Chapter 4

She walked to the dining table, climbed onto a chair, and took out a black marker.

Then she opened the diary.

Every word related to "Daddy" in the book, she blacked out stroke by stroke.

She pressed so hard the paper tore.

"Mom.

"Once it's blacked out, you can't see it anymore."

She put down the pen and stuffed the diary into her little backpack.

At three in the afternoon, I called the recycling station.

Several workers arrived and moved quickly.

Everything in the house that belonged to Marcus--his razor, suits, ties, and even the huge wedding portrait on the wall--was hauled away as trash.

This home was being completely formatted without Marcus knowing a thing.

At four, I pulled two large suitcases and held Nora's hand at the entryway.

I looked once more at the wall clock.

Then at the empty living room.

"Let's go," I said to Nora.

"Our new life is only three hours away by car."

We walked out the door.

I shut it, locked it, and walked without looking back toward the airport shuttle.

At five, in the airport departure hall, the crowd was loud and the announcements looped overhead.

I sat on a bench and took out my phone.

I replaced the SIM card with the new one I had prepared in advance.

Then I snapped the old SIM card I had used for ten years.

With a crisp click, I dropped it into the trash can beside me.

A physical, complete severing of contact.

Nora hugged her bunny plush and looked up at the screen showing the Melbourne flight status.

There was no sadness on her small face.

Only relief.

At the same time, in the downtown hospital, Jacey's fever had already gone down.

Clara sat by the hospital bed.

Seeing that it was already past five, she picked up her phone and took a photo.

In the picture, Jacey was wearing the "borrowed" hand-embroidered silk princess dress, lying in the hospital bed with a toy Marcus had bought in her hands.

Clara posted it online.

Caption: "Even when you're sick, with Daddy Marcus here, you're still the prettiest little princess."

After posting, she deliberately sent that photo to me privately.

She was trying to provoke me.

Outside the ward, Marcus leaned against the corridor wall and smoked.

By chance, he glanced at the calendar hanging at the nurses' station.

His gaze froze.

Today's date had been circled in a big red ring.

Half a month ago, he had specifically asked his secretary to mark it.

Nora's seventh birthday.

A strange panic rose in him without warning.

He straightened abruptly.

He took out his phone and wanted to message me to ask what was going on.

But a delivery notification popped up on the screen.

Same-city express.

Sender address: our home.

Recipient: him.

Marcus's fingers trembled for no reason.

He borrowed the landline at the nurses' station and dialed the house phone.

All that came from the receiver was a cold dead tone.

Beep, beep, beep.

Each sound struck his nerves.

When Clara saw him making a call, she ran out of the ward and grabbed his sleeve, weeping delicately.

"Marcus, Jacey says she's dizzy and wants to throw up. Come look at her..."

Marcus lowered his head and looked at Clara's tear-streaked face.

This time, what flashed through his mind again and again was Nora's hopeless gaze when she said yesterday, "I'm allergic to strawberries."

And before that, at the amusement park entrance, the way Nora had released his hand.

A palpitation he had never felt before clamped down on his throat and choked the breath out of him.

He flung Clara's hand away.

The force sent her stumbling back two steps.

"Enough!"

His eyes bloodshot, he roared at her.

"Her fever's already gone down!

"My daughter's still waiting for me to celebrate her birthday!"