Chapter 1

For eight years, my husband, Atticus Pearson, has kept one unwavering habit. Every night, at exactly 11:00 pm, he makes a phone call. It always lasts exactly three minutes.

"Elena suffers from insomnia. The doctor said someone should talk to her before bed."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Because she got injured saving me in that accident. She saved my life."

This has been going on for eight years. That makes more than 2,900 three-minute phone calls.

I keep telling myself to get over it.

Then, in the third year of our marriage, Atticus finally finds the time to make up for the honeymoon we never had.

On the last night of the trip, Atticus is showering while I lie on the hotel bed, picking out photos from our couple's shoot.

Suddenly, a message pops up on his phone. It is a video from Elena Stitfall.

On the screen, Elena is lying in our bed, wearing my pajamas, resting her head on my pillow, and smiling at the camera.

"Atti, can we talk for one extra minute tonight? I miss you so much. It's only three minutes to our call time."

Chapter 1

At 10:59 pm, my husband, Atticus Pearson, stepped out of the bathroom right on time. I handed him his phone. His hair was still dripping wet as he had just finished showering.

He glanced at the screen casually and took it. "Why were you looking through my phone?"

"It buzzed, so I saw it."

"She just came over these past few days to help us feed the cats. Then, she got tired and lay down on the bed for a bit."

"And that makes it okay for her to be on our marital bed?"

He tightened the belt of his bathrobe and was silent for two seconds. "That's what a bed is for, isn't it? For someone to take a rest on?"

With that, he took his phone and stepped out onto the balcony to make a call.

He didn't bring the matter up again that night. After getting into bed, he simply turned onto his side, pulled the covers over himself, and faced away from me.

I stared at the back of his head in the dark. His breathing soon evened out, but I turned over and failed to get a wink of sleep the entire night.

…

We returned home the next afternoon. The moment Atticus got home, he set his suitcase down, said he had something to deal with at the company, and left again.

I walked into the master bedroom and stood by the bed for a long time, just staring at the bed.

The sheets had been changed to a grayish-white set. It was not the set I had bought. The original set had been shoved into the corner of the closet, crumpled into a ball.

Elena Stitfall had worn my pajamas, lain in my bed, and even dirtied my sheets.

Then, I noticed an extra box of cookies in the refrigerator, neatly arranged in a container. There was even a light pink sticky note stuck to the side of the container. "Atti, these are your favorite cranberry cookies."

A new set of pink tableware with gold edges had also appeared in the kitchen cupboard, and there were coasters hand-embroidered with the words "Exclusively Lena's".

My white tableware had been pushed to the very back of the cupboard, where a thin layer of dust had settled on the plates. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a chipped edge on one of them.

That set of tableware was one I'd bought in the first year of our marriage. There were initially four plates in total. But now, only three good ones were left.

I took photos of everything.

When Atticus came back that evening, I showed them to him.

He took a quick glance at them and handed the phone back to me. "I didn't know about any of this."

"And the sheets?"

"She said the old ones were too slippery and uncomfortable to sleep on, so she changed them."

"Uncomfortable for her? But that's our bed!"

Atticus quickly frowned. "Charlene, she's all alone. Can't you be a little understanding? The doctor said Lena's been emotionally unstable lately. I'm afraid something might happen to her. Just let things go for my sake and don't hold it against her, okay?"

With that, he took his phone and went out to the balcony.

Because Elena was all alone, I had to be more understanding. Because she was emotionally unstable, I had to back off. Atticus expected all of this from me, but he gave all his tenderness to her.

Bitterness filled me up, and I silently made my way to the guest room.

Moments later, at 11:00 pm sharp, the balcony door was opened. I heard Atticus laughing in a lowered voice.

"Did you have a good day today?"

"Yeah, I miss you too."

The call lasted exactly three minutes—not a minute more, not a minute less.

Then, the balcony door slid shut.

Footsteps moved from the balcony to the doorway of the guest room. Atticus paused there for a moment before moving on.

