Mag-log inI tiptoed to the living room and stood there in the dark. I was scared. What do I do… Do I call Henry?
My heart was in my throat. The living room was dark, and I could only see the back of the person standing. Whoever was in this apartment right now either knew the password to the door lock, or the person just guessed that the code was my birthday.
My eyes found the lamp on the display shelf. It had a heavy ceramic base that was solid enough to take someone out. I moved toward it without breathing, pulled the cord from the socket, and wrapped both hands around it.
The figure was closer than I expected. It was definitely a male because he was tall and had broad shoulders. I raised the lamp as I walked slowly towards the person, but not too close.
Just then, the figure turned quickly. “What are you—”
I paused. That voice seemed familiar. It was a voice I could recognise even in my sleep. I slowly lowered my arms and ran toward the light switch and turned it on.
It was Henry. He stood in the middle of our living room in a rumpled suit, tie loose, hair slightly out of place — squinting against the brightness with his eyes moving from the lamp in my hands to my face.
“Quinn.” His voice was calm. “Why are you holding a lamp… and why are you not sleeping?”
I looked down. The cord was still dangling when I set it down. “You said you were staying at a hotel. So I thought th–”
“I changed my mind,” he said as he made his way nonchalantly to the kitchen.
“You should have told me, then.”
“I should have?” he now turned to me.
“Yes.” We stood there looking at each other. This was the closest we had been in weeks. We were so close that I could see he was actually tired. I looked away to stop myself from noticing. “Why did you come back?” I asked in a calmer tone.
“Because I live here,” he said as he opened the pot on the cooker. It was the empty pot of the fried rice I had earlier made for myself. “Is there no food?” he asked as he kept staring at the empty pot.
He had never asked before. When he came back late, he either didn't eat or had already eaten out with his crew.
He now closed the empty pot and reached for a cabinet. He rummaged through it for a while until he reached for a pack of noodles. He swiftly moved back to the stove to turn it on
“Uhm… oh– pot…,” he reached out to two cabinets before finding the cabinet for the pot. I watched him closely. This was a new experience for me. He looked confused.
I now moved towards him. “There’s little rice left in the rice cooker. I could mix up fried rice for you with the remaining ingredient from the one I made earlier.” he looked at me. I now wondered whether I shouldn’t have made the suggestion.
“Thanks. I'm going to take a shower.” he moved away from me to the bedroom.
What just happened… is he drunk…? This is really weird. My thoughts were now disorganised. But I hurriedly prepared the food and served it at the dining table. In a few minutes, he was out of the bathroom. His hair was dripping with water, trailing down his neck and onto his shoulders as he walked towards the dining room in shorts. I told myself to look away, but I couldn’t. My eyes moved on their own, and I felt my face grow warm. He walked toward the dining area and sat down to eat. I tried to control myself, so I gripped the edge of the table and sat opposite him.
He sat down and ate calmly. I sat there remembering when we were still in college. He never ate alone; he would always tell me to sit with him in the canteen or watch him eat even after I had eaten.
He ate so quickly and moved the plate to the kitchen. I was still deep in thought when he snapped me out of it. “Aren’t you sleeping?”
“I… yes, erm… I will…” I stood up, turned off the lights and went to the bedroom. He was already sitting on the bed with his back against the bed frame. What was he doing here? He always slept in the other room. He even put a bigger bed there. “Are you sleeping here?” I asked.
“Yes”, he said without looking towards me.
We only slept together a few times during the first month of our marriage. This is strange. What kind of awakening did he get? I lay on the bed, but he was so close to me. He was reading a script from the iPad.
Just before I could arrange my thoughts, he moved his hands towards me as if to touch my face. I was in shock. I held my breath and closed my eyes.
It took four days for the part of Juliet’s video about the hit-and-run to fully catch up with the rest of the story.At first, it was buried beneath everything else that had happened. People were still arguing about Juliet’s death, the accusations against Henry, the company’s statements and the video itself, so the story about the imprisoned employee did not receive much attention. That changed when a small independent journalist picked up that part of the video and started asking questions about who the person Juliet had mentioned was.The journalist’s name was Marisol Vega, and her first article ran with a headline that made Henry go completely still when he saw it on his phone over breakfast.Who is Really Behind Bars? A Deceased Woman’s Final Claims Raise New Questions About Hen
Chris arrived the next afternoon with a single sheet of paper inside a folder, which he placed on our kitchen table before taking a seat. When I looked at the content of the paper, I immediately understood that we were not about to have a conversation about what happened, but were instead being handed another script to follow.“This is what we’re releasing,” he said. “Both of you need to be aligned on it before it goes out.”Henry picked it up and read it silently. When he finished, he slid it across the table to me without saying anything, and I looked down at the statement.Neither Henry nor Quinn Brown had any contact with the deceased on the night in question. Reports suggesting otherwise are false and are being investigated as potential defamation.
News of what happened to me outside the company spread fast and wide. It did not go quite in the direction Henry’s agency wanted.By the following morning, the story had already moved beyond the people who had been at the protest. Entertainment pages picked it up. Gossip accounts reposted the videos. People who had never heard of me before were suddenly discussing me like they knew who I was.There was a photograph of me.Someone had edited the photo of me at the award show I attended with Henry together with a photograph someone took during the chaos outside the company.In the second photograph, I was on the ground, my hand pressed against the pavement, my face twisted in pain and confusion.The two pictures were plac
I hadn’t told Henry what I was planning. If I had, he would have stopped me.A stubborn, desperate part of me needed to do something with my hands and my voice instead of sitting inside our apartment, watching him fold in on himself one day at a time.I only wanted to drop off supplies that happened to be near his company, which was technically true, if not the whole truth.I parked two streets away and walked the rest of the distance on foot, telling myself I would just look. Just see the crowd for myself. Understand the scale of what we were dealing with before deciding whether there was anything I could actually do about it.The crowd had grown even larger than the news footage suggested, spilling off the sidewalk and partially into the street. Security guards f
That evening, the video had already been viewed and reposted millions of times.By the next morning, people had turned against Henry. Fans protested outside the company. The crowd outside Henry’s agency had grown large enough to make the local news on its own.I watched the footage over the breakfast Henry had ordered. My spoon was forgotten halfway to my mouth as the camera panned across dozens of people holding handmade signs outside the company’s glass entrance.JUSTICE FOR JULIET, one read in thick black marker.WE WANT ANSWERS, said another.A woman near the front, her voice hoarse from what looked like hours of chanting, leaned into a reporter’s microphone with a serious expression.“He owes her family an explanation,” she said. “He owes all of us an explanation. Now she’s dead, and his company wants us to believe it’s because she was crazy? We’re not buying it.”Henry sat across the table from me, not eating either, his eyes fixed on the same footage. His expression was difficu
Henry's phone rang. It was Chris. He answered and put the call on speaker."Henry." Chris's voice came through immediately. "Turn on your television. Right now.""What is it?" Henry asked."Just turn it on."Henry grabbed the remote from the counter, and the screen flickered to life on a news channel that was already in the middle of a segment.A chyron was scrolling across the bottom of the screen.Disturbing Video Surfaces From Deceased Woman Linked to Popular Actor."Oh God," Henry said quietly.He turned and hurried toward the kitchen.







