Chapter 2
One night, Marvin handed me some papers, saying they were for a company share transfer, and told me to sign them to protect my assets. I was half-asleep and didn't even look at the details before signing.
It turned out that it wasn't about shares at all. It was actually divorce papers.
By the time I walked out of city hall, it was already dark.
My phone screen lit up with a message from Marvin.
Marvin texted: [Happy birthday, honey. Come home early. I got your favorite cake.]
Today was my birthday.
Before I left this morning, I was wondering if, after seven years of marriage, he'd have a surprise for me.
Well, he definitely had a surprise.
I sat on a bench by the river, and the breeze had my hair all over the place. My phone kept buzzing. Marvin kept calling me.
Third. Fifth. Eighth.
By the eighth call, night had completely fallen. The lights on the river scattered like broken glass.
I stood up, flagged down a cab, and gave the driver my home address.
When I opened the door, the living room was bathed in warm yellow light. The dining table was set with a spread of dishes, and in the center was a cream cake with a single candle.
Marvin poked his head out from the kitchen, still wearing his apron, a smile on his face. "What took you so long? The food's cold. I'll warm it up."
I looked at his face.
That face had been with me for seven years, next to my pillow, across the dinner table, and every night I believed it was constant and real.
Marvin walked over and reached for my hand. "Come on, sit down. Make a wish and blow out the candle."
I didn't move.
His hand wrapped around mine, warm, just like every single day.
He asked, "Joyce? What's wrong?"
I took our marriage certificate out of my bag and placed it next to the cake.
Marvin's smile stiffened on his face.
He stared at the certificate, and his smile fell apart bit by bit.
He didn't reach for it. He stood there, apron stained with grease, his fingers curling up.
The silence hung in the air for about ten seconds.
Then Marvin let out a weak smile, walked over, closed the certificate, and set it on the sideboard like it was just another piece of junk mail.
He said, "Let's eat. The food's getting cold."
He pulled out a chair and sat down, ladled me a bowl of soup, his voice as calm as ever, as if nothing had happened.
I called out, "Marvin."
He asked, "What is it?"
I replied, "Mabel is the one you're legally married to."
His hand paused as he was ladling soup, then he kept going. "Let me explain, it's not as bad as it seems. Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. Mabel is pregnant.
"That apartment is way too big for her, and she's scared of the dark. She can't sleep at night. I was thinking she could move in for a while. You two can keep each other company."
Did I really hear that?
What was he even talking about?
Mabel. He actually wanted Mabel to move in with us.
Mabel laughed at my mom's funeral and said she should've died ages ago. She was the one who lost my mom's ashes. Now she was Marvin's legal wife.
He wanted her to move in, to live here with me under the same roof.
I didn't say a word. I got up, walked to the foyer, and pulled out a stack of folded sketches from my bag. I laid them out one by one across the dining table, pushing the plates aside and spilling the soup.
These were the pieces I'd taken down from the walls of my studio. Sketches, watercolors, oil pastels, every medium. And every single one was of the same person, Mabel.
Some were profiles, her hair draped over her shoulders, eyes brimming with allure. Others were full-body portraits, her in a strappy dress, lounging with lazy elegance. One showed her smiling with her eyes closed, the curve of her lips traced again and again, the paper nearly worn thin.
Seventeen in all. I counted.
Marvin's face went pale the moment he saw the drawings.
He shot up from his seat, snatching the sketches. "You went into the studio? Who let you in?"
His hands shook as he clutched the drawings, crumpling a few. He quickly let go, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles like he was touching some kind of treasure.
I watched his movements, and icy waves kept washing over my chest.
Had he ever handled me with this kind of delicate care in the past seven years?
"When did it start between you two?" I demanded.
Marvin hid the drawings behind his back, avoiding my gaze. "Joyce, calm down—"
I cut him off. "When?"
He stayed silent for so long that the timer on the stove went off twice.
He said, "Three years ago. The day your mom died."
It felt like my head was suddenly plunged underwater. Every sound faded, distant and muffled.
Three years ago, the night my mom was rushed to the ICU after a car accident. The operating room lights stayed on for six hours. When the doctor finally came out, he said she was out of immediate danger, but her condition was still critical.