Chapter 2
The sound of water faded away completely. The bathroom door lock clicked quietly.
I looked up.
Anthony walked out, rubbing his hair with a towel, droplets falling from the tips and soaking into his cotton pajamas, darkening the fabric on his shoulders.
He looked relaxed after his shower, and when he saw me, his eyes instinctively searched the room, finally landing on the air conditioner remote on the TV stand.
"Honey, is the AC set too low? I'm feeling a bit chilly." His words cut off abruptly.
His gaze locked onto my hand, onto the phone I was holding, the one that belonged to him.
And then it landed on the screen, still showing the bank app, with rows and rows of transactions all marked with Jennie's name.
The color drained from his face in a heartbeat, so fast it was almost unreal.
Even his lips lost all color, slightly parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Only in those eyes, always so mild, almost excessively tender, did a sudden storm surge, fear, panic, the shame of having been exposed, and a hint of pleading.
Time seemed to stretch out, thick and heavy, refusing to move forward.
The air felt like it had turned to heavy plaster, pressing down on my chest and making it hard to breathe.
The cedar scent still lingered in the air, but now it reeked of something rotten beneath the surface.
I could even hear my blood rushing through my temples, thundering in my ears.
I turned the phone toward him, letting all those endless transfers and the cold hospital notice about the surgery he'd arranged for another woman be laid bare before his eyes. Nothing left to shield him from the truth.
My voice was eerily calm, so calm it felt like it wasn't mine, like it was coming from somewhere far, far away.
"The hospital called. It's about the evaluation for your kidney transplant." I paused, my finger sliding across the screen, locking the bank statement right there for him to see.
I continued, "All this money. Every month, like clockwork, you've been sending it to Jennie. From before we got married, right up to now, this very moment."
I looked up, meeting Anthony's eyes. His pupils trembled, wide with shock. I let every word hit him hard. "Anthony, explain."
He swayed slightly, barely noticeable, and grabbed the back of the sofa to steady himself.
Water dripped from his wet hair, sliding down his pale cheeks like a panicked trail of tears. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his lips moving several times.
The lingering steam from the bathroom drifted over, carrying his familiar scent, which now made me feel sick.
The room was warm as spring, but I felt like my whole body was plunged into an ice cave, so cold my teeth wanted to chatter.
Seconds dragged by, each one feeling like an eternity.
Finally, he managed to speak, his voice rough, dry, and completely shattered. "She's sick. End-stage kidney failure. She needs a transplant. Otherwise, she won't have much time left."
His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine, staring into some space as if he could see Jennie's pitiful, heartbroken face reflected there.
"That money is for her medical bills, to keep her dialysis going. After the divorce, she's been struggling. Her health fell apart, and she has no income. I couldn't stand by and watch," he added.
What a convenient excuse. Such profound loyalty. A hopeless nice guy, clinging to old feelings, too soft-hearted to let someone die.
As I listened, I suddenly wanted to laugh.
And then I really did. My laugh was soft, but in the dead silence of the living room, it rang out, sharp and almost harsh.
"Oh, she's sick," I repeated, the smile still lingering on my lips, but my eyes were cold and empty, like a wasteland.
"So you're going to give her your kidney? Anthony, who are you to her, huh? Her ex-husband? The guy she cheated on and kicked out?" I asked.
He jerked his head up, his face turning paler, like my words had slapped him hard. Pain and humiliation flashed in his eyes. "Zora, don't say that.
"Maybe back then, it was my fault. Maybe I didn't take care of her, and that's why she—"
"You didn't take care of her?" I cut him off, my smile dropping away, leaving nothing but biting sarcasm and a chill in my voice.
"So that's why she jumped into another man's bed? Anthony, do you need me to remind you how you walked into your bedroom, still with that just-married vibe, and caught her hooking up with your so-called best friend on the sheets you paid for?
"Do you need me to remind you how you stood there like an idiot in the doorway, your keys dropping to the floor, couldn't even get a word out, and in the end walked away, eyes red with tears?" I reminded.
He ever told me those details once after we got married, when he was drunk, holding onto me, crying and spilling the story in bits and pieces.
I used to feel so bad for him, thinking he'd been hurt so much. I swore I'd give him a warm home and make everything right for him.
Turns out, the joke was on me.
What he couldn't let go of wasn't the humiliation of being cheated on, but the guilt that he didn't take care of her. Or was it that he'd never really moved on, still hung up on that woman after all this time?
His breathing got heavy, his chest rising and falling as I tore open those old wounds, leaving them raw and bleeding.