Chapter 1

1: 1

At twelve, Oswald Harding broke a leg helping me run from the orphanage.

At nineteen, they drew his bone marrow twice to treat my cancer.

At twenty-three, the night he took the executive director's seat at Sanchez Group, he asked me to marry him.

My heart was full. Then I saw the kiss mark on his neck.

Before I could say a word, he dropped straight to his knees, his eyes red.

"Rebecca Henson, the doctor says I have a split personality."

"One is me, one isn't. One loves you, one doesn't."

"The one who betrayed you, that wasn't me!"

I believed it for three whole years.

But on the day we were supposed to fly abroad, he snatched the boarding pass out of my hand and tore it in half.

Then he turned and slid his arm around another woman's waist.

"He likes you. What does that have to do with me?"

"I have real business to handle. Don't bother me."

I didn't cry or make a scene. I just straightened his tie and told him to be careful on the way.

He didn't know.

In three days, I had an appointment for euthanasia.

……

While I waited for Oswald in the departure lounge, I held two cups of coffee.

One iced black coffee, one hot latte.

He told me once: the one who loves you drinks the latte, the one who doesn't drinks the black coffee.

I couldn't tell which one was coming back today.

I just watched for the ring on his hand.

Ring on, I'd hand him the hot latte.

Ring off, the iced black coffee.

I'd been living this way for three years now.

When he came into view, I glanced at his hand first.

Empty.

I set the iced black coffee down by his hand.

But for the life of me I couldn't picture what that ring looked like.

I only knew it was proof of more than ten years of our love.

More than ten years ago, the punks at the orphanage were tormenting me.

Oswald threw himself into the fight alone, blood soaking through his shirt.

They even broke one of his legs.

Afterward we huddled in a cramped basement.

The two of us shared one cup of instant noodles, and he always left every last strand for me.

To scrape together my tuition, he took under-the-table jobs.

Somebody came after him, and beat his head bloody.

That day his whole face was covered in blood, but he pressed a beautiful ring into my hand.

That boy's eyes were startlingly bright in the dim alley.

"Rebecca, make do with this one for now. Someday I'll buy you the biggest, best one there is."

But later, on the night he proposed.

I found the kiss marks on his neck, on his back, some faint, some deep.

He knelt in front of me, eyes red, and handed me a medical record with a blue cover.

He said the doctors had found he had a split personality.

The one who betrayed me, that wasn't him.

The one who couldn't remember me, that was even less him.

"Rebecca, I can't control it. I never know when he's going to show up."

"From now on, use the ring to tell us apart. Whenever I'm the clear-headed me, I'll be wearing the ring."

"Okay?"

That night I cried until I couldn't breathe.

And still I nodded without hesitation and chose to believe.

"Okay."

Over those three years, I flew abroad more than once.

All for the faintest sliver of a chance.

I made a photo wall, turned our past into stories, and read them to him piece by piece.

Read him how the basement was our first home.

Read him about the child who never got the chance to be born.

He listened, and there was nothing in his eyes but open boredom.

Until last year.

I took that medical record, meaning to ask a doctor about it again.

I passed a little convenience store and went in to buy water.

The owner picked the thing up gently out of my hand and smiled.

"Miss, are you all right?"

"You're taking a fake medical record to a doctor at a hospital?"

She bent down and pulled out a thick stack from under the counter.

The exact same pale blue cover.

"Three dollars each. How many do you want?"

I stood there, cold all over.

I turned to the back cover and dialed the number printed on the first page.

The woman who answered was polite and pleasant.

"Hello, ma'am. Would you like to hear about our critical illness insurance?"

I hung up and stood on the roadside from daylight until dark.

My heart kept sinking, sinking.

Tears dropped without a sound.

As it happened, the ad on the bus stop had changed that day.

Oswald stood dead center, and beside him was Davina Sanchez, the Sanchez heiress.

I stood frozen, and finally understood everything.

I pulled another medical record out of my bag.

This one was real.

Bone marrow cancer. Late stage.

For three years I'd carried his fake record halfway around the world.

My own real one, I'd never shown anyone.

Now that I wanted to show it to him, there wasn't enough time left.

When Oswald looked up from his phone screen, I pushed his luggage in front of him.

"I've got it all packed."

He glanced at the suitcase.

"Your luggage……"

"Mine's ready too. I don't have much, no need to check it."

Only then did Oswald lift his head and study me for two seconds.

"What I mean is, don't bring it."

"The honeymoon's off. I'm busy."

As he spoke, he pulled the boarding pass out of my hand.

Folded it in half, then tore it open.

"He likes you. That's nothing to do with me."

"Whatever you're upset about, go tell the Oswald who loves you."

The honeymoon I'd waited three years for was canceled again.

I didn't say anything.

I just stepped closer and retied his crooked tie.

"I sorted out your stomach medicine. Three packets, morning, noon, and night, labeled. They're in the left inside pocket of your bag."

"Go easy on cold drinks. Your stomach's bad, it'll start hurting again."

This time it was his turn to freeze.

"What's this? No fussing?"

I curved my lips.

"I don't have it in me anymore."

He stared at me for two seconds and said nothing.

I looked down at my phone.

Dr. Fox's message from this morning was still lit up, asking whether I'd settled on a date.

I thought for a moment, then wrote back.

"Three days from now."

His honeymoon ends in three days.