Chapter 2

When I got back to the wedding apartment, the door code had been changed.

It was only when the wrong-code error came up that I remembered.

Half an hour earlier, Samuel had texted to say Candice was going to cleanse the house, and he'd temporarily changed the code to her birthday.

Candice was wearing my slippers, draped in Samuel's jacket, a wooden ritual sword in her hand.

"You're back?"

There was a ring of yellow line drawn on the living room floor.

My wedding gown box, the red wedding quilt, the old photo albums, all of it heaped outside the line.

Like a pile of filth that wasn't allowed inside.

I walked over and opened the box on top.

My father's old photo fell out.

Four words in cinnabar on the back: "Dead kin curse the wedding."

My fingers froze.

It was the last photo he ever left behind.

In it, he was crouched in the yard tying a kite for me, his shirt washed pale, grinning like a fool.

Candice explained in a small voice.

"The master said keeping a dead person's photo in the wedding home crushes the couple's luck. I was only worried about you and Samuel down the road."

"Who told you you could touch it?" I asked.

Her eyes reddened.

"Don't be so harsh with me."

Samuel's voice came from the doorway.

"I'm the one who asked her to."

He came in with a pharmacy bag in his hand.

Seeing how pale I was, he tossed a box of stomach medicine onto the table.

"You didn't eat. Remember to take these."

"Don't make yourself sick and then say I don't take care of you."

I looked at the box, then at the cinnabar words on the back of the photo.

"Did you see this?"

Samuel gave it a glance.

"Wipe it off later."

"Wiping it off means it didn't happen?"

He tugged at his tie, his voice already impatient.

"Zoey, when did you get so hard to please?"

"I cleaned up the mess for you at dinner, and I came home and bought you medicine."

"Can't you cut me some slack, seeing I'm tired too, and stop clinging to a dead man?"

The room went quiet.

Candice covered her mouth, as if his words had frightened her.

But there was no shock in her eyes. Only a wet, glistening satisfaction.

I picked up the photo and held it.

"Samuel, that's my father."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I know."

"But you can't spend your whole life using your father's death to make everyone walk on eggshells."

"Candice was humiliated in public because of you, and my mother got so worked up she had a headache."

"You're wronged. Does that mean no one else is?"

I said nothing more.

When I went into the bedroom to get my documents, Candice's white dress was hanging in the closet.

My wedding gown had been shoved to the very bottom, a long tear split open at the waist.

Candice followed to the doorway, her voice trembling.

"I only tried it on. Samuel said we're about the same size. I never thought it would rip."

Samuel stood behind her.

"If it's torn, get it fixed."

I looked at the tear.

"My mother spent three months altering that gown for me."

He was silent for a second.

"Then I'll pay her for it."

I stuffed the gown into the suitcase, and Samuel's face finally changed.

"What are you doing?"

"Moving out."

"Over a photo and a dress?"

I looked up at him.

"Because nothing here gets any respect."

He gave a cold laugh.

"When it comes down to it, you just want me to send Candice away."

Candice's tears fell harder.

"Samuel, I should just go. Don't let me come between you two."

Samuel pressed a hand to her shoulder and looked at me.

"Zoey, if you really want to go, I won't stop you."

"But don't run a fever or get a stomachache in a couple of days and call me to come get you."

I pulled the suitcase up.

"Don't worry."

Before I shut the door, I heard Candice ask softly,

"Samuel, has she given up on you?"

Samuel was quiet for a moment, his voice certain.

"She won't."

"What she's most afraid of is me ignoring her. Once she cools off, she'll come back on her own."

The door closed.

In the elevator, I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror.

So he'd known all along what I was afraid of. That was why he'd dared to hand me the knife, again and again, with such a steady hand.