Chapter 3
On the third afternoon, Hannah came straight to my office.
She was dressed in a light gold suit. As soon as she walked in, she took off her sunglasses and set them on my desk.
"I seriously want to see if Chris has lost his mind," Hannah said.
I looked up and smiled. "Have a seat. What would you like to drink?"
"Give me whatever's the priciest thing you've got," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "I'm mad enough today to justify it."
I slid the coffee over to her.
"Spill it," I said.
Hannah unlocked her phone and handed it to me.
"Vivian doesn't avoid posting on her feed. She only shares with certain people," Hannah said.
A whole page of posts showed up on the screen.
The first was a slice of Black Forest cake, with a half-finished cup of coffee beside it.
The caption read, [Couldn't resist today.]
There was only one comment below. [Stomach's just fine, eat less sweets.]
No name, no emojis, no extra words.
But as I stared at those words, my fingers hesitated.
Chris used to hate sweets when he was younger. He only started eating them because of me. He never cared about what anyone else ate, except me.
I had a weak stomach and always forgot to eat when I got busy. Back then, Chris would practically hover over me, bossing me around like a drill sergeant, making sure I ate.
One time, I got so annoyed with his nagging that I asked, "Do you treat everyone like this?"
He stood there, his ears turning red, before finally mumbling, "Why should I care about anyone else?"
I looked back at the phone and kept scrolling.
The second post was a narrow, old alley at night.
Half the lights were out, and there was water on the ground.
The caption read, [Another night stumbling around in the dark.]
Only five words made up the comment: [Next time, wait for me.]
I didn't say anything.
Hannah sat across from me, quiet for a few seconds before she grumbled, "If you still call this a normal boss-employee relationship, nothing makes sense anymore."
I set the phone down, picked up my coffee, and took a sip.
The coffee was a bit hot, but the heat chased away the chill in my throat.
"Go on," I said.
Hannah shot me a look, making sure I was still holding it together, then pushed the phone back toward me.
Scrolling down, I saw snapshots of a desk, a mug of coffee, a late-night conference room, a midnight text saying [I'm home,] and then, out of nowhere, a question: [Are you in a bad mood today?]
Chris replied with nothing but a single dot.
I stared at that dot for a couple seconds, then couldn't help but laugh.
Hannah frowned. "What's so funny?"
"I was thinking, he's gotten pretty clever at slacking off these days," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"That dot isn't him brushing Vivian off," I said, setting the phone down, my voice even. "It means, 'I saw it.'"
Hannah paused, her expression darkening.
"Damn," she muttered.
I didn't say anything.
Because Hannah was right. It really was disgusting.
It wasn't anything explicit they said that made it so sickening.
It was precisely that nothing was ever said outright.
A piece of cake, a streetlight, a glass of milk, a single dot. None of them meant much on their own, but put together, they were like a thin thread, bit by bit pulling out the details of Chris's everyday life.
And all of these things were supposed to be part of my life, and mine alone.
As I pushed the phone back, Hannah pulled out two photos from her bag.
"There's more," she said.
The first photo was taken in a corner of an underground parking garage.
Chris was standing by his car, with his head lowered, listening to Vivian. He was holding a cigarette, and his expression looked troubled.
In the second photo, he'd already put out his cigarette and was reaching up to straighten her scarf.
The gesture was quick.
So quick, it seemed like he did it without even thinking.
But it was that offhand ease that hurt the most.
As I looked down at the photos, a memory from a winter long ago suddenly came back to me.
That night, I'd finished a business dinner late, and the wind outside was brutal. Chris had wrapped up a meeting and rushed over.
He looked even more exhausted than I was, but the first thing he did was take his own scarf and wrap it around my neck.
I couldn't help but laugh, teasing him for being so clumsy and making it look so awkward.
He kept his head down, rewrapping the scarf, muttering, "Even if it looks ugly, you still have to wear it."
His fingers were red from the cold back then.
But the way he fussed over me always made my heart flutter and feel warm inside.
Now, he was doing the exact same thing for Vivian.
I set the photos back on the desk.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Yeah," Hannah said, locking eyes with me. "But I'm not sure if you'll end up smashing the desk after you see it."