Chapter 2

I stayed in the guest room for seven days.

On the seventh day, I got off work early. When I got home, the light in the entryway was still off.

As I bent down to change my shoes, I spotted a pair I'd never seen before in the shoe cabinet. It was nude pink, brand new, and with not a speck of dust on the soles.

My dark blue slippers had been squeezed to the very bottom layer, with one side stacked on top of the other. I took them out and placed them on the top layer.

But when I came back the next evening, the dark blue slippers were once again back at the bottom, whereas the nude pink pair sat neatly on the top layer, toes pointing outward and perfectly arranged.

In the kitchen cabinet, the coaster embroidered with "Exclusively Lena's" was still there. I pulled it out and set it on the coffee table in the living room.

That evening, when Atticus came back with his briefcase in hand, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, he paused for a moment upon seeing the coaster on the coffee table.

"She embroidered it herself and left a coaster that says 'Exclusively Lena's' in our house?"

He set his briefcase on the couch and loosened his tie. "She's just being childish. Don't take it to heart."

"She's 27 years old," I countered.

That night, as I passed by the study, I noticed the door wasn't fully closed.

Atticus was on the phone, his voice deliberately kept low. "Don't cry, Lena. Charlene is all bark and no bite. She won't really drive you away. I have the final say in this house. You're welcome to come over anytime."

Though I stood outside the study, I heard every word. He said that he had the final say in this house.

I stood in the hallway for a long time, gripping a glass of water in my hand. I did not push the door open.

The next day, a letter appeared on the coffee table. It was a white envelope with red lettering, bearing the Pearson Corporation logo. On the envelope, it was written "For Atticus" in the handwriting of Atticus' grandfather, Anthony Pearson.

When I pulled out the contents, I found a family banquet invitation for the following Saturday at 6:00 pm. The invitees were listed as Atticus Pearson and Elena Stitfall. My name was conspicuously absent.

I laid the invitation in front of Atticus and pointed at that line of text.

"Grandpa must have left your name out by mistake," Atticus said.

"He remembered to write Elena's name but forgot to include your wife's name?"

"Grandpa treats her like his own granddaughter. You know that."

"And what about me?"

He opened his mouth, then turned his head away.

So, I picked up my phone and dialed Anthony's number. "Anthony, it's me, Charlene. What day is the family banquet on again? Atticus mentioned it, but I want to make sure I've got it right."

Anthony chuckled on the other end of the line. "Atticus said you'd be away on a business trip that day, and Lena happens to be free, so she'll go with him. Your business trip won't get in the way, will it?"

The living room was quiet. I could hear Anthony's breathing through the receiver, along with the muffled sound of a news broadcast from his TV.

"I don't have a business trip on that day."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Ah, then I must have remembered wrongly. Well, remember to join us, okay? It'll be nice to have the whole family together."

After I hung up, Atticus' expression darkened. "Did you really have to make that call? What must Grandpa think now?"

"Are you worried Anthony will find out you lied, or are you worried about Elena's reputation?"

Atticus fell silent.

I folded the invitation and tucked it back into the envelope. "Take her with you. I'm not going. That spot was always meant for her anyway."

As usual, at 11:00 pm sharp, the phone rang in the living room right on time.

I put on my headphones and turned the volume up as high as it would go. My ears were filled with music, but my mind held only one thought—Atticus had cut me out of the family dinner and given that place to another woman.

My phone screen lit up with a message from Anthony. "Charlene, I've had the kitchen arrange the menu for Saturday according to Lena's tastes. Let me know ahead of time if you have any dietary restrictions."

I did not reply.

…

The next morning, Atticus sent me a message after he left the house.

"Charlene, I explained the dinner situation to Grandpa. Lena lost her parents when she was young, so they've always asked me to take extra care of her. Can you just… For the sake of her difficult past…"

The glass of water I gripped in my hand was so hot it scorched my fingertips.

