Chapter 3

Both of them turned to look at me.

Sofia let go of Ethan at once and shrank in on herself, small and apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Yan. Did—did I interrupt something between you two again?"

I pulled out my phone and started dialing.

"Since somebody broke into your apartment, why don't I go ahead and call the police for you. That work?"

"Yan."

Ethan's voice was low and furious.

"She just went through something traumatic. Calling the cops right now will send her over the edge. How can you not see that?"

I couldn't help it—I laughed.

"So we just do nothing? Sofia, every time something happens to you, the first person you think to call is never the police. It's my husband. Every single time."

Her face went bloodless.

"I—I don't really know anyone else in this city. Just you two, so—"

"Your building has security cameras on every floor. It's a high-end complex. Anyone with the skill to come in through a window on the fifth story isn't some random creep. If you don't file a report, this will happen again."

I cut her off and hit the call button.

The next second, Ethan snatched the phone out of my hand and hurled it against the floor.

Crack.

The screen splintered into a spiderweb of fractures, catching a distorted version of his face.

"Enough."

"She is your best friend. Would you stop being so goddamn hostile."

I stood there, frozen.

He turned back to Sofia and rubbed her shoulder.

"I'm going to stay here tonight. Just in case he comes back."

Then, without looking at me: "Yan. Go home."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"Ethan. If you stay here with her tonight, I want a divorce."

His face went the color of old iron.

"You really want to make a scene?"

"I'm not making a scene."

"She's your best friend. She's in danger. I am not walking out on that."

"She's also a woman."

I let my eyes settle on Sofia, cold.

"And I don't accept my husband spending the night alone with another woman."

"Sofia—I don't have a key to your apartment. Why does my husband? Aren't we supposed to be the close ones here? Or was the plan from day one that Ethan could come and go from your place any time he pleased—as long as I didn't find out?"

Sofia swayed on her feet, her face draining to chalk.

"Last time he dropped me off, I just—I thought it would be more convenient if he had a spare… Ethan, please, just go home with Yan. I don't want you two fighting because of me…"

Then her knees buckled. She clutched at his shoulder like she might collapse.

Ethan swept her up into his arms. When he spoke, his voice was ice.

"Stop making things up. All I'm doing is staying here. I'll sit in the living room. I'll video-call you the whole time. Yan—your mind is filthy."

He carried her into the bedroom without looking back. The door slammed behind them hard enough to rattle the frame.

I turned and walked out.

Outside, the wind was arctic. Two in the morning. Not a taxi in sight.

So I walked. Four miles, one foot in front of the other, all the way home.

Pregnancy had already left my feet swollen. By the time I reached the apartment, both were rubbed raw, blistered and bleeding through my socks.

Tears slid down my face without a sound.

I thought of the year he'd loved me most. The college track meet, when I'd twisted my ankle at the finish line. He'd just finished running his own thousand meters, chest still heaving, and he hadn't hesitated—he'd hoisted me onto his back and run me all the way to the campus clinic.

And now this same man had left me to walk home alone in the dead of winter.

What a joke.

I pulled out the divorce agreement and signed my name in hard, deliberate strokes. Then I bought a plane ticket to Seattle for three days out.

Ethan. I'm cutting off your way back.