Chapter 2

By the time I got back to the hospital, it was already noon.

Michael still hadn't woken up. I sat by his bedside, staring at his ashen face. The ventilator rose and fell with his breath.

I'd spent eleven years living with this man. For seven of those years, I truly loved him. The last four years, I was pretending. No, actually, it was six years.

From the very first time I caught a whiff of unfamiliar perfume on his shirt, this marriage was already dead. The only thing still alive was my plan.

At three in the afternoon, he woke up.

When he saw me, his eyes went blank for a few seconds, then he turned his face away.

"Olivia," he murmured.

I pretended not to hear him. "The doctor said you need to stay here for a few days because of your stomach bleeding."

He didn't say anything.

I stood up and adjusted my coat. "Get some rest."

Just as I reached the door, he suddenly called out to me. "Emily."

I turned around.

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he only managed to get out several words. "I'm sorry."

I gave a small smile. "Get some rest."

The moment the door closed, my smile vanished.

I thought, 'Sorry? It has been six years, and you think a simple sorry is enough? Michael, you think sorry can fix everything? No. Not close.'

The next day, Margaret arrived.

Linda, Michael's sister, had dragged her all the way from their hometown. She spent five hours on the train and another half hour in a taxi.

By the time she reached the ICU, she was missing a shoe.

I stood in the hallway and watched her rush to the bed and wail, "Michael, why did you do this?"

Linda stood off to the side, wiping her tears and watching me closely.

I knew that look all too well. She was waiting for me to react, to break down and apologize, "Margaret, I'm sorry for Michael."

I didn't move. I leaned against the wall, hands in my pockets.

Margaret cried for ten minutes before she finally remembered I was there. She turned to me, her eyes bloodshot. "Emily, are you made of stone? Your husband is lying here, and you haven't shed a single tear."

I stared at her. "Margaret, it's not a stomachache. He took half a bottle of sleeping pills."

The room fell silent. Margaret froze for three seconds, then her voice became shriller. "What did you say? Why would he take pills? Why would he want to die when he was fine? Was it you? Did you push him?"

"It wasn't me."

"Then who was it?"

"It was his mistress." I kept my tone flat. "The mistress he's had for six years, Olivia, was dead. She died the night before last."

Margaret's mouth opened, then closed again. Linda's hand froze in midair. The whole room went dead silent.

Margaret's lips trembled. "You're making this up," she stammered.

"Bank transfers show 480 thousand dollars over six years. Over three hundred hotel stays. Want to see? It's all on my phone." I shoved my phone toward her.

She refused to take it. She couldn't bring herself to touch it.

"Did you know the whole time?" Linda suddenly blurted out, her voice trembling.

"Yeah," I replied.

"So why didn't you ever say anything?"

"What was I supposed to say? Would any of you have helped me if I did?"

Linda went quiet.

Margaret shot to her feet and rushed right up to me. Her finger was practically jabbing at my face. "Emily, you heartless witch, waiting for my son to be in trouble so you can grab all his assets. You—"

"Margaret," I said, cutting her off. Then I said one thing. "The police are still investigating Olivia's death. Guess who they'll end up pointing the finger at?"

Margaret's finger froze in midair. Her face went ashen in an instant. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.

The only sound left in the room was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Michael kept his eyes closed. Maybe he wasn't awake yet, or maybe he didn't have the guts to face reality.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and turned to leave.

Just as I reached the door, Linda rushed after me and grabbed my arm. "Emily, what are you getting at?"

I shot her a look. "It means, don't push me."

She let go of my arm.

I walked out of the hospital, squinting as the sunlight hit me.

My phone buzzed with a text. It was from an unknown number. [We need to talk about Olivia.] The sender's name was Brian Cole.