Chapter 3

In our seventh year of marriage, Julian started putting a password on his phone.

"The client information I'm handling lately is too sensitive," he explained, his fingers tracing a pattern on the screen that I couldn't understand.

Back in college, we'd shared the same Amazon account. He even wrote in his graduation thesis acknowledgements, "Thanks to Audrey for letting me check her phone anytime for inspiration."

Now, his phone was always face down.

I stood in the closet, clutching the silk scarf he'd brought back from his business trip last week.

The Hermès box had a label from a Fifth Avenue boutique, but there was no record of this purchase on his credit card statement.

Deep in his closet, in the pocket of a gray suit he often wore, I found a crumpled hotel receipt. The date on it was the exact day he claimed to be in Seattle for a meeting.

At the bottom of the receipt, it read: The Ritz-Carlton, downtown LA.

I opened the map app. It was only 0.75 miles from company headquarters.

The sound of the shower started in the bathroom. I mechanically tied the scarf around my neck.

The silk fabric felt like a cold snake against my skin.

The woman in the mirror had a pale face, dark circles under her eyes from insomnia.

A thirty-year-old woman, no matter how well she takes care of herself, can't compete with a twenty-year-old's collagen.

The water stopped. I quickly exited the map app.

Julian walked out, drying his hair, water droplets trailing down the ridges of his abs.

I had touched this body countless times, but now it felt like a stranger's.

"Tomorrow's your birthday," he said, picking up his phone from the bedside charger. "What do you want for a gift?"

I gazed at the fresh scratches on his collarbone and softly replied, "Come with me for my check-up tomorrow. My report just came in."

"Tomorrow?" He frowned. "I don't think I can make it. I have to fly to New York unexpectedly for an important client."

His fingers tapped rapidly on the screen, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "I'll have my assistant book a restaurant. You can celebrate with your best friend?"

I watched his eyebrows twitch as he typed.

Ten years ago, when he confessed his feelings for me, he'd been texting and secretly smiling like this.

Later, I learned he was live-streaming his confession to his dorm group chat; his buddies had bet he wouldn't dare kiss me.

Now, the curve of his lips was exactly the same as it had been back then.