Chapter 3

I got home. Before I could even set my bag down, my phone lit up.

Shelagh had sent an audio clip.

It was a recording of her call with Burton from the day I took the dog to the hospital.

The two of them, back and forth, question and answer.

"Mr. Gilbert, what's wrong with your dog?"

"Nothing. Just a minor illness."

"Victoria must be worried sick, huh?"

"Let her worry. I already signed off on putting it down. She'll cry for a couple days and get over it."

"You're kind of ruthless..."

"Seven grand could go toward a lot of things. Oh, right, did you book your cat's checkup yet? I already set it up for you. The full panel plus a cardiac ultrasound. I'll cover it, don't skimp."

"Oh no, there's really no need..."

"Don't stand on ceremony with me. Your little fur baby matters."

I sat there listening to those familiar voices, frozen.

So the day he told me I'd made the decision for you, the very next thing he did was book a full checkup for someone else's cat.

So while he was telling me it's just an animal, don't waste money, what he was typing into that chat was your little fur baby matters.

I clicked into Shelagh's feed without thinking.

The newest post was a video: the cat lying across Burton's lap, his head bent as he tied a little bow tie on it, a smile on the side of his face.

The caption read:

Mr. Gilbert refused to leave until he got a bow tie on Tangerine. There was no stopping him. All I can say is, cat daddy really loves her.

Someone in the comments had asked:

"Your boss treats your cat better than he treats you, doesn't he?"

She'd replied:

"Being good to the cat is being good to me."

I turned my phone off.

I stood up, went into the bedroom, and pulled open the closet to start packing.

While I was packing, I found a red velvet box.

I opened it. A pair of gold rings.

I'd saved half a year of my salary and ordered them in secret, planning to bring them out on his birthday, to replace the plain silver bands he'd carelessly bought back when we got married.

I'd even imagined the look on his face when he saw them.

Maybe moved. Maybe crying. Maybe so overcome he'd slip his on right there.

Now I looked at the box, ran my fingers over the velvet, and suddenly thought:

Whether he even deserved to wear these rings of mine.

It was deep into the night before he came home.

He came into the room without much sound, walked over, and sat down beside me.

"Today was my fault." Tenderness, rare from him.

"I shouldn't have talked to you like that in front of a coworker."

He reached out to take my hand. I flinched back and didn't let him touch me.

"Come on, don't be angry, okay? Tomorrow's the weekend. I'll take you to that place you've been wanting to go for dinner, and we'll talk it through."

I looked at his slightly bowed head, a few white hairs standing out under the light.

Then I took out the velvet box, opened the lid, and held it out in front of him.

"Burton, I ordered a pair of rings. I was going to give them to you on your birthday."

He raised his head, his eyes landing on the two rings in the box.

He looked for several seconds, then reached out, picked one up, and turned it over.

Inside, I'd had the jeweler engrave our initials to match my own handwriting.

He put the ring back in the box and pushed it aside.

"Return them," he said. Not even a pause in his voice.

I stared at the box shoved to one side, my mind blank.

"What did you say?"

"I said return them. What are you spending money on this for?" He rubbed his temples, his voice turning irritated all at once.

"We've been married this long, so what are you dragging out rings for? It's not like we don't have any to wear."

"I saved for half a year..."

"Half a year?" He let out a short laugh.

"You spent half a year's money on this and didn't say a word to me? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to earn money now, and here you are wasting it on useless things like this."

Something went sour in my nose. I suddenly remembered our wedding night, how he'd held me, drunk, and said,

"Victoria, I'll be good to you for the rest of my life."

That night the fireworks had gone off outside the window at just the right moment, lighting up his eyes.

And now, three years later, my heart's intention had become the most useless thing in the world to him.

Maybe he felt he'd been too harsh, because after a few seconds of silence he patted my shoulder.

"Let's just eat tomorrow. I already had Shelagh book the dinner. Hold on to the rings for now, we'll talk about it later, okay?"

I sat there without moving.

Shelagh. Shelagh again.

Even our weekend plans had to have her in them.

When he saw I wasn't saying anything, he yawned, stood, and went to wash up.

The bathroom door closed, and the water started running.

I reached out, took the box back, and slid it into my coat pocket.

There wouldn't be a later.

No dinner out, no talking it through. Nothing left at all.