Chapter 3

The phone rang for a long time, almost cutting off, before he finally picked up.

His voice, still carrying that excited, happy lilt, seeped into my eardrums and struck through every inch of me.

"Honey, is there something else?"

I couldn't help gasping and coughing, unable to get out a single word for a long moment.

Samuel waited a while, then said, "If your throat's bothering you, drink more honey water."

"Honey, I'm going to hang up now, bye-bye."

The line went to a dead tone. He knew perfectly well how insecure I was.

He'd seen me gasping for breath before—how could he hang up so fast?

What was I even hoping for?

The phone went cold in my palm. I stared at the screen for ten minutes, until it went dark and turned reflective, and only then did I realize I was crying.

I threw off the covers and got out of bed, standing barefoot on the floor, and I didn't feel cold at all.

Step by step, I walked from the fifth floor up to the eighth, and stood on the rooftop.

Looking across at the Four Seasons Hotel.

The hotel was brightly lit, and one balcony with a camera flash going off caught my eye.

There were several people on the balcony, and a tall man with his back to me was holding a slender woman.

The people around them cheered loudly, "Kiss her, kiss her!"

Across the busy stream of traffic, I could faintly hear their voices.

A moment later the speakers started up: "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you."

Samuel set the girl down and personally placed a birthday party hat on the woman's head.

They leaned into each other on the carefully decorated balcony, celebrating the birthday, laughing and fooling around.

I stood barefoot on the hospital rooftop, in the darkness, listening to their unforgettable night.

As the two of them shared an unforgettable kiss, I casually snapped a photo.

I turned around and sent it straight to Samuel, and the reply came in an instant: My dear wife, stay safe.

Ridiculous, laughable. Those few words gradually warped in front of me, turning into a gaping, bloody mouth.

I took a deep breath and posted the photo to my social media feed.

Cara Swanson, who are these two kissing?

Judging by the man's back, it kind of looks like Samuel? But Samuel loves you so much, it can't possibly be him.

A short while later, someone sent me a private message.

"Is that really your husband? He was willing to stay single and risk everything for you back then. Did you cheat on him, so now he's getting back at you the same way?"

Their guesswork and suspicions didn't stir up much of anything in me.

In that moment, I was numb like never before. All that insecurity and anxiety seemed to have melted into every inch of me.

I gripped my phone and silently watched the balcony across the way.

Ten minutes passed like that before Samuel called me.

I didn't answer a single one.

Ten calls in a row.

Then, ten more minutes later, he finally sent me a message.

He must have seen the photo I took, and those ridiculous replies too.

A voice message came through, his voice trembling.

"Honey, where are you?"

"Why would you send me a photo like that?"

"That's not me in the photo at all."

He was afraid I'd found out, and he'd lie his way through it too—as long as he denied it was him, he'd be in the clear.

How could it not be him?

I answered numbly, "Fine, I understand."

"Then come back soon, I'll get some food ready for you." This time he didn't hang up so quickly.

I was silent for a moment. "Okay, I'll be back soon."

After hanging up, I went back to my hospital room and tidied myself up, put on some makeup.

Then I got dressed, put on my shoes, and went to the suite at the hotel across the street.

When I knocked on the door, I wasn't nervous. I was steady, numb.

Knock, knock, knock. After a few knocks, the door opened.

"Cara Swanson?"