Chapter 2
After about an hour, it was finally our turn to register.
Behind the counter sat a middle-aged lady, her face blank and her movements quick. She looked like someone who'd seen every kind of situation.
"Documents," she said, her tone all business and a little cold.
We hurriedly handed over our ID cards and the cash.
She glanced at them, then slid two Marriage License Applications. "Fill these out as shown. Write clearly, and don't make any changes."
The form was pretty simple, including basic stuff like name, gender, date of birth, and so on.
I picked up the pen and started filling it out, making sure my handwriting was neat and steady: [Emily Brooks, female, born in 1996...]
The pen scratched softly against the paper, and with every entry I filled in, I felt my nerves getting tighter.
When I reached the "Marital Status" section, I instinctively paused, then carefully wrote "Single."
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Michael sitting next to me. He was hunched over his form, filling it out seriously, totally focused.
That little bit of unease I felt faded away, and I went back to filling out the form.
Just then, Michael made a little tsk sound, looking a bit impatient.
"What's wrong?" I asked, glancing up at him, a little confused.
"This pen's out of ink," he said, shaking the fancy-looking pen in his hand. The paper had a few broken lines, nothing that looked like real writing.
He tried scribbling a couple more times, but it was still the same.
"Here, use mine," I said, handing him my pen.
He took it and tried a few strokes, but his brow stayed furrowed. "The ink's not flowing evenly. It looks sloppy. This form's going on record, so it needs to look professional."
He was always a bit picky about these little things.
I didn't say anything, thought he was being a bit too meticulous, but I didn't argue. After all, this was official paperwork.
He set the pen down and looked around as if he were searching for something. "Looks like there's a vending machine by the entrance that sells pens. I'll grab one and be right back. You finish your part first."
"Sure," I said, nodding as I watched him get up and walk away.
He made his way through the busy hall toward the entrance. I watched until his figure was lost in the crowd, then turned back to my form and kept writing.
I finished my part pretty quickly, but Michael's form was still half-empty, waiting for him to come back with a pen that writes smoothly.
Waiting was boring. The hall was filled with noisy chatter, all mixing into a dull, irritating hum that made me feel a bit on edge.
With nothing else to do, my eyes wandered over to Michael's phone, which he'd casually left on the counter.
He'd replied to a message so quickly that the screen was still glowing, stuck on his messaging app. But from where I was sitting, I couldn't see what it said.
I wasn't trying to snoop or anything. I found myself staring at the glow from his screen.
Just then, the screen lit up again, and a preview of a new message popped up at the top, clear as day.
The sender was saved as "Melissa."
The message was short, one line, but it stabbed straight into my heart like a cold needle: [Michael, don't forget to tell her today that you have a five-year-old son.]
Time seemed to freeze, like someone had hit the pause button.
It felt like my brain had been sucked out. I couldn't manage the most basic thoughts.
The noise around me faded into silence, leaving only the heavy thud of my heartbeat, pounding in my chest until my vision started to blur and darken.
I was confused. Did she know Michael?
She texted: [Don't forget to tell her today.] Who did she mean by "her"? Was it me?
She texted: [Tell her you have a five-year-old son.] A son? Five years old? Whose kid is that? Michael's?
Those words felt like hot iron pressed right against my nerves, leaving a numb yet piercing pain.
No way. Absolutely not. This had to be a joke. Or maybe did she send it to the wrong person?
Michael was an only child. His parents had government jobs in Gavena, real down-to-earth folks.
I'd met them a few times and gotten to know most of his family. I never heard of anyone named Melissa, and definitely no five-year-old kid in the picture.