Chapter 3

Henry opened the chat window. The last thing I sent him was yesterday afternoon: [Are you free tonight? I need to talk to you about something important.]

He never replied. And he didn't call me now. He stared at my message for a couple of seconds and then slipped his phone back into his pocket.

From inside, Claire called out to him.

He spun around right away, not pausing for a moment.

I followed him back into the ER.

Susan was going through my things: a beat-up canvas bag, a set of keys, a blood-soaked half-page copy of my acceptance letter, and a phone with a shattered screen that still glowed faintly. My work badge wasn't there.

"No ID on the victim," Susan said, packing everything into a clear evidence bag. "Traffic said there's more stuff scattered at the crash site. They'll send it over once they're done."

Henry glanced over but didn't really look at them.

Then Susan picked up my jacket. A few pale yellow animal hairs were stuck to the collar. "Must have a pet," she murmured.

Henry paused. I was always covered in pet hair. That was his biggest complaint about me. He'd always said the hospital was full of germs, and I'd come home covered in cat and dog fur no matter what. It drove him crazy.

So I started changing my clothes at the hospital every night before going home. I'd run a lint roller over my body three times, head to toe, to get rid of every strand.

But last night, I was in such a rush that I probably still had some fur from that puppy with the broken leg on my clothes.

Henry turned his head. For the first time, his gaze finally settled on the clear bag with my stuff.

I couldn't help but hold my breath. Would he remember me? Would that jacket look familiar to him?

As he was about to step closer, Claire suddenly let out a sharp cry from her hospital bed.

"No," she cried out, her eyes locked onto my jacket in the bag. "Take it away. Now!"

Henry rushed back to her side. "What's wrong?"

Claire gripped his hand tightly, her eyes locked on my jacket, her lips quivering. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but I caught every word. "That jacket... It's Em—" She stopped herself mid-sentence.

Henry frowned. "What?"

Claire glanced at me, covered by the white sheet.

After a few seconds, as if she'd finally made up her mind, she quickly looked away. "It's nothing. I must have been mistaken."

"Mistaken?" Henry followed her gaze.

In the clear evidence bag, the off-white jacket was so soaked in blood that its original color was unrecognizable. Only a small patch of clean fabric remained at the cuff.

Claire closed her eyes and said, "I remember Emily has a jacket exactly like this one."

"Just looks like it?" Henry asked, his tone calm, almost soothing.

Claire paused for a couple of seconds and then nodded softly. "Her clothes were always simple. Maybe I got it wrong."

I looked down at my jacket.

Henry had seen this jacket before. Last month, at the hospital's anniversary event, he suddenly told me I had to show up as his family. I didn't have time to buy a dress, so I ended up wearing this jacket instead.

Claire was there that night, too. She wore a dark green gown and spent the whole evening on Henry's arm, mingling with everyone.

When people asked who I was, Henry hesitated for a moment before saying I was family. He never once called me his wife.

When they took the group photo, I ended up all the way at the edge. And Claire stood right next to Henry. She definitely remembered that jacket.

She didn't get it wrong at all. Clearly, she'd stopped herself from saying my name.