Chapter 2

2: 2

Oswald told me not to see him off, but I trailed along right behind him.

Just like when we were kids, walking the whole way.

Watching his back grow smaller, I suddenly called out to him.

"Oswald."

He frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just... wanted to look at you a little longer."

"Have a safe trip."

He studied me for two seconds, then let out a cold laugh.

"You've been strange today."

"Out with it. What are you up to now?"

I shook my head.

But he clearly didn't believe me. His eyes stayed fixed on me, waiting for me to explain.

A gentle voice came from beside him.

"Oswald, don't be so harsh with her."

Davina Sanchez hooked her arm through his and tipped her face up with a smile.

"For three years I've watched. She really knows how to take care of people."

"Just like the housemaid we used to have."

Ever since he joined the Sanchez Group.

Davina had become a subject we couldn't get around in our lives.

She understood stocks, she understood ball games, she understood everything Oswald cared about.

They became close friends, right up until the night he proposed, when he told me himself that he was ill.

And Davina, under the name of caring for a coworker, forced her way completely into our world.

Just like now.

Davina swung his arm and whined sweetly.

"Go on, apologize to her. She packed your luggage so neatly."

"From now on we'll just hire her as our housemaid, okay?"

Oswald looked down at her and smiled, doting.

"You."

That smile was familiar, and yet unfamiliar.

The last time he looked at me that way was a very long time ago.

I laughed at myself.

A dying woman, still fussing over things like this.

In those three years, Oswald hadn't been without his lucid moments.

Once, while the ring was still on his hand, I made a fuss about going to one of his coworker gatherings.

Vanity had gotten to me. I only wanted to stake my claim in front of those people.

At that dinner, Davina sat right beside him.

His coworkers all started ribbing him.

"If you ask me, you're one lucky guy, having an heiress chasing after you."

"The way I see it, the two of you are a perfect match."

"Right, don't forget the little people once you've made it big!"

Listening to the lively teasing, I quietly picked up a bite of food with my chopsticks and set it in his bowl.

The whole table went silent.

And right in front of me, he pushed that food off to the side.

He never touched it, not once, from start to finish.

That night, back home, he did something out of character and rushed into the study.

He grabbed his pill bottle and tipped it hard into his mouth.

He said sorry to me, said he hated himself for having a split personality.

I cried and held him, stroking his back over and over.

"Rebecca, don't push me."

"Give me time. Wait until I recover, all right?"

I nodded hard.

From then on, my marriage was nothing but waiting.

Waiting for the Oswald who loved me to wake up.

Waiting for the Oswald who didn't love me to have time.

On my birthday, I waited in the private room from dawn until deep into the night.

The honeymoon we'd agreed on, the tickets got rebooked seven times.

Until my ID was locked out of the system, he never showed up.

I got angry. I cried.

But not once did I ever blame him.

I loved him, and he loved me.

He had only, for a while, forgotten me.

It was just that over those three years, his lucid moments came less and less.

At first every few days, then every dozen or so.

Now it was months.

I kept wondering if I'd become too dull.

In three years, the things I said to him were the same few lines over and over.

Did you take your medicine? Is it cold out? Do you want me to reheat the soup?

Who would like a person who only asks whether he's taken his pills?

Even I didn't like her.

The announcement came over the speakers.

Davina went through security first.

Oswald walked seven or eight steps forward, then abruptly turned back.

"Rebecca Henson."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

For that instant, I thought he'd found out.

Thought he was going to ask me why I'd gotten so thin.

Ask me about the row of needle marks under my sleeve.

"No."

"Really nothing?"

I shook my head, then watched him disappear, bit by bit, into the crowd.

I lowered my head and sent Dr. Fox a message.

"Move the surgery up."