Chapter 3

No replies for five days?

Even if she was that busy, did she not even have time to use the bathroom?

I hadn’t thought it through back then.

Now, looking back, everything was wrong.

When I reached the entrance of our neighborhood, I stopped and looked up at our building.

Sixth floor, east side unit, the lights were on.

She was home.

I took a deep breath, pulled the voice recorder out of my bag, and switched it on.

The red indicator light flashed once and started recording.

I put it in my pocket, zipped it up, and headed home.

My legs felt weak as I went upstairs, and every step felt unsteady.

Six floors took me almost ten minutes.

When I stood at the door, I took out my key, slipped it into the lock, turned it twice, and opened the door.

The smell of food hit me right away.

The dining table in the living room was covered with dishes.

Braised fish, sweet and sour ribs, steamed sea bass, garlic broccoli, and corn-and-rib soup—there were seven or eight dishes, all beautifully plated, looking like something from a restaurant.

Lena poked her head out of the kitchen, wearing the blue apron I had bought her years ago, and smiled at me.

“You’re back? Go wash up. The last soup is almost done.”

Seeing her smiling face, I felt a chill run down my back.

My wife used to not even know how to cook instant noodles.

Once, I worked late and told her to make herself some noodles. She cooked them into a lump of mush and even burned a hole through the bottom of the pot.

I still remembered how helpless she had looked standing in the kitchen.

But now, she was in the kitchen wearing an apron, tossing the pan and flipping the food, her movements smooth and skilled, her technique so professional she looked like a chef.

I changed my shoes and went in, sitting down at the dining table and staring at the full spread, my throat tight.

She carried the soup pot out of the kitchen, set it on the table, took off her apron, and sat down across from me.

“Try it.”

She picked up a piece of rib for me.

“See if it suits your taste.”

I took a bite, and it tasted unbelievably good.

The ribs were tender and soaked through with flavor, sweet and salty in perfect balance, better than anything I had eaten at any restaurant.

“Is it good?” she asked, her eyes gentle.

“It’s good.”

I put down my chopsticks.

“When did you learn to cook?”

“Overseas.”

She said it naturally.

“If you’re alone overseas and don’t learn how to cook, you’ll starve to death. I started out making terrible food too. I just practiced little by little.”

“Didn’t you say you were really busy with work before? How did you have time to learn to cook?”

She paused for a moment, maybe only a split second, so quick you’d miss it if you weren’t paying close attention.

“You still have to eat, no matter how busy you are.”

She smiled.

“And later I switched projects, and it wasn’t so busy anymore, so I had time to study it.”

Perfect.

Every question had an answer, and every answer sounded so reasonable that I couldn’t find a single flaw.

But I felt even worse inside.

Because my wife had never been like this before.

She used to have terrible logic, always speaking in a jumble, and it was really hard to reason with her.

But the person in front of me had a clear mind, precise expression, and every answer landed exactly where it should, like she had rehearsed everything in her head beforehand.

I lowered my head and kept eating, saying nothing.

The voice recorder in my pocket was still running, the red light blinking on and off, invisible through my clothes.

After dinner, I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. She followed me in and wanted to help, but I pushed her out.

I told her that since she cooked, she didn’t need to wash dishes, and should go watch TV for a while.

She obediently walked back out.

I stood at the sink with my hands in the hot water, my mind racing.

Officer Miller had told me to move out, and I needed to find a reason to go to my parents’ place.

But I couldn’t make it too obvious. I couldn’t let her get suspicious.

When I came out after washing the dishes, she was sitting on the couch looking at her phone.

I sat down next to her, worked up my courage, and was just about to speak when she talked first.

“By the way, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“This time I came back, I’m not planning to leave again. But there are still some procedures to handle at the company, so I may have to go back once more.”

I froze. “You still have to go back?”

“Yeah, just one last trip to wrap things up over there. It’ll probably take a month or two. But…”

She turned to look at me.

“I want to take you with me.”