Chapter 2

He didn't respond.

Eve posted another Instagram story. Nine photos this time. The living room, the study, the garden, and one of herself — no makeup, wearing a white dress, standing in front of a carved wooden door. She looked distant and untouched.

The caption read: "Thank you for being the one who stayed when everyone else walked away."

I almost laughed out loud.

That post was clearly meant for George.

"What exactly is going on between you and her right now?"

"Nothing." George looked at me. "I told you, I was just helping her."

"Then what does that post mean?"

"How should I know what she means." He was getting impatient. "Can you stop being so sensitive?"

"Sensitive."

The first time he called me sensitive was the day Eve left the country. He'd had a lot to drink that night. I asked what was wrong. He said nothing. I pressed and asked if it was about Eve. He said I was being sensitive.

The second time was when we ran into one of Eve's friends at the mall. The woman smiled and told George that Eve was back. George said he knew. On the way home, I asked when they'd been in touch. Sensitive again.

This was the third time.

I stood up from the couch and handed him his phone.

"If you want to be there for her that badly, I'll step aside."

George's head snapped up. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said." I looked at him. "You two were always supposed to be together. If she hadn't insisted on leaving, you never would have married me. Now she's back and she's struggling, and you feel guilty. I get it."

"Karen —"

"I'm tired. We can talk tomorrow."

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

My hands were shaking. Not from anger. It was because I knew I was right. The day George proposed, I asked him why he chose me. He said, "You make sense." I thought that was just how he was — not the type to say romantic things.

Now I understood. He genuinely meant it. I "made sense". Practical. Suitable.

Nothing like Eve, who had never left his mind.

My phone buzzed. A message from George.

"I only see Eve as a friend. If it bothers you, I'll cut off contact."

I didn't reply.

He sent another: "The eight hundred thousand was my mistake. Tomorrow I'll transfer it back into our joint account. Consider it a loan from me to myself."

Still nothing.

When the third message came in, I turned off my phone.

It had started raining outside at some point. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. Three years ago on our wedding day, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world.

George was good-looking, successful, and thoughtful in his own way. He promised not to keep flowers in the house because I'm allergic to pollen. He said he didn't like cats, but he helped me take care of three. He remembered everything about me.

I thought it was because he loved me.

Looking back now, maybe he was just someone who knew how to take care of people. A habit, not a feeling.

It didn't really matter who that person was.

I couldn't sleep. A little past two in the morning, I got up to get some water and found the living room light still on.

George was awake.

He was sitting on the couch, phone in hand, screen still lit. I walked closer and saw the name at the top of the screen.

Eve's messages.

The last one was from her: "George, thank you for today. When do you want to come pick up the spare key to the villa?"

Time stamp: one minute ago.

He hadn't replied yet.

I stood behind him for a long time without him noticing. Finally I spoke first. "If you want to go see her, just go. You don't have to hide it from me."

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