Chapter 2

The nightgown was last year's birthday gift from Marcus.

Water blue. He said it was like the ocean, that it suited me.

When she saw me, she showed no embarrassment. Instead, she tilted her head, her tone innocent and sweet.

"Claire, I was just looking for nightwear and accidentally went through your closet. Everything in there looks like old lady clothes."

"Marcus just got promoted to general manager. How can he take you anywhere dressed like that?"

Hearing this, Marcus's gaze swept over my faded home clothes.

"She has zero sense of style. All day around the stove, all she can think about is housework."

My expression turned cold.

Amber seemed frightened, her eyes reddening:

"Those clothes were too dated. This was the only decent one."

Marcus stepped in front of her, reaching out to protect her.

"Why are you arguing with a young girl?"

"Which part of what I said was arguing?"

Amber hid behind Marcus and said quietly:

"I was just trying to protect this nightgown. One touch from those hands and it'll snag."

Marcus nodded,

"Honey, just let Amber have it. The calluses on your hands will ruin it anyway."

I laughed,

"How about this—you can have the husband too?"

After that day, Marcus seemed a bit guilty and tried to smooth things over. He bought me flowers, apologizing awkwardly.

I didn't accept the flowers or acknowledge his apology.

I started going out frequently, to the library, staying all day.

I was picking up those dusty professional books again. Physics, chemistry, bioengineering, cryptography.

Complex formulas and theories had once been part of my life. Later, for so-called love and family, I'd sealed them away with my own hands. But now I could restart.

Marcus flipped through the books I brought home, his face full of disbelief:

"Why are you reading this gibberish? Claire, you're a housewife. Have you lost your mind? Or are you just putting on a show for me?"

He was convinced I was performing, trying to get his attention.

I didn't explain.

Explaining would be like talking to a brick wall.

Four more days, and I'd be gone.

On Amber's twenty-fifth birthday, Marcus threw her a birthday party at our house.

"Isn't Claire coming down to join us?"

"I'm not feeling well." I lowered my eyes.

Marcus put his arm around her shoulder, laughing:

"Claire's been like this lately, don't mind her. You're the star today."

As I turned to go upstairs, I heard Amber's sweet voice:

"Marcus, you're so good to Claire. You're not even mad when she acts like this."

"She's getting older, it's normal for her temper to get weird."

Marcus answered carelessly.

I put on my noise-canceling headphones and listened to academic lecture recordings.

Better to prepare early so work wouldn't be so hard to handle.

Halfway through the party, I got terribly thirsty and went downstairs for water.

At the stairway landing, Amber deliberately tilted her wine glass and bumped into me.

Red wine splashed all over me and her dress too.

"Ah, my dress!"

Amber screamed, tears immediately welling up,

"Claire! Why did you push me? This is the birthday gift Marcus gave me!"

The commotion drew Marcus and the guests.

Amber cried, face streaked with tears, pointing at the stain on her dress, then at me.

Then she whispered in my ear:

"Could it be that because you're sagging and your husband won't buy you body-hugging dresses like this, you're jealous of me?"