Chapter 1

On my mother-in-law's sixtieth birthday, she toasted her way around the table all the way to the adoptive sister who had donated bone marrow to my husband.

She raised her glass to me across the round table.

"Sis, that wedding quilt you slept under last week—I slept under it one night first."

"I was fast asleep and couldn't help myself, so I left a little wet mark on it. You don't mind, do you?"

The whole table of relatives went dead silent in an instant.

My mind went blank. That quilt had been over me just last night.

Seeing me freeze, she smiled and waved a hand to explain.

"Oh, it's a custom back home—a quilt warmed by a savior keeps the newlyweds safe from every illness."

"If Stan and I really had something going on, we wouldn't say it on Mom's sixtieth birthday, would we?"

"Besides, I gave my whole life to him. What's the big deal about sleeping under one quilt?"

......

I looked at Stan Weiss, waiting for him to explain.

Instead, he picked up the last piece of sweet-and-sour ribs on the plate and set it in Neema Joyner's bowl.

"Not even eating can shut your mouth."

Neema chuckled softly, biting her chopsticks, and pressed her foot down on his leather shoe.

"Why so fierce? It's not like we've never slept under the same one."

"That mole on your waist—I'm the one who bit it there."

The whole room burst out laughing.

A relative beside us stepped in to smooth things over.

"That's right. Neema lost her parents young, the two of them grew up sharing one quilt. That mole was just Neema being greedy and biting him. Nothing more to it."

"Besides, Neema is Stan's savior. It's just an old custom from back home. Carrie, don't take it to heart."

"Come on, come on, a toast to the birthday lady!"

I'd heard reasons like this far too many times.

She tried on my wedding dress—that was the savior's blessing.

She took the spare key to our bridal home—that was the savior blessing the house.

And now.

She slept under my wedding quilt and left fluid on it.

Still an old custom.

This time, I didn't give in and raise my glass.

Instead, I made a video call to our housekeeper.

"Corinne, that red wedding quilt in the master bedroom—carry it downstairs and throw it in the trash station."

"Throw it now, with the video on."

The laughter at the table stopped in an instant.

In the video.

Corinne walked into the building entrance.

She lifted the lid off the trash bin.

With a thud.

The big red wedding quilt dropped in.

I turned my phone toward everyone.

"By the customs of our hometown."

"A wedding quilt an outsider has slept under is unlucky. It has to be thrown out in public so the whole family lives to a ripe old age."

I smiled a little.

"Why aren't you smiling anymore?"

"Weren't you all so cheerful when you were talking about the quilt just now?"

My mother-in-law's face darkened on the spot.

"Carrie Simmons!"

"That was Neema's heartfelt gesture!"

Stan Weiss shot to his feet too.

"You just had to throw a fit today?"

Neema's eyes reddened along with hers.

"You should've said earlier if you were put off by me, Sis."

"I'll just take it back. No need to trash things in front of everyone."

As she spoke, she patted my mother-in-law's back to calm her.

And at the end she even smiled at me.

"Sis, Stan and I couldn't be more innocent."

"During his six months in the hospital, wiping him down, changing his dressings, turning him over—was there a single thing I didn't do?"

"What sorry state of his haven't I seen?"

"If I really had that kind of thought, would it ever have been your turn?"

When she finished.

She gave Stan Weiss a shove.

"You brat."

"Go comfort your wife."

"Your wife isn't like me—too flat-chested, can't take a joke."

Stan Weiss's throat bobbed.

After a long moment.

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him.

My heart clenched hard, and all at once it all felt utterly pointless.

I picked up the glass of wine I'd never raised and threw it in his face.

I grabbed my bag, stood up, and walked out.

The underground parking garage.

Stan Weiss caught up and seized my wrist.

"It's Mom's sixtieth birthday, and you had to pick today to make a scene like this?"

"Neema gave me her bone marrow. What's the big deal about her sleeping under a quilt for one night?"

"Can't you be a little more gracious?"

I wrenched my hand away.

"That time she had a stomachache, you drove halfway across the city at two in the morning just to buy her a bowl of porridge."

"But last month, when I had acute appendicitis and was signing the surgical consent form alone at the hospital, where were you?"

His face stiffened.

I stared at him.

"I only found out later."

"Neema's dog had a fever, and you had to look after it."

My eyes went hot.

I forced myself not to let the tears fall.

"Stan Weiss."

"When you were at your sickest, I sold the house my mother left me to save your company."

"But the day you were discharged, the first thing you said when you opened your eyes was thank you, Neema."

"How many days did she even spend in the hospital?"

"So all these years, your life has been hers, your money has been hers."

I paused.

"And now even my wedding bed has to be hers to sleep in first."

The parking lot was so quiet nothing was left but echoes.

I took a deep breath.

"Let's get a divorce."

No one answered.

I looked up. Stan Weiss was leaning sideways against the car door, earbuds in his ears.

Murmuring softly to comfort someone on the other end of the phone.

"Neema, don't be sad, I'll buy you ten more quilts..."

Sensing my gaze.

He pulled out an earbud, his brow furrowing impatiently.

"What did you just say?"

In an instant, every word I'd wanted to say was gone.

Helplessness swept over me, and I hit the gas and drove home.

I sat in the pitch-dark living room.

And sent a message to the lawyer who, just a few days ago, had wished me a happy marriage.

"Help me draw up a divorce agreement."