Chapter 3

But a lie was still a lie.

Rudolph had posted on his social media feed—a close, intimate shot of the two of us in the infinity pool.

I was in a bikini, leaning against his shoulder, laughing until I shook, with the caption: "Being there is the most enduring kind of love."

My cousin saw it and screenshotted it straight into the family group chat, demanding:

"So this is the so-called cut-off business trip? Uncle's in the ICU fighting for his life, and she's off in Miami swimming with some other man?"

In that moment, every word Lee had said in my defense turned into a colossal joke.

He was standing in the hospital corridor, staring at that photo, the knuckles gripping his phone gone white.

The accusations and the sneers from the relatives around him landed on his face like slaps.

He called me for the hundred and twenty-fifth time, and got the same cold recorded message.

Fifteen days later, I came home fully content.

I pushed open the door expecting Lee to be the way he always was.

Either cooking in the kitchen, or sulking on the couch, waiting for me to coax him a little until it was fine again.

But the apartment was cold and empty, no smell of cooking, only a faint musty odor.

Lee sat on the couch, an ashtray at his feet, piled full of cigarette butts.

He had never smoked before.

He saw me come in and didn't get up, didn't speak, just looked at me with a gaze that was dead as stone.

The way he stared made my skin crawl, and to cover the guilt, I struck first:

"What are you looking at? Why is the place such a mess? Haven't you cleaned this whole half a month? Reeking of smoke, it's disgusting!"

Lee stubbed out the cigarette in his hand, his voice frighteningly hoarse:

"Take out your phone. And unblock your husband, and your parents."

He looked half-dead, and though it irritated me, I still pulled out my phone:

"Fine, I'll unblock them, what's the big deal, acting like you're interrogating a criminal."

I moved their numbers off the blocked list.

The signal had barely come back when the phone started vibrating like mad, the buzz-buzz-buzz cutting through the quiet living room.

It buzzed for two full minutes—hundreds of missed calls, hundreds of messages.

I swiped the screen open carelessly, and my fingers froze.

The missed calls were all from Lee and my mom.

And the last text Lee had sent came a week ago, just one short line:

"Dad had a sudden heart attack, he's in intensive care, the doctor's issued a critical-condition warning, come back now."

My mind went blank, and the phone hit the floor with a crack.

"This… this has to be a lie, right?

Lee, are you cursing my dad just to get me to come back? Have you got any conscience at all?"