Chapter 2

A year ago, my mother said we'd been together for five years and it was time to talk about marriage.

But every time we set up a meeting-the-parents dinner, Otto always found a reason not to show.

One time, all the dishes were already on the table before he called to say he had to go discuss a partnership at the last minute and couldn't make it.

My mother slammed her chopsticks down right there and said she was going to set me up on a blind date.

"Once or twice is one thing, but it's been a year, and he can't even manage a single meal."

"If he doesn't keep you in his heart, we shouldn't go rushing to marry him either. We have plenty of options."

And I still made excuses for him.

"He's a CEO, he's busy. The moment he has time, I'll bring him to meet you."

Only now do I understand.

He wasn't busy. He was saving his time for someone more important.

The ride-share dropped me at a hotel not far from my house.

I'd taken leave from my boss and never gone to the airport.

After putting my luggage away, I sat on the edge of the bed and searched for Isabella's social media accounts.

She probably knew I wasn't used to these apps, so she'd set her handle to her own real name.

I clicked in. Her latest post was from three days ago.

The photo showed two hands clasped together, the background the headboard of my own bedroom.

The one with the sharp knuckles had a scar on the thumb—from last month, when Otto cut himself cooking for me.

The small, slender one wore, on its wrist, the safety cord I'd gone to the temple to bless for Isabella.

Caption: Home is wherever you are.

That day I'd worked overtime until late and brought Isabella her favorite chestnut cake.

I'd barely set the bag down before I wiped her body clean and changed her dressing, and only then went to wash up.

Before sleep she'd hugged me, her eyes going red.

"Zoe, we'll be sisters for life."

Otto's voice was cool from off to the side. "Her whole life can only belong to me."

Looking back now, their acting was really good.

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Six months ago, on my birthday, Otto went on a business trip. He video-called me that night to show me the fireworks from his hotel—and at that very moment, Isabella was right there beside him.

A year ago, on our third anniversary, he said with such regret that he had to see a client, and sent me photos of a business dinner. It turned out he was having a candlelight dinner with her.

Three years ago, on the night Isabella "got married," I cried on a video call with her. Off-camera, Otto was massaging her calves.

I turned my phone face down on the bed and lay back.

At some point the lights outside the window had all come on.

A few hundred meters away, the two people I trusted most were sharing body heat.

Before I knew it, the pillow was soaked through.

The next day, I went to meet my blind date.

When it was over, I turned my phone on.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Otto had sent me a barbecue place, saying he was taking his employees out for a team-building thing.

If it's good, I'll bring you next time.

He was the same as ever, volunteering his whereabouts down to the last detail.

I told the driver to change the destination.

When I got to the place, there weren't any employees at all.

There was only Otto and Isabella.

I pulled my hat down low and sat at a table off to the side, behind them.

Isabella went to the cooler to get a drink.

She walked steadily—even rose up on her toes to reach the top bottle of soda.

I watched quietly, my fingernails digging into my palms.

For three months, I'd bent over every day to wipe her body, turn her over, carry her to the toilet.

When she threw up on me, I didn't even furrow my brow.

What I got in return was a herniated disc and an arrhythmia from long-term sleep deprivation.

And now she was walking around fine, making a joke of everything I'd given.

When she came back with her drink, Otto had already mixed the dipping sauce for her.

"This is their secret dipping sauce. Try it, but don't eat too much—it's too spicy, your stomach can't take it."

"And this other plate is done to your taste, less spice, more cumin."

Isabella smiled until her eyes narrowed. "You really do understand me."

Then she tilted her head.

"Do you understand Zoe this well too?"

He set the grilled meat into her bowl.

"With her it's just habit. With you it's genuine care."

My chewing stopped, a dull pain spreading across the tip of my tongue.

Tears dropped into the bowl, blurring out a ring of oil.