quiet, and the scent of lilies had faded a bit. Noah's bedroom door was shut, with no sign of movement inside.
Chloe paused at the doorway for a moment, then opened the shoe cabinet and slipped on her sneakers.
Inside the cabinet sat a pair of red high heels she'd bought the year of their wedding. She'd only worn them once. Noah had said red was too flashy for her, so she never wore them again.
She gave the shoes a quick look, then closed the cabinet door.
The doorknob felt cold in Chloe's hand. She lingered there for a moment, then twisted it and walked out.
The door closed quietly, the sound barely audible.
Chloe sat in the taxi, watching the city blur past her window.
Her phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number.
[I've had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers. Meet me at City Hall at 2 PM.]
She stared at it for three seconds, then deleted the message and blocked the number.
The taxi driver, probably in his forties, glanced at her in the rearview mirror and asked, "Heading to the airport, miss?"
"Yeah," she replied.
"Work trip or just for fun?" he asked.
"Just for fun," Chloe answered.
The driver grinned. "Traveling alone is great. So much freedom."
Chloe smiled back, but didn't say anything.
As the plane lifted off, Chloe watched the city outside her window grow smaller and smaller. Suddenly, she thought of the first time she came here, seven years ago.
Back then, she'd just graduated from college, dragging her suitcase from her hometown to stay with her cousin. The train station was on the east side of the city, run-down and crowded with unlicensed cab drivers hustling for passengers.
Standing in the middle of the crowd, she looked at this unfamiliar city, her heart full of anticipation.
Later, she found a job at an ad agency and met Noah. He was a client, always in a dark gray suit, and when he spoke, he'd look people in the eye, polite but distant.
She started liking him because one night, after a meeting that ran late, her stomach ached from hunger, but she was too shy to say anything.
He noticed her holding her stomach, and after the meeting, handed her a cup of warm milk, saying, "You should take care of yourself."
She drank that milk slowly, savoring every sip. It tasted so sweet to her.
Later, she learned he kept milk in his car because back when Rachel was alive, her stomach was always acting up, so it just became a habit for him.
But she still ended up marrying him.
On their wedding day, she wore a white dress and held onto his arm as they walked down the long red carpet. She thought to herself, 'Seven years have gone by. Maybe that girl he loved has faded from his heart by now. Maybe, I can finally become the one he loves.'
It took her seven years to realize that some people were alive, some were gone, but the ones who died live on forever, while the living were just ghosts in their lives.
Chloe leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Winter in the south was even colder than up north, damp and bone-chilling, the kind of cold that went straight to your bones.
Chloe rented a tiny room in an urban village, just 160 square feet, with its own bathroom, for 200 dollars a month. The window faced the wall of the next building, so she had to keep the lights on even during the day. But at least it was quiet, and nobody bothered her.
She unpacked her suitcase, putting everything away piece by piece. Her clothes hung in a simple wooden wardrobe, her books were stacked by the bed to serve as a makeshift table, and her thermos sat on the windowsill.
Every morning, she'd fill it with hot water and warm her hands with it.
On the third day, she went to the hospital.
She checked in, waited for her turn, got the tests done, and picked up her meds. The doctor, a woman in her fifties, looked over her report and asked, "Do you have any family here with you?"
"No, I don't have any family," Chloe said.