Chapter 2

I came down with a fever. Perhaps it was from being overwhelmed with anger and distress, or maybe from sitting on the floor all night.

My temperature spiked to 103.1°F. It felt as though I was burning alive one moment and freezing the next.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, I dialed Raymond's number out of habit. Previously, if I felt even slightly under the weather, he would drop whatever he was doing and rush home, even if he was in the middle of an international meeting. However, this time, it took him a long while to pick up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the line wasn't Raymond's. It was Monica.

Her voice was syrupy sweet and laced with the lazy languor of someone who had just woken up.

"Oh, Linnea? Raymond's in the shower."

Raymond was taking a shower at Monica's place first thing in the morning? I gritted my teeth, clinging to my last bit of consciousness. "Put him on the phone."

"Don't be upset, Linnea." Monica chuckled. "I accidentally spilled coffee on Raymond yesterday. You know how much of a germaphobe he is, so he crashed in the guest room for the night. He really is the most attentive caregiver. Last night... I was so exhausted. Thank goodness he was here!"

Every single word plunged like a knife into my heart.

"Monica…" My voice trembled uncontrollably. "Put him on the phone!"

"What's wrong?" Raymond's low voice came through the line. It was raspy as though he had just woken up.

Monica responded coyly, "Linnea sounds upset, Raymond. She insists on checking up on you."

"Linnea?" His voice instantly turned cold. "What are you making a fuss about this early in the morning?"

Scalding hot tears rolled down my cheeks and into my hair. "I have a fever, Raymond. I feel awful... I want to go to the hospital."

Even after reading the memos on his phone and that heated argument we had the day before, I still held on to a ridiculous sliver of hope for him at that moment. After all, we had been married for seven years. Even if one kept a pet dog for that long, they'd develop feelings for it, wouldn't they?

Silence hung on the line for two seconds. Then I heard the rustle of clothes, and Raymond's tone softened slightly. "How high is your fever?"

"103.1°F."

"Take some fever medicine first and have the driver take you to the hospital." Raymond's voice remained calm and composed. "Moni hasn't finished hanging her paintings yet, and she can't reach them. I'll head back once I'm done helping her."

Monica hadn't finished hanging her paintings.

I was burning up to the point of passing out, while my husband was helping another woman hang her paintings.

"Raymond..." I panted weakly. "If I don't go to the hospital, I'll die... I'm allergic to penicillin, and the medicine at home is already—"

Monica suddenly cried out on the other end of the line. Right on its heels came the sound of something crashing to the floor.

"What's wrong, Moni?" Raymond's voice was immediately filled with panic. It was a kind of urgency he had never shown me.

"My hand... The frame hit my hand, Raymond. It hurts so much..." she wept.

"Don't move! Let me see! You're bleeding... Hang in there. I'll take you to get it bandaged right now!"

Chaos erupted on the other end, and I was completely forgotten.

"Raymond…" I forced out. I desperately wanted to tell him that I was in pain, too. I was bleeding too. My heart was bleeding.

However, he had hung up on me.

I clutched my phone, looking up at the glittering chandelier on the ceiling. Gradually, my vision blurred.

As it turned out, in his eyes, a minor scrape on Monica's finger was a catastrophic event, while my dangerously high fever was nothing more than my attempt at "making a scene". I forced myself up and staggered toward the stairs.

I was halfway down the stairs when everything suddenly went dark. Before I knew it, I was tumbling down the steps.

Excruciating pain shot through me. Right before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw Raymond when he was 18.

He wore a white shirt as he piggybacked me across the school field after I sprained my ankle, sweat dripping down his face. He had told me, "Fear not, Linnea. I'm here. I won't ever let you get hurt."

I thought to myself, "Liar. Raymond, you big, damn liar!"