Chapter 3

When I got home, the first thing I did was take down the emotion scorecard on the living room wall.

That chart had been up for three years.

Blue meant steady.

Yellow meant fluctuating.

Red meant out of control.

Next to my name, it was almost all yellow and red.

Christina said it wasn't punishment. It was visualized growth.

Wes's name had only appeared a few times. And beside it, was blue every time.

The note beside it read: Model Sample.

I tore the chart down, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in a garbage bag.

Then I went to the bedroom to pack.

Half the clothes in the closet had been picked out by Christina.

Matching colors, simple cuts.

She said it would reduce external stimuli and help me stay stable.

I used to think it meant she cared about me. Only later did I realize she just hated it when my clothes made me stand out, because Wes always wore a white shirt.

I stuffed every one of those clothes into the bag.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Christina had changed her tone and sent more than a dozen messages.

Christina: [Come home first. Let's talk face-to-face.]

Christina: [Today's test wasn't thorough enough. I can do a reassessment.]

Christina: [Wes was just helping. Don't get the wrong idea.]

Christina: [Luke, going dark without warning is high-risk behavior in an intimate relationship.]

After I read the last one, I turned off my notifications.

Just as I zipped my suitcase shut, the door lock clicked.

Christina came in in a hurry.

She was holding the ring. She must have finally gotten it off Wes's finger.

"I brought it back for you."

She set the ring on the table, as if offering me a way to back down. "What happened earlier ends here."

I didn't take it.

She saw the clothes in the garbage bag, and her brows knit together again. "Why are you throwing these out?"

"I don't want them anymore."

"I picked every one of these to suit your temperament."

"I'm changing my temperament."

That shut Christina up.

Her eyes landed on the suitcase, and her tone dropped at once. "You're really going overseas?"

I nodded. "I'm signing the contract tomorrow morning."

"You didn't discuss it with me."

"You didn't discuss it with me when you decided to put my ring on Wes's finger, either."

She stared at me as if she'd just discovered for the first time that I could talk back.

After a long moment, she softened her voice. "Luke, I admit I didn't handle today well. But you can't write off our seven years because of one failed test."

I smiled. "One?"

She didn't say anything.

I opened a drawer and took out a thick stack of self-review notebooks.

She'd made me write every one of them.

The first time we fought, I wrote twelve pages.

The second time I got jealous, I wrote eight.

The third time, she was away on a business trip with Wes while I was home with a fever of 39 degrees Celsius, and I called her. She told me to first figure out whether this was physical suffering or psychological dependence.

That night, I wrote until four in the morning. My handwriting was so crooked it was barely legible.

I pushed the notebooks toward her. "Count them, Christina. Which page in here isn't me making excuses for your favoritism?"

She opened one.

Two lines in, her face went white. "Why did you keep these?"

"I was going to use them on our wedding day to tell myself I'd finally made it through."

The corner of my mouth twitched. "No use for them now."

Christina closed the notebook, her voice hoarse. "I didn't know you were hurting this much."

"I told you. You said that was negative expression, and that I had to sort it out before we communicated."

She had nothing to say again.

The room went quiet.

The ring sat on the table, gleaming under the light.

I used to love that little gleam. Now it just hurt my eyes.

Suddenly, Christina picked up the ring and walked over to me. "Luke, let's go to the county clerk's office tomorrow and get our marriage license."

I looked up.

She spoke quickly, as if she'd finally made up her mind. "No more tests. The wedding doesn't have to follow the original plan, either.

"Haven't you always wanted a result? I'm giving it to you now."

A day ago, I probably would've felt like I'd won. But now, all I wanted to ask her was why she only ever offered something once I no longer wanted it.

I took a step back. "It's too late."

Her hand froze in midair.

The doorbell rang right then.

Christina hurried to answer it, like someone grabbing a lifeline.

Wes stood outside.

He was carrying a first aid kit, sweat still beading at his temples. "Christina, you left in such a rush. I was worried something had happened to you."

Only after he'd finished speaking did he notice me.

He put on that harmless smile again. "Oh, Luke, you're here too."

Christina explained on reflex, "I just came back to talk to him."

Wes nodded. "I know."

He looked at the suitcase by my feet. "But Luke isn't in a state to negotiate right now. Would you like me to do a relationship crisis intervention for the two of you?"

I looked at them standing in the doorway.

One of them worrying. The other used to being worried over.

For seven years, I hadn't even dared to ask a single question when she came home late from work. Because asking meant I was being controlling.

Yet Wes could chase her all the way to our home in the middle of the night and simply say he was worried.

I bent down and pulled up the handle of my suitcase.

Christina panicked. "Where are you going?"

I walked past them toward the door.

Wes reached out to stop me. "Luke, leaving like this will only make Christina feel more insecure."

I stopped. "Then she can write a self-review."