Elena had a hard past, so I had to give my place up for her. She had a hard past, so my name wasn't included in the invitation. She had a hard past, so my husband had to talk her to sleep every night at 11:00 pm.

But what about me? Was I not having a hard time in this marriage too?

Chapter 3

My migraine flared up again. It started that afternoon—a dull, relentless pressure on my temples, like someone pressing hard against my skull. By evening, the pain was so intense I could barely keep my eyes open.

Lying in bed, I fumbled for my phone and texted Atticus. "My head is killing me. Can you pick up some ibuprofen? We're out at home."

All he replied was "Okay".

But I waited 40 minutes. Every minute felt stretched out, agonizing, and miserable. I sent another message, urging him. But he did not reply.

When I tried calling, I found that his phone was switched off.

It wasn't until midnight that my phone finally lit up with a message from him.

"Lena was getting physical therapy just now, and my phone was on silent. Are you okay? Anyway, there's a pharmacy right downstairs. You can just go get it yourself."

So, I put on a coat and went downstairs. The elevator was empty at this hour, and my reflection in the mirror looked frighteningly pale.

The pharmacy was 200 yards to the right of the main entrance, and the wind was biting as I walked over.

At that hour, the pharmacy had long since closed. A "24-hour service" sticker was pasted on the door, with a line of small text underneath that read, "Please ring the bell for nighttime service".

But the doorbell was covered by a black cover, and I couldn't press it no matter how hard I tried.

The wind poured into my collar, and my head throbbed so violently I trembled all over.

At the very moment I needed Atticus most, he was by Elena's side, accompanying her to physical therapy.

I ended up going to the emergency room alone. A long line stretched down the corridor, filled with a chorus of crying and coughing.

There, I waited, had the tests done, and collected the report all by myself. The report was filled with dense medical jargon I could barely understand. But I caught the phrase "further examination recommended".

When I came out of the consultation room, I saw Atticus standing in the corridor with a printed medical record sheet in his hand.

He frowned when he spotted me. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you my head hurt."

He kept one eye on the messages Elena was sending on his phone and asked dismissively, "Is it really that serious?"

"We ran out of medicine at home. You forgot to get it for me."

He paused.

"Atticus, do you know why I've been having these headaches? It's because I've been sleeping in the guest room of my own home for two months, and the pillows there are too high. I never told you, because you never think it's a big deal."

His fingers tightened around the medical record, creasing the paper. Then, his tone turned impatient. "It's just a headache. Must you really make such a big deal out of this? You're not a kid anymore!"

But he had once promised, with such conviction, to cherish and protect me for a lifetime. I had believed him. And yet, every single time, he would ask me to step aside for the sake of someone else.

I looked into Atticus' eyes, but in the end, I said nothing, nor did I wait for his reply. I simply turned and walked away.

Chapter 4

After that, Atticus and I started giving each other the cold shoulder.

My business trip was scheduled for six days, but I wrapped things up early. On the fifth day, I changed my ticket to the earliest train back home.

When I pushed open the front door, a pair of heels I didn't recognize sat in the entryway. They were Elena's.

Her magazines were spread across the coffee table, and a lace nightgown of hers was tossed over the arm of the couch. On the kitchen stove, a pot of soup sat simmering, steam curling out from under the lid.

This time, I went straight to the master bedroom. The bedding had been changed again.

My skincare products, which I'd put in place on the vanity, had all been packed into a clear storage bin and set on the floor. The bottles and jars were all squeezed in at odd angles. On the vanity, Elena's things sat neatly arranged, each bottle labeled with a sticker.

The closet door was half open, and all my clothes had been pushed to the far edge. The space that had been cleared was now occupied by Elena's clothes, and on the top of the lingerie drawer lay her lace underwear.

On the nightstand sat a white bottle of sleeping pills with a label that read, "For Lena. Take one tablet before bed".

