Chapter 2

I woke up before the alarm went off.

The space beside me was empty.

Stan hadn't come into the room all night.

When I came out from washing up, he had already changed his clothes.

Seeing me come out, he pulled out a chair for me, his expression perfectly normal.

"Last night's over and done with."

"Stop butting heads with Neema."

Always like this.

No explanation, no apology.

As long as I didn't keep pressing, Stan assumed every conflict was settled.

As if my hurt were just a scheduled downpour.

Get through it, and the sky clears again.

I didn't sit down. I looked at him calmly.

"Today is the seventh."

It took him two seconds to remember that today was the anniversary of my mother's death.

Three years ago today, we had a huge fight.

My mother was in a car accident on her way to us.

Back then he had knelt before her tombstone, bowed his head to the ground three times, and gripped my hand as he made a promise.

"Carrie, every year from now on, I'll go with you to visit Mom."

Now.

He only frowned.

"Not today."

"It's over three years since Neema's transplant. Mom's throwing her a rebirth party."

I looked at him.

"My mother's death anniversary only comes once a year too."

"She's already gone. What difference does it make which day we go up the mountain?"

He picked up his car keys, impatience flashing in his eyes.

"Neema is the one who gave me back my life."

The doorbell rang.

He set the key down and strode over to open the door.

The door opened only a crack.

The laughter from outside had already crowded in.

"Kid, I cut a scarf out of some red underwear for you. It's the custom, you have to wear it!"

"Red joy pressing down white grief—you'd dare go to a cemetery with her and see what happens?"

Stan laughed and agreed, then lowered his voice.

"I know."

"I've had legal draft the company-shares agreement. I'm transferring you five percent."

The crowd outside the door exploded.

"Holy crap, five percent!"

"Neema's the best! Back when his wife sold her house to save the company, all Neema has to do is open her mouth."

"How could those two even compare?"

Neema gave a soft laugh.

"A house is money. Bone marrow is life."

I froze where I stood.

My fingertips slowly went cold.

During the nearly half a year Stan spent in the hospital, the company's cash flow broke down.

The bank refused to lend any more.

It was I who sold the house my mother left me.

I poured all the money into it.

Now the company saved with her house was going to be wrapped up as another woman's rebirth gift.

Stan had already picked up the keys and was walking out.

Just before he left, he tacked on one more line, as if doling out charity.

"You're in a bad mood today, so don't come to the party."

"I'll keep you company tonight when I'm back."

Afternoon.

I went to the rebirth party anyway.

I didn't show my face. I just sat in a private room on the second floor of the manor.

Three months ago, while Stan was busy giving his thanks.

This manor had already been acquired for one of the company's projects.

From up here, looking down.

The entire banquet hall was in full view.

Stan and Neema walked in one after the other.

He had a red scarf around his neck, and he was even carrying her bag for her.

Someone asked him with a smile.

"Hey, why are you wearing a scarf in this weather?"

Neema smiled and touched it.

"Such wonderful good luck."

"I cut a scarf for Stan out of my own red underwear—wear it and our hearts are joined."

Stan shook his head with a smile, not a trace of discomfort in his eyes.

I clenched my fists.

Stan is a germaphobe.

So much of a germaphobe that back when I had a cold, he'd swap out any water glass I handed him.

So much of a germaphobe that he would never share a tube of toothpaste with me.

Yet a scarf cut from underwear—he didn't even furrow his brow.

A few rounds of drinks in, a cousin with a face flushed red started egging her on.

"Neema, does drawing bone marrow really hurt?"

Neema set down her chopsticks, and her eyes reddened on cue.

"It hurts."

"They drew it from my back. Afterward I couldn't get out of bed for three days."

Halfway through the party, Neema smiled and hooked her arm around Stan's, their two wine glasses looped together.

From a distance it looked like the red ribbon of a wedding ceremony.

The whole room was shouting.

"Together!"

"Give her a kiss!"

The blood in my whole body went cold, inch by inch.

By the time I came to, the call had already gone through.

I stared quietly at the screen.

This was the last chance I was giving him.

Across the wooden railing, I saw him take out his phone.

When he saw the caller's name, his brows suddenly knit together.

Neema leaned over for a peek, then reached out and set his phone to silent.

"You don't take calls from outsiders on a rebirth day. That's the rule."

Someone jeered, "But that's his wife."

"Anyone who hasn't gone through life and death with him is an outsider."

I watched Stan's smile deepen as he reached out and cut off the call.

Outsider.

Two short words wiped out the seven years we'd walked through together.

The lawyer's call came in right then.

"Ms. Simmons, the agreement is drafted."

I paused.

"Find me one more thing—the donation record from three years ago."