Chapter 3

Ada's laptop stayed synced to her phone messages year-round.

I'd never had the habit of going through her messages before,

and after the depression diagnosis I had even less interest in things like that.

I sat at the desk

and scrolled slowly through her chat history.

Last year, Claude told me he was going abroad for a research fellowship.

But the fellowship was a lie,

and all those photos of foreign scenery on his feed were fake too.

The year I spent depressed,

he spent that whole year with Ada.

At first they were just online friends.

Ada would ask him what I liked, what I couldn't stand,

and share my treatment progress.

Later their conversations drifted, and I stopped appearing in them.

Literature, travel, movies, they talked about anything.

And when Claude asked about me,

Ada usually said she was tired, worn out.

I finally understood that Ada's talent wasn't limited to her work.

Her acting was seamless.

The day she complained to Claude about being the most exhausted,

was my birthday.

Ada had run around getting the food ready,

and because I was no good at settling the baby,

I made him cry, so she rushed back out of the kitchen to soothe him.

Watching her hold our son in her apron,

I said,

“Ada, I'm sorry……”

I fought to hold it in, but I was still shaking all over, crying.

I was failing them. I wasn't a good husband or father.

After the depression, I'd become someone even I didn't recognize.

Ada calmed the baby, then pulled me into her arms too.

She wiped my tears.

“Don't say sorry. I'm your wife. This is what I'm supposed to do.”

I gave a soft laugh, my tears dripping onto the desk pad.

Scrolling further, I finally understood what that post earlier meant.

Ada's younger sister and my mother-in-law had met Claude long ago.

They'd all had meals together,

and now and then Ada would bring the baby along too.

Last month,

Claude posted a photo of the two of them from her phone.

Testing her, he asked,

“That day your mom even said, if only I were her son-in-law.”

“Wallace has had this illness a whole year now. Whether he takes his meds or not doesn't matter anymore. Mostly, I just don't want him holding you back.”

That was the reason Ada switched my medication.

I shut the laptop, and I made a decision.

That night, I started running a high fever.

Burning, half out of my head, I suddenly heard a baby crying.

Every hair on my body stood on end. I braced myself and sat up,

only to realize I was sleeping in the guest room.

The door was locked from outside, the floor-to-ceiling window lit now and then by lightning.

“Ada, Ada, is that the baby crying out there?”

The hardest thing to get used to this past year had been the baby's crying.

Every time I heard him cry, I'd think of Ada's agony the day she gave birth,

of her gripping my hand and screaming that it hurt,

and then delivering our son in all that blood.

Ada had always known this,

so at night she watched carefully over whether the baby would cry.

I got no answer,

but the crying only grew louder.

By the time I stopped pounding on the door, my hand was swollen and bruised,

and the fever left me weaker still, my strength draining away.

Outside the door came Claude's laugh.

“See? The desensitization therapy is working. Looks like it won't be long before Wall's back to normal.”

Ada's voice carried a smile too.

“Thank you.”

Then she said to me, through the door,

“Wall, that crying is a recording Claude and I made ahead of time. It's all to help your treatment. Your illness hasn't gotten better this whole year. Maybe I've just been too soft-hearted.”

“It'll be uncomfortable at first, but you'll adjust soon. Claude and I are both here with you.”

As she spoke, she let Claude turn up the recorded crying.

Only then did I realize a hidden speaker had been installed in the guest room,

that every door and window in the house had soundproofing,

that from outside the door you couldn't hear how loud it was at all,

and the neighbors had no idea whatsoever.

I clamped my hands over my ears and collapsed on the floor, convulsing.

The door opened. Ada saw me on the floor and instinctively stepped forward,

only to be pulled back by Claude.

“Ada, don't rush. Wall needs time to adjust. Let's go out and give him some space first.”

He had Ada leave the room first.

Claude looked down at me, and suddenly he smiled.

I struggled to open my eyes, and then everything went black.