Chapter 3
I looked down and realized my nails had dug deep into my skin without me noticing. Blood beaded up, turning the web of my hand red.
"You're bleeding," Stefan said.
"It's nothing," I replied, grabbing a tissue and wiped my hand carelessly. "Compared to the wound from having my kidney cut out, this is nothing."
He fell silent.
I stood up and took out twenty-three hardcover notebooks from my desk drawer.
I stacked them neatly on the desk.
"What's this?" he asked.
"My diaries," I replied. "I've written in them every day, ever since we got married."
The cover of the top notebook had a silhouette from our wedding photo. I was wearing a wedding dress, he was in a tuxedo, and we were both smiling.
"On the last page of every notebook, I wrote the same sentence," I told him.
I opened the latest one and showed it to him.
In my neat handwriting, it said: [I miss him today too.]
"Twenty-three notebooks, twenty-three times," I said, closing the notebook. "But the last sentence in the last diary is different."
"What does it say?" Stefan asked.
"I wrote: [I won't miss him anymore tomorrow]" I said with a smile. "Because tomorrow, I'll be gone."
His eyes narrowed.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Someplace where you aren't," I replied, pulling my suitcase with me. "Goodbye, Stefan."
When I got to the door, I glanced back one last time.
He was still standing there, staring at the stack of diaries, his back stiff.
"Oh, and one more thing," I said. "I've installed tiny cameras in every nook and cranny of this villa. They're all connected to my cloud account."
He spun around at once. "What did you say?" he asked.
I pulled the door open, letting sunlight flood in. "I'll be watching you live alone in this empty house, eating, sleeping, or just staring into space.
"Let's see how long it takes for you to go crazy."
I closed the door.
*****
Five years later, at Mercyview Hospital, I stood waiting for the elevator, clutching my medical records and double-checking today's consultation list.
My high heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor.
The elevator doors slid open.
I stepped inside and pressed the button for my floor.
As the doors were about to close, a hand reached in and blocked the sensor.
The doors slid open again.
Two people stepped inside.
The man wore a tailored suit, and the woman had her arm linked with his, her belly hinting at pregnancy.
The air turned heavy.
I slowly lifted my head and locked eyes with Stefan.
Five years had passed, and he looked leaner. His jawline was sharper, his eyes seemed deeper-set. But those eyes were still the same as before, always watching with that habitual, assessing look.
His gaze drifted to the left side of my abdomen.
Hidden beneath my shirt was a scar, six inches long.
It looked like an ugly centipede, forever crawling across my skin.
Stefan swallowed hard.
He parted his lips, but nothing came out.
"Ms. Landers?" Rachel was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's been so long. Are you... are you alright?"
I turned to her and flashed a professional smile.
"I'm fantastic. Thanks to your generosity, I'm down a kidney and a couple hundred grams. I run faster now," I said.
Her smile froze on her face.
Stefan finally found his voice. "You work here?"
"What else?" I shot back. "Mr. Clifford, do you really think all divorced women fall to pieces and spends her days sobbing at home?"
The air in the elevator turned frigid.
He reached out, as if to touch my shoulder.
On reflex, I stepped back, my spine hitting the cold metal wall. The chill seeped through my shirt, biting into my skin.
The cold felt safer than his touch ever did.
"Don't touch me," I said.
His hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly pulled it back.
The numbers on the elevator panel ticked up, and we were almost at my floor.
"Oh, and by the way," I said, turning to Stefan with a smile as the doors slid open. "Last time I saw your son, I noticed he's got a mole by his eye, just like you. What a coincidence."
The doors slid open.
I stepped out, my white coat swishing behind me with a crisp, confident arc.
Behind me, Rachel's voice came rushing. "Stefan, please, let me explain—"
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off everything else.
I made my way to the end of the hall and opened a window.
I took a deep breath.
The air carried the sharp scent of disinfectant, along with the freshness of early summer greenery.
My phone buzzed with a new message.
It was from the private investigator.
It wrote: [It's confirmed. Rachel's son has only a 0.01% chance of being Stefan's biological child. The original report is on its way to your office.]
I deleted the message and gazed out the window.
The sky was so blue.
*****
A month later, I came home to find someone standing outside my apartment door.
It was Stefan.