Chapter 2

He set his phone facedown and leaned forward.

"Look, I just want a little pocket money of my own. It doesn't mean I’m not supporting this house. I'll still cover my share of the bills every month, and whatever is left over, I’ll hand it to you."

He sounded so earnest, almost walking on eggshells as if he genuinely worried about hurting my feelings.

The knot in my chest pulled tighter.

"I'm not mad."

"If you want to manage your own money, go ahead."

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cushions and picking his phone back up.

"Don't worry, I won't waste it. I just want to buy things without constantly having to ask you for cash. You know, like grabbing lunch with coworkers. It’s just more convenient."

I sat there, my thoughts tangled in knots.

I wanted to confront him, but where would I even begin?

I had no concrete proof. No smoking gun. With just a pinned chat and a few retail charges, he could easily spin an excuse and talk his way out of it.

What if I was just overthinking?

"Babe?"

He called out to me again.

"You really don't seem like yourself today."

"I said I'm fine."

I stood up, set the glass on the coffee table.

"I'm going to take a shower."

As I walked into the bedroom, I glanced back at him over my shoulder.

He was looking down at his screen, a faint, lingering smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.

He came in past eleven, switched off the lights, and slipped under the covers beside me.

"Asleep yet?" he whispered.

I didn't answer, keeping my eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be out cold.

After a while, his breathing settled into a steady, rhythmic pattern.

I rolled onto my side and stared at his back.

I had looked at this back for eight years. It used to make me feel so safe and protected, but right now, he felt like a total stranger.

Tears spilled over without warning.

I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face into the pillow, choking back every sound.

The next morning, the alarm jarred me awake.

His side of the bed was already empty, the sheets neatly tucked.

I checked the clock—7:20 AM. He usually left the house by seven.

On the dining table sat a cup of iced coffee and a warm bagel, weighted down by a sticky note: *Breakfast is on the table. Make sure you eat.*

A note like that used to warm my heart.

Now, seeing it only made my chest ache with suffocation.

He could still buy me breakfast so casually, still leave sweet little notes, pretending everything was perfectly fine between us.

Yet everything in my world had shattered.

I arrived at the office ten minutes late, my fingers trembling as I badged in.

I spent the first half-hour staring blankly at my monitor, unable to process a single word on the screen.

My coworker, Zoey, passed by my cubicle and poked her head in. "Claire, you look exhausted. Bad night?"

"Yeah, didn't sleep much," I forced a tight smile.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

I nodded and forced myself to pull up a work file.

By the afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore. I took half a day off and went home early.

I sat on the couch for hours.

Deep down, I already knew the truth.

Yet I still wanted to hear it straight from his mouth.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and tell me who those luxury items were for, who this girl was, and why he looked me in the face and lied.

At seven in the evening, the front door clicked open.