Chapter 1
It was our third wedding anniversary. On the table, I had laid out four dishes and a soup.
I sat there, waiting for Edward Sterling.
On the wall, the old clock ticked steadily, its minute hand making slow, endless rounds.
Six o'clock.
Twelve o'clock.
The food went from steaming hot to lukewarm, then cold, and back to hot again.
By the last time I took the dish out of the microwave, the sauce had turned into a sticky lump, completely unrecognizable.
I called him, and the phone kept ringing.
"What is it?" Edward's voice came through, hoarse and drained from work.
I held the cold phone in my hand, glancing at the mess on the table.
"Edward, are you not coming home tonight?" I asked.
There was a brief silence on the other end, then came the clatter of keys and a woman's voice in the background.
Her voice rang out, clear and sharp, talking about some structural model, a bunch of technical jargon that went right over my head.
It was Julia Snow.
She was Edward's most trusted partner, and the one woman he could never forget.
"It's crunch time on the project. I'll be working through the night," Edward replied.
His tone was so flat; it was as if he were updating a client.
I pressed my nails deep into my palm, the pain quietly crawling up my nerves.
"Edward, today is our third wedding anniversary," I said.
On his end, the typing suddenly stopped.
For a moment, there was silence, then the typing resumed, faster and more chaotic than before.
"Claire, once the project's done, I'll surprise you at the celebration party," Edward said.
It was always about the project, the celebration party, and Julia.
My chest was so tight. I felt like I was suffocating, couldn't catch a breath, and couldn't let one out.
For three years, I had been bombarded with the same words.
Projects, meetings, Julia...
I gave up my place to study at a top art school abroad. I put down my paintbrush and threw myself into the kitchen. I learned to be the forever-gentle Mrs. Sterling standing behind him.
I always believed that everyone was warm-blooded, that even the coldest heart could be thawed if one tried hard enough.
But now I understood; ice only numbed one's hands, and when it melted, it slipped away, leaving one with nothing but empty fingers.
*****
I didn't say another word and hung up.
Without a second thought, I swept all the food and the comic portrait I had drawn for him right into the trash.
The trash bag made a dull, heavy sound.
In the drawing, I was grinning like an idiot, and Edward had a faint hint of a smile on his lips.
I spent seven days on that drawing, sneaking little smiles to myself for days, imagining the look on his face when he saw it.
Man, thinking about it now, I was such an idiot.
I snatched up my car keys and walked out. It was late at night, and I was speeding down the empty main road with no destination.
On the radio, some guy was belting out, "If you don't love me, then get lost."
Suddenly, my eyes filled with tears, and the streetlights ahead blurred into soft, yellow halos.
I couldn't remember the last time I cried.
Edward never let me cry. He always said tears were useless; only weak people bothered with them.
After that, whenever I couldn't hold it in anymore, I'd bury my face in the pillow and bite down hard, making sure not to make a sound.
Just as I was lost in thought, blinding headlights suddenly pierced through the night.
It was a runaway truck.
The world flipped upside down.
Glass exploded, showering over me. My forehead smashed into the steering wheel, and blood streamed down my face.
Pain shot through me.
It felt like my insides had been rearranged.
On pure instinct, I fumbled for my phone and dialed the number etched into my bones.
This time, Edward picked up right away.
"Claire?" Edward's voice came through.
I barely managed to squeeze out a few broken words, using up all the strength I had left. "Edward, I-I had a car crash."
It was insanely loud on his end.
I heard a champagne cork pop, then everyone started cheering like crazy.
"We did it. Edward, we won!" Julia's voice was so high-pitched with excitement.
Then came Edward.
He couldn't hide his excitement, but there was also a trace of irritation from being interrupted. "Claire, cut it out."
"I'm not making a fuss," I whispered.
"Send me your location. I'll have Mike deal with it. I can't get away right now," Edward said.
He hung up.
I gripped my phone; the screen was still lit up.
Blood dripped from my forehead, smearing the word husband on the screen, spreading into a dark red blotch.
Turned out, my life or death wasn't worth as much as a celebration party.
Turned out, my marriage was something an assistant could deal with.
Someone was banging on the car window, yelling something.
With great effort, I lifted my head. Through the spiderweb cracks in the glass, I saw a stranger's face, etched with urgent worry.
The string I had kept taut in my heart for ten years snapped with a loud pop.
I didn't make another call. Not to anyone.
I slumped in my seat, staring at the stranger outside, worried sick about me. And out of nowhere, I realized these ten years were such a joke.
Guess it was time to wrap up this farce.
Loving someone who didn't love back was like waiting for a ship in the middle of a desert.