Chapter 2

"What is going on with this floor? It’s wet like a fish market. Is this how you keep a home?"

The next day was Saturday. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, showed up unannounced. Her high heels slipped on the wet floor, and she nearly fell.

She stabilized herself by grabbing the shoe rack, her eyes sweeping over the living room before landing on the Band-Aid on my hand.

I thought she was going to ask how I got hurt.

"Look at your hands. Can’t you be more careful? It’s embarrassing. If Julian takes you out to meet people, showing hands like that is just disgraceful."

"Eleanor, the fridge pipe burst. Last night I—"

"If the fridge is broken, call someone. Don't play the victim with me. All you do is complain day in and day out."

She tossed her designer handbag onto the sofa, inspecting the apartment like a building inspector. Julian walked out of the bedroom in his sweatpants, his hair messy from sleep. The moment he saw his mother, his spirit lifted.

"Mom, you should have told me you were coming."

"I had to check on you. Your wife doesn't do a thing around here. How can you live in a mess like this?"

Julian yawned, giving me that familiar, dismissive look. When it came to taking sides, he never had to think twice.

"Mom’s right, Chloe. Can’t you be more productive? I finally have some free time on the weekend, and I have to wake up to leaks and drama. It’s giving me a headache."

"The leak is near the outlet. It's a fire hazard—"

"Are you an electrician now?" Eleanor’s voice flared. "If you were actually capable of anything, would Julian have to support you? He works so hard to bring home the money, and you just sit here, eating his food, complaining about everything."

Julian let out a small scoff, silently agreeing.

He sat on the sofa, and Eleanor sat right next to him. Together, they looked like an impenetrable wall. I stood in the hallway, unable to step forward, unable to retreat.

"Alright, let's drop it," Julian said, waving his hand at me. "Get us some water."

I went into the kitchen.

My hand hovered over the kettle for three seconds.

Years ago, when he was thirsty, I would brew his favorite white peach oolong tea and serve it at exactly 130°F. He would gently touch my fingertips and whisper, *“Thank you, babe.”*

Now, his "Get us some water" sounded exactly like he was ordering an Uber.

I brought out two glasses of warm water.

Eleanor took a sip, then got straight to the point.

"Julian, you have a guest pass for the gala next week, right? Who are you taking?"

"I gave it to Lily. She helped with my marketing campaign."

Eleanor’s eyes lit up. "The sweet girl from downstairs? I ran into her the other day. She's so polite and put-together. Not like—"

She stopped herself, swallowing the rest of the sentence.

*Not like me.*

She didn’t say it, but I filled in the blank.

"She’s young and driven," Eleanor continued, finally giving me a glance. "Chloe, just keep the house clean. Don't go to the gala. You’ll only embarrass him."

Julian nodded at me. "You heard her."

The water was served. The words were said. In their conversation, there was no seat for me.

I retreated to the bedroom and closed the door.

I sat at my desk and opened my laptop.

On the desktop was an encrypted folder containing dozens of scanned documents. Each page had a clear timestamp in the bottom-left corner—the earliest dating back to March, five years ago.

I selected three files and dragged them into an email draft. I had typed the recipient's address so many times I could do it with my eyes closed.

I hit send.

The moment the progress bar hit 100%, Eleanor’s loud laughter echoed from the living room.

"I always say, Chloe is so lucky to have married a provider like you. If she’s still not satisfied—"

I shut my laptop.

As the screen went black, it reflected a face with a cold, expressionless mouth.

I stood up, took a box of fresh lemon tarts from the drawer—the ones Eleanor had praised last time—and walked out to place them on the coffee table.

Julian took one and handed it to Eleanor. She took it with a smile, ignoring me completely.

"Oh, Julian, in your acceptance speech, don't forget to thank your father. He’s looking down on you from heaven. And thank me, too. I've sacrificed so much for you."

"Of course, Mom. Oh, should I thank Chloe too?"

My hand froze in mid-air.

Eleanor’s voice carried genuine confusion. "Thank her for what? She didn't write the book for you."

Julian laughed.

"True."