Chapter 4

At the end of the hallway, a "Do Not Disturb" sign hung on the doorknob.

Mrs. Abbott's steps suddenly slowed.

"Maybe we should knock first?"

"The child's already asleep. It'd look terrible to just barge in."

I turned to look at her.

"Mom."

"Aren't you the one who trusts they're innocent most of all?"

She opened her mouth.

No words came out.

I pressed the master key card straight against the lock.

Beep.

The door opened.

Men's and women's clothes were scattered from the entryway all the way to the bed.

Stan sat there shirtless, with Neema leaning fully into his arms.

Mrs. Abbott's face changed all at once.

"Stan!"

"Mom?"

Stan bolted upright.

His first reaction wasn't to explain.

Instead, he yanked the blanket over and tucked Neema tightly behind him.

Instinct doesn't lie.

But actually seeing it with my own eyes—

my heart still sank, hard.

Neema's face stiffened for a moment, then quickly broke into a smile again.

"Mom, this is a custom from where I grew up."

"On the night of a rebirth, your savior has to watch over your soul. I'm watching over Stan's soul!"

"Watching over his soul in the same bed?"

I let out a cold laugh.

"Neema."

"How is it that every custom from your hometown ends up under the covers?"

Her smile froze for a moment.

Maybe because I'd cornered her, maybe because she'd been caught in the act.

She suddenly stopped pretending and looked up at me.

"Sister-in-law."

"You're determined to blow this whole thing up today, aren't you?"

I looked at her.

"Did I force you two to book the room?"

"Did I force you into bed?"

A flash of irritation crossed Neema's eyes.

The next second.

She suddenly smiled instead.

"Fine."

"Since you've already tracked us down here."

"Let me tell you something even more interesting."

Stan's face changed abruptly.

"That's enough!"

Neema only grew more interested.

"Enough what?"

"We've come this far already."

She lifted her eyes to me.

"Sister-in-law, haven't you been unable to conceive these past two years?"

My breath stopped cold.

Two years.

Every morning I got up at five to drink that bowl of bitter, astringent herbal medicine.

By the end, just smelling it made me want to throw up.

Three hospitals.

Test after test.

The doctors all said there was nothing wrong with me.

I didn't believe it.

Until Stan took my hand and told me, eyes red:

"Carrie, stop looking into it."

"It's me."

"I went through chemo. The doctor said I need at least five years to recover."

"Wait for me a little longer, okay?"

I believed him.

Neema's voice grated horribly in my ears.

"But the second year after his transplant, he went and froze his sperm."

"The one he saved it for was me."

She tilted the corner of her eye up.

"He said I was the one who saved his life."

"So if he ever really did want to keep a child, of course he'd have to think of me first."

I opened my mouth, and a sob caught in my throat.

Everything I'd done for two years had become a joke.

I looked at Stan.

He kept his eyes lowered, and only after a long while did he speak.

"I'll explain all this to you once we get home."

I didn't respond.

I just pulled the printed agreement out of my bag.

And threw it down in front of him.

"No need to go home."

"You and I are done here."

Stan lowered his head.

When he made out those words, his face changed at once.

"Divorce?"

His head snapped up.

"Carrie, we've been married what, a few days? Have you completely lost your mind?"

When Neema saw the paper clearly, a flicker of smugness crossed her eyes.

"Sister-in-law, do you really have to be this childish?"

"If it really is because of me."

"Then I'll just leave."

She started to get out of bed, and Stan grabbed her and held her down.

Then he whipped his head around to me.

"How long are you going to keep making a scene?"

"Neema donated for me when she was nineteen."

"All those injections, all that suffering she went through."

"That's a debt I was always meant to repay!"

Our eyes met, and I asked quietly.

"Then how long do you plan to keep repaying it?"

Stan froze.

"What?"

"One house isn't enough."

"Five percent isn't enough."

"The wedding quilt isn't enough, a child isn't enough."

My voice grew fainter and fainter.

"Is it only when you hand her the company, hand her your own body, that the debt's finally paid off?"

"What nonsense are you talking about!"

Stan irritably tugged his collar open.

"This is a completely different thing!"

Neema cried even harder.

"Sister-in-law, if you don't believe me, I can donate again right now to prove it to you!"

She lifted her sleeve as she cried, baring her arm.

Stan instantly caught hold of her, heartsick, and turned to me.

"Carrie, you're going to apologize to Neema today!"

I looked down at their two hands, clasped tightly together.

It all just felt absurd.

Right then.

My phone rang.

"Ms. Simmons."

The lawyer's voice came through the phone.

"The materials you had me verify—we've got results."

Stan frowned.

"What materials?"

I didn't answer.

The lawyer's voice went on.

"The property registration on the marital home and the gift of company shares have both been confirmed."

"There's one more thing."

My fingers tightened.

"What?"

There was a two-second pause.

"About Mr. Weiss's bone marrow transplant records from three years ago that you asked us to check—I had the hospital track down part of the file."

The room went suddenly silent.

And in that instant, Mrs. Abbott's face changed.

The lawyer continued:

"The information you gave me earlier says the donor at the time was Neema Joyner, correct?"

I looked at her.

"Correct."

"Then there's a problem."

The color drained from Neema's face bit by bit.

On the other end of the line.

The lawyer said, word by word:

"Because the actual donor registered in the hospital's records..."

"Wasn't her."