Chapter 4

Hearing the word "divorced," my entire body locked up, my mind instantly going blank.

Chloe's mouth kept moving, but the words were just white noise.

*Divorced.*

To the outside world, Dylan was a divorced man.

The elevator doors slid shut again.

"What else?"

"Also... there's a woman who comes by to see him a lot."

Chloe's voice grew fainter and fainter.

"Petite, frail-looking, long hair tied in a low ponytail. Dylan introduced her as his girlfriend."

Petite. Long hair. Low ponytail.

Grace.

Dylan's sister-in-law.

His late brother's widow.

My fingers curled in tightly, my nails biting into my palms.

When the elevator doors opened again, I stepped inside.

I pressed the button for the first floor.

On the ride down from the twelfth floor, the car stopped three times. People shuffled in and out.

I stood frozen in the corner, Chloe's words echoing relentlessly in my head.

I had been married to him for ten years, yet out in the world, he had already ended our marriage.

Stepping out of the building, the glaring sunlight hit my eyes like a slap.

I sat on a bench by the sidewalk for a while, numbly watching the pedestrians pass by.

Then, I stood up and hailed a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

I gave him an address. Grace's apartment.

I had been there before.

When Leo turned a month old, Dylan and I had visited together.

Back then, his brother was still alive.

Then his brother died.

And ever since, every time Dylan had his four days off, he ran straight to this place.

I climbed to the third floor and stood outside the door.

It was an older security door, the paint peeling around the edges. Faint voices drifted through the seam.

Muffled through the metal, I couldn't catch every word, but the voice was unmistakably familiar.

It was Dylan.

"I might not be able to come over as often from now on."

I stood on the landing, pressing my palm against the door panel.

The cold metal bit into my skin.

Grace's voice came through, thin, trembling, tinged with a whiny sob:

"Why? Did she say something?"

"No. She saw the school app linked to my number yesterday. I came up with an excuse, but I know how she is. She won't say it out loud, but she's definitely dwelling on it. We need to lie low for a while."

"Then let her dwell on it!"

Grace's voice pitched higher.

"Dylan, have you told her about a divorce yet? When are you actually going to tell her?"

"Now isn't the right time."

"It's never the right time! When is it ever going to be? You say that every single time!"

Footsteps paced back and forth inside the apartment.

"Leo is your son, not your nephew! You are his father! Do you honestly think you can hide this for the rest of your life?"

My palm pressed harder against the door, my fingers curling into a fist.

*Leo is your son, not your nephew.*

Every single thing that had felt off over the years suddenly clicked into place.

Grace's shrill voice forced its way through the gap.

"Leo is in elementary school now! When his classmates ask about his dad, he doesn't even know what to tell them! I have to tell him his dad is away on business, on a long work trip! How much longer is this 'business trip' going to last?"

"Leave the kid out of this."

"Why shouldn't I bring him up? He is your son! Your own flesh and blood!"

Dylan fell silent.

A moment later, he said, "I've been married to her for ten years."

"What about me?!"

Grace's voice suddenly dropped, muffled, as if she had buried her face into something.

"Haven't I been with you for ten years, too? Doesn't my son share your last name?"

The door beneath my palm had grown warm from my body heat.

I pulled my hand back and wiped it on my shirt.

My palm was slick with moisture—I couldn't tell if it was cold sweat or something else.

Then, I knocked.

The apartment went dead silent.

"Who is it?" Grace asked.

I knocked three more times.

"Probably the food delivery. I just ordered," Dylan's voice called out.

Footsteps shuffled toward the door, house slippers slapping against the floor tiles.

The door swung open.