Chapter 3

Four days after I was discharged, Elena showed up at my door carrying a basket of imported organic fruit and a luxurious velvet gift box.

She wore a light blue floral sundress. Her skin was pale and radiant, like a delicate white lily that had just been washed by the rain.

When she smiled, her eyes carried a sweet, helpless vulnerability. She immediately greeted me with a warm, fake smile.

"Chloe, thank you so much for letting Julian talk to me that night. I really appreciate your understanding."

She pushed the velvet box toward me.

"Just a little thank-you gift for both of you."

Inside was a custom aromatherapy sleep set.

There were essential oils, diffusion stones, and at the very bottom, a palm-sized sleep mask with cute bunny ears.

A soft pink bunny. Small, exquisite, and perfectly made.

It was the exact same cartoon bunny printed on the bakery card I had found in Julian's pocket.

My fingertips paused on the edge of the velvet box.

She watched me, her face beaming with a sweet smile, her breathing perfectly steady.

She didn't do this by accident.

She was dying for me to see it.

Julian walked out of the kitchen carrying a plate of freshly sliced apples. Elena naturally stood up, reached out to help him adjust his rolled-up sleeves, and then took his blazer from the back of the chair, hanging it on the hidden coat hook closest to the inside of the hallway.

That was the exact hook Julian, with his obsessive-compulsive habits, insisted on using.

During our first year of marriage, because I had casually hung my coat on the outer hook, he had given me the silent treatment for three days.

Elena got it right on her very first try. She was so familiar with the layout of our house, it was as if she were the actual mistress of the home.

While I went to the kitchen to pour some water, she had already pulled Julian's favorite silicone coaster from the second drawer of the kitchen island and placed it under his glass.

That drawer was filled with random kitchen gadgets. Even I had to rummage through it for a while whenever I needed something.

"Chloe, please don't be mad at Julian," Elena said as she sat back on the sofa, her voice as soft as cotton. "I've had this condition since I was a kid.

The moment it gets pitch black, I feel like I'm suffocating. I've seen so many therapists, but nothing works. Only Julian's voice can calm me down."

"What kind of voice?" I asked.

She bit her lip, offered a secretive smile, and didn't answer. Instead, she looked up at Julian, her eyes practically dripping with adoration.

Julian’s hand holding the glass stiffened slightly. He quickly took over the conversation, smoothly changing the subject to ask about the recovery of my leg.

Just then, his phone rang. It was his mother, Martha. Julian put it on speakerphone.

"Julian, Chloe, you two have been married for five years now. I'm not trying to nag, but once Chloe's leg heals, you really need to put starting a family on your calendar. I've already started looking into top-tier postpartum care specialists."

"We're working on it, Mom."

Julian said those words without even looking up, calmly slicing another piece of apple.

Elena looked down, gently stroking the pink bunny sleep mask, the corner of her lips curving into a barely perceptible smirk.

Sitting in my own living room, watching this perfectly synchronized couple, I suddenly felt like a complete stranger in my own home.

That night, I dragged out our wedding album from the bottom of the closet.

In the photos, his arm was wrapped securely around my shoulder, his eyes filled with deep affection.

On the very first night of our honeymoon, he had "suffered" his first night terror. He had suddenly gone wild in the middle of the night, smashing the hotel bedside lamp before curling up in the empty bathtub, shivering under a blanket.

The next morning, his eyes were red as he begged for my forgiveness, claiming he had almost choked me in his sleep. For my own safety, he insisted we sleep in separate rooms from then on.

My heart had broken for him. I even signed up for psychological counseling courses, desperate to find a way to help him.

Now I realized that was just the very first act of his carefully rehearsed play.

For five years—over 1,800 nights—his violent night terrors had never once accidentally injured a single soul.

His illness was so incredibly stable, it was as if it had been programmed with a microchip.

Before bed, I plugged his spare phone in to charge. The screen lit up, and a calendar notification popped up.

"10:30 PM. Repeat: Daily."

The only note on the reminder was a single red heart emoji.

I didn't take a screenshot, nor did I tap on it. I simply set the phone back down.

As the screen faded to black, the dark glass reflected my pale, cold face.

I stared at the spot where the red heart had disappeared for a few seconds, then grabbed my crutches and walked back to the master bedroom.

In the middle of the night, I didn't sleep. I stood barefoot at the end of the dark hallway, holding a glass of ice-cold water.

At 10:50 PM, a sliver of light escaped from under the soundproof door of the guest room.

At 11:15 PM, I pressed my ear against the doorframe. Using my highly trained hearing, I caught his incredibly soft, patient voice—a voice a hundred times more tender than any he had ever used with me.

"Good girl, take a deep breath. I'm here. Close your eyes, imagine we're standing by the ocean..."

I stood in the darkness, holding my cold glass of water, listening to my own heartbeat. Thud. Thud. It felt like a ticking clock, counting down the final days of my marriage.