Chapter 1

After our son was born, I was diagnosed with depression.

Every single day, Ada guarded against my killing myself.

The piano at home gathered dust. The nursery got a soundproof door.

The rooms were papered over with encouraging notes.

No matter how the baby cried,

Ada always went to me first, to the falling-apart me.

"Don't be scared. I'll be right here while you get better, one step at a time."

Then, as our son's first-birthday party drew near, Ada was busy going to taste the menu.

To set my mind at ease, she sorted out my pills for me as usual.

I had just peeled off the sticky note on the bottle that read "You've got this,"

when new words surfaced on the paper.

【My whole life has been ruined in your hands, Ada Sanchez.】

The "Be happy every day" on the dinner plate became:

【Let me go. Why won't you just die?】

The "I'm here for you" on the fridge became:

【Claude Henson's back in the country. When he holds me, I keep wondering why he isn't my husband.】

And last, the "Stay with the treatment" on the medicine box became:

【I don't regret switching your pills for him.】

The tears on my face had already gone cold.

I stumbled downstairs

and caught a ride to the banquet hall.

The two of them, tasting the dishes so close together, froze in an instant.

I stood and looked straight at them.

"Buddy, you're back in the country? How come you didn't tell me ahead of time?"

——

Claude's hand went slack, and his chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Ada bent down on reflex to pick them up, and only halfway there did she catch how wrong it looked.

She straightened without a trace of it showing.

"Wall, what are you doing here?"

Claude finally came to, like waking from a dream, and gave a couple of laughs.

"Yeah, if I'd known you were coming, I wouldn't have rushed straight over the second I got off the plane to help out. Didn't even have a chance to shoot you a message."

"You know Ada, she felt bad for you and wanted you resting at home, so she dragged me over to work for free."

"Is that so?" I looked at the two of them, and at the table full of dishes. "Yesterday you posted on your feed that you were flying to L.A. today."

One of them told me in advance he was flying to L.A. for work,

the other thoughtfully reported she'd be tasting the menu alone today.

All lies.

Why could they be so sure I'd never find out?

A staff member came out carrying a big platter of fish,

saw me, and smiled without thinking.

"You must be a good friend of Miss Sanchez and her husband. Miss Sanchez was just worrying about the menu tasting, so it's perfect that you're here."

"If you can't say the right thing, don't say anything!"

Ada, who always led with a smile for everyone, went completely dark in the face.

She told the staff member to set the plate down and get out, fast.

Then she turned her head to check my expression.

She was afraid I'd have an episode, afraid I'd make a scene at the venue.

But the arm she'd half-raised on reflex in front of Claude told me

she was more afraid I'd hurt her.

Because of the depression, I'd quit my job and hadn't left the house in a whole year.

Ada handled everything in my place.

Many late nights I spent crying,

thinking I was no longer the Wallace Ellison who made her proud.

Yet the one who always encouraged me was still her.

She said I was the person she loved most, so even at our son's first-birthday party, it was fine if I wasn't there.

It was all for the sake of my health.

I picked up the run-of-show sheet on the table.

At the very top was a passage for the child's mother to speak.

The air around me felt wrung dry.

"Thank you to my husband, standing beside me right now. Without you, there would be no Ada Sanchez as I am today, and no healthy baby today either. Thank you for giving me the love I once wanted most."

I read it out, word by word.

By the end, my cheeks felt itchy.

I wiped at them without thinking. It was tears.

The palm cupping the tears was shaking, and my breath wouldn't come easily.

Ada took the run-of-show sheet away.

"Wall, breathe deep. Calm down first……"

The dishes on the table were the ones Claude loved to eat.

The flowers on the floor were his favorite, Scottish roses.

While I was swallowing antidepressants, losing hair by the fistful,

wanting to jump the moment I saw the balcony,

Claude had settled himself right beside Ada, like it was the natural thing.

"Wallace, you've really got it wrong."

Claude stepped forward, meaning to take my hand.

I yanked it away hard and swung a fist back at him.

"Crack!"

But that fist didn't land on his face.