Chapter 3

"Rayne, Mochi only eats this brand of food. Anything else makes her sick. Thanks!"

Three days before departure, Sophia brought her corgi to my house.

She walked in, dumped three bags of dog food on the kitchen floor, and turned to leave without even bringing a dog bed.

I stopped her: "Where's the bed? Where will she sleep at night?"

"Just find some cushion. Mochi's not picky."

She had already changed her shoes and waved at me:

"You're the best, Rayne! I'll treat you to dinner when I get back!"

The door closed.

I looked down at the label on the dog food bag. Imported. $360 per bag.

Last month, Sophia asked to borrow money from me:

"Rayne, my salary is only three grand a month. I really can't make it to the end of the month."

I transferred her two thousand dollars.

But today, the shoes on her feet—I'd seen them at the mall. Four thousand eight hundred dollars.

The corgi circled around my feet, wagging its tail happily.

I crouched down and patted its head: "Come on, let's take you to the park to see the world."

The park had lots of large dogs. The corgi's short legs couldn't run fast.

I loosened the leash and watched it frolic on the grass, squealing as a golden retriever chased it.

At noon, Mom called.

"Rayne, transfer two thousand dollars to Sophia. She wants to buy some clothes for the trip."

"Mom, doesn't she have her own salary?"

Her tone immediately changed:

"Sophia doesn't make much, you know that. Can't you be more generous? She's been frail since childhood. What's wrong with you helping her?"

Frail since childhood.

I'd heard this line for twenty-five years.

Sophia had pneumonia as a kid and was hospitalized for half a month. Since then, she became the family's porcelain doll.

But now she could party at clubs until 3 AM. Frail?

"I'll transfer it to her later."

I hung up. I didn't transfer it.

In the afternoon, I went to Jasper's company to deliver his charger that he'd left at home.

The receptionist said: "Jasper is out. Would you like to wait?"

I called him.

"Baby, I'm meeting a client. I'll call you back later."

I said okay and turned toward the parking lot.

His car was still there.

The black Audi was parked in its usual spot. I walked closer and looked inside.

The passenger seat had been lowered. The rearview mirror angle was wrong too.

Someone much shorter than me had sat there.

I'm five-foot-eight. Sophia is five-foot-two.

That evening at home, I deliberately leaned on Jasper's shoulder and said:

"I might not be able to go to Hawaii. The company has a last-minute project."

He froze for a second.

Just one second.

Then he cupped my face with both hands, his brow furrowed:

"That's such a shame, baby. How about I don't go either and stay with you?"

His tone was sincere, his eyes gentle.

"No, you go. Help me take care of my parents."

"Alright, then I'll be filial for you."

He agreed too quickly. Not even a second of hesitation.

Before bed, I scrolled through the family group's new messages.

Sophia had posted: "So excited for the holiday! Jasper said he'll take me diving when we get there!"

Mom replied with a string of happy emojis.

Dad said: "Jasper's a reliable guy."

I turned off my phone and lay in the darkness with my eyes open.

That future scene floated up again—Father paralyzed in bed, a child stepping on his oxygen tube and laughing.

I told myself: Just hang on a few more days.