Chapter 2

I started living like a detective.

While Whitney was in the shower, I searched through her work bag.

While she was in meetings, I checked the dashcam records.

Late at night, after she fell asleep, I used her fingerprint to unlock her phone.

The password was our wedding anniversary.

The discovery made me sick for three whole days. She was using a password connected to me while living an entire life with another man.

'M' was hidden in a contact group called 'Work Contacts' with a close-up photo of piano keys as his profile picture.

The chat history was cleared every day, but occasionally, a few messages slipped through.

On the tenth of last month, she went on a business trip to Hazelton.

He said he wanted to eat at a private restaurant by West Lake.

[Okay. I'll take you there.]

That was her reply to him.

[My meetings are packed. I can only eat takeaway.]

That was her reply to me on the same day.

On the 17th of March, he said the practice room was too cold.

[I ordered you a heater. It'll arrive tomorrow.]

That same day, I asked whether she would be home for dinner that weekend. She said she had to supervise her graduate students in the lab.

On the 2nd of April, at two in the morning, he sent her a selfie with tear-filled eyes.

She replied instantly.

[Why are you still awake?]

[I dreamed about you.]

[Silly. I'm always here.]

I stared at the final message until the screen went dark. It then lit up again.

I was waiting for myself to cry, but not a single tear fell. My eyes were completely dry.

The next day was Saturday. For once, she didn't have to work overtime.

"We haven't watched a movie together in ages," she said as she changed her shoes by the entrance. "There's a movie out that has pretty good reviews."

I looked at her.

"Not today," I said. "I made plans with Jolene to look at building materials."

She paused for a moment. "For the renovation?"

"Yeah. I want to replace the bookshelf in the study."

"Thanks for taking care of it." She walked over and, as usual, put an arm around my shoulder. "I can't really help with these things."

I could feel her warm palm through my thin sweater.

I used to crave that warmth.

Now it only made me feel uncomfortable.

I went to meet Jolene Jackson.

I wasn't there to look at building materials.

I was getting our assets evaluated.

A woman in her forties with short hair and an intense gaze behind her glasses greeted me.

"Mr. Zeller, what would you like me to look into?"

"Financial flows of shared marital assets." I pushed copies of our bank statements and a property deed across the desk. "Especially large expenditures over the past five years and transfers with no clear purpose."

She flipped through the documents and looked up at me.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"What do you mean?"

"A lot of people come to investigate their finances. Halfway through, they don't dare continue." She closed the folder. "It's not that we can't find anything. It's that they can't bear to believe what they find."

I said nothing.

She looked at me for two seconds before nodding.

"Alright. I'll send you a preliminary report in three days."

It was raining when I walked out.

I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I stood under the awning in a daze.

My phone vibrated. It was Whitney.

[I made meatballs for dinner. I left a portion for you on the second shelf of the fridge.]

I stared at the message.

It had been so many years. She still remembered that her meatballs were my favorite dish.

She remembered that I didn't eat cilantro.

She remembered that I was allergic to cat fur.

She remembered everything she was supposed to remember.

So why had she still ended up doing this?

The rain grew heavier.

I didn't reply to her message.