Beside it was a photograph, the print slightly yellowed with age. In the photograph, Elena leaned on Atticus' shoulder, her eyes curved into a smile. On the back of the photo was a line of writing.

"Atti and Lena, never apart. Summer, 2009."

That was 15 years ago. I hadn't even known Atticus then. He and I met in 2010, at the college freshman welcome party. He had helped me pick up a pen I'd dropped, and when I looked up to thank him, he smiled. So, it turned out that his story with Elena had already begun long before that.

I had always thought I was his first love. It turned out I was just the one who came later.

I stood by the bed, taking it all in, when the bathroom door opened. Atticus stepped out wrapped in a towel, his hair still wet, droplets of water trailing down his neck. When he saw me, he froze. "You're back? Didn't you say you'd be gone for six days?"

"It ended early."

Before he could respond, a voice came from behind him. Elena leaned out from the bathroom in a white bathrobe, her hair also wet. "Atti, where did you put my pajamas?"

When she saw me, her smile stiffened for a second before she switched to an innocent expression. "Charlene? You're back? I didn't know you were coming home today. Atti said you'd be away on a business trip for a week…"

"Lena, please leave us for a moment," Atticus told her.

Elena bit her lip but retreated into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Light seeped through the crack, along with the sound of her soft coughing.

"Charlene, hear me out…"

"Tell her to leave. Right now. Then I'll stay."

His brows furrowed immediately, and the guilt in his eyes faded. "Don't do this, Charlene. She's not well, and it's so late now. Where is she supposed to go?"

"This is our home, our bedroom. Why can't she leave?"

"She's just staying a few days. Is it really such a big deal?"

"Yes. It is."

His expression darkened. "Can you stop making a scene? You know her condition. Do you really have to push me like this?"

A dull, spreading ache filled my chest, and I looked at him numbly. "I'm pushing you? She shares a bathroom with you, sleeps in the master bedroom with you, and you say I'm pushing you?"

Atticus drew a deep breath, his voice dripping with impatience. "Can you be reasonable for once? She's sick. If you force her out and something happens to her, will you be able to live with the consequences?"

"She saved your life, so she can sleep in this bed, live in this house, and take my place. But what does that make me, Atticus?"

"Charlene, do you think the whole world owes you something? Her emotions are unstable—the doctor said she could have an episode at any time. Can't you be the bigger person?"

The bathroom door opened just a crack, and Elena's voice came from inside, laced with tears, "Atti, maybe I should just go. I'll find a hotel. I don't want to make things hard for Charlene."

"Don't worry about her."

Then, Atticus turned back to me and said, "First thing tomorrow, I'll find her somewhere else. You—"

I clenched my jaw and swept her things onto the floor. "She leaves. Now."

Soft sobs came from the bathroom. The bathroom door opened, and Elena stepped out in that white bathrobe. "Please don't fight. I'll go. I'll leave right now."

"That's enough!" Atticus stepped forward, grabbed her hand, and shoved me aside to shield her.

I staggered, the small of my back hitting the edge of a table, sending a jolt of pain through me.

"Charlene, do you really have to do this? Must you force her? Be reasonable, will you? She's a patient!"

He paid no attention to how pale I'd gone, and taking Elena by the arm, he left the bedroom.

After I recovered, I began packing my things.

I could still hear Atticus softly coaxing Elena when I passed the study on my way out.

As the taxi drove out of the residential complex gate, I looked back through the car window at the master bedroom on the second floor. The pink curtains were still fluttering in the breeze.

When the car drove farther away, I placed my hand on my stomach. I had a secret I hadn't had time to tell Atticus yet.

I had found out I was pregnant the day before I left for the business trip, and I'd planned to give him a surprise tonight. Now, there was no need for that anymore.

…

It was past midnight by the time Atticus was done comforting Elena. Noticing how unusually quiet the house was, he suddenly thought of me. A strange unease crept over him.

When he pushed open the bedroom door again, his footsteps suddenly halted, and his eyes widened sharply.