Chapter 1
My husband Peter Thomas's phone began to ring, but it was not the one he always carried.
The sound rose from beneath the bed.
I knelt, peered through the gap between the frame and the carpet, and saw an old iPhone pulsing in the dark.
The screen showed one word: Honey, and a small heart.
I stared for five seconds, then remembered that on his usual phone, my name was simply my name, with no heart.
I did not touch the phone.
The ringtone kept ringing for ages before it finally stopped on its own.
I straightened up and watched Peter, who was busy brushing his teeth in the bathroom.
When he finished, he toweled off his face and came out. Spotting me by the bed, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I replied.
He just went, "Oh," grabbed his usual phone from the coffee table, and started scrolling through short videos.
I looked at him from the side.
After ten years together, I could draw his face in my sleep: thick eyebrows, a broad nose, and that perpetually downturned mouth that made him look like everyone owed him money.
Ten years.
I'd been married to him for ten years.
"I'm heading out to grab some groceries," I said, pulling on my coat.
"Okay," he replied, not even glancing up.
Instead of going to the market, I ended up sitting on a bench outside the building.
That caller ID kept replaying in my head: Honey and a small heart.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my chat history with Peter.
The last message was from three days ago. I had texted: [What's for dinner tonight?]
He replied: [Anything.]
The one before that, from a week ago. I had texted: [Are we taking Jack to the park this weekend?]
He replied: [Let's see.]
Our chat history was so sparse, just a quick swipe and I'd reached the top.
Barely anything there.
I remembered what my mom always said, "Peter might not talk much, but he's reliable."
Yeah, reliable.
Ten years together, and he didn't buy me any flowers.
Every time I said I wanted some, he'd just shrug and go, "They'll wilt in a few days. What's the point?"
Ten years, and he never spent an anniversary with me. Not even once.
Whenever I said I wanted to eat out, he'd grumble, "Eating out costs a fortune. Totally not worth it."
Ten years, and the most expensive thing he ever bought me was a hairpin, which cost him 20 bucks.
That was on my birthday, and I spotted it myself at the night market. He reluctantly paid for it.
He grumbled, "This is it? It is kinda pricey."
I always chalked it up to him just being thrifty.
My mom always said, "Peter doesn't earn much, so you two have to make do."
But did he really not earn much?
He worked as a project supervisor, bringing home about 4 thousand a month.
We rented a two-bedroom apartment for 1 thousand a month.
Our son, Jack Thomas, went to a regular public elementary school, and tuition was basically free.
I worked at a small company as an admin, making 2 thousand a month.
Together, our combined income was 6 thousand a month.
After ten years, one'd think we would've saved up quite a bit by now.
But our savings never even hit 30 thousand.
"Where does all our money go?" I'd asked him before.
He just shrugged and said, "Just daily stuff. You spend money, too, don't you?"
What did I even spend it on?
I used drugstore skincare products that cost a few bucks, bought clothes online that were always on sale, and for lunch, I just grabbed a cheap boxed meal from downstairs at work.
Where did all the money go? I didn't know back then. But now, I kind of knew.
I sat on that bench for half an hour before finally getting up and heading home.
When I opened the door, Peter was already gone for work.
The house was empty.
Jack was at school and wouldn't be back until four in the afternoon.
I walked into the bedroom and crouched down to peek under the bed.
The phone was still there.
I reached in and pulled it out.
It was an old iPhone, a different model from the one Peter used now.
I tried his birthday. Nope, locked.
Then my own birthday. Still nothing.
Even our wedding anniversary. No luck.
I stared at the screen, thought for a second, and typed in 111111.
Unlocked.
My hands started to shake.
It wasn't his birthday, not mine, and definitely not any of our anniversaries.
He didn't even bother coming up with a meaningful password.
Because this phone had nothing to do with me.
I checked his phone.
His profile picture was a generic landscape, classic.
The contact name was just "Peter."
The list was short, barely a dozen people.
But one contact was pinned at the top. It was saved simply as "Wife."
I tapped on it.
The latest message was from 7:15 this morning.
Right when Peter was brushing his teeth at home.