Chapter 1

The year after I pulled Mavis Harding out of that fire, she gave me a pair of earrings and put them in herself.

I couldn't stop touching them. For once I was in the mood to take a selfie.

Mavis watched me edit the photo, then said, offhand, "Doesn't it get boring? Lying to yourself like this."

My hands went still.

She pointed at the smoothed-over version of me on the screen.

"The scars. The skin grafts. That bald patch the fire left on top of your head."

"That stiff face of yours, no matter how much you touch it up, still won't come out as good as that boy's photo does straight off the camera."

I gripped the phone.

I thought of the strange lighter I'd found in her coat pocket last night while doing laundry.

Last week she said she was working late. I went to the office to bring her soup, and the front desk told me she'd left at six.

Last month, when she was late to my follow-up at the plastic surgery clinic and came rushing in, there was that faint trace of cigarette smoke on her collar.

So it wasn't all in my head.

I closed the editing app. My voice stayed level.

"Who's the boy?"

She blinked, then let out a small laugh.

"I'll never say the fire cooked your brain again. You're still this sharp."

"He's an intern at the company."

"He's a sensitive kid, so don't go making trouble for him."

Her fingertip brushed the earring on my earlobe.

"As long as you behave, the position of my husband will only ever be yours."

I touched the edge of the graft on my neck, still not fully healed, and lowered my eyes.

"I understand."

...

I took the earrings off and dropped them into the bottom of the drawer.

Just like that, I didn't like them so much anymore.

Mavis went quiet for a second, then a soft laugh drifted through the bedroom.

"Are you upset? Because I said you're not good-looking?"

"I was only telling the truth. If you finished editing and saw how far off it was from the real you, you'd feel even worse."

"As for that boy, don't worry. In my heart you'll always come first."

"Let's sleep." I switched off the light and lay down.

She turned it back on, exasperated. "Frank Swanson, get up and put your ointment on before you sleep."

I pulled the blanket over my head.

She sighed, and in the end she lay back down.

Tears soaked into the pillow soon enough, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

The next thing I knew, the graft on my right cheek was itching so deep it went straight to the bone.

I didn't dare scratch. I could only press my palm against it, my breathing turning quick and shallow.

Mavis woke to the noise and sat up at once, reaching for the repair cream on the nightstand out of pure habit.

"I told you to put the ointment on and you wouldn't listen. Now it's itching again."

Her head was down, her voice still rough with sleep, but her fingertips spread the cream so gently.

"You just had your last burn-repair surgery. The doctor said over and over that you have to be serious about the ointment. No more sulking after this."

The cool cream moved over the rough skin, and the itch slowly eased.

I looked at her lowered brow and lashes, and my throat tightened.

"If he got hurt for you too, would you be this good to him?"

Her hand paused. Her voice came low.

"Don't read into it. I'll never give him the chance to protect me."

She pressed a silicone scar sheet over the graft to keep it from thickening.

Then she patted my shoulder. "Sleep."

When I woke the next day, Mavis had already left for the office.

On the table, as always, was the nutritious breakfast she'd made.

I bit into a piece of French toast. It tasted like nothing.

I opened my phone and messaged Ray Walker, one of the company's employees.

【What's the deal with that intern of Mavis's?】

He came back with an exclamation mark.

【Frank, if you hadn't asked, I was about to come find you myself.】

It turned out Mavis and that intern were already an open secret at the company.

In meetings, he'd tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ear as if no one else was in the room.

At lunch, she'd keep him in her office to eat with her, and through the half-open door people could see her let him feed her, doting on him as she ate.

At company drinks, she'd take his rounds for him, laughing as she covered for him. "He just graduated, don't give the kid a hard time. You want a drink, come to me."

I listened to one long voice message after another, and my heart slowly went cold.

The last thing he sent was a photo.

A full set of custom men's jewelry.

Brooch, necklace, bracelet, ring, earrings, the whole set matched, the cold metal sheen sharp and expensive.

【Yesterday was his birthday. Ms. Harding threw him a party at the office and gave it to him in front of everyone.】

I stared at the picture for a long time.

I got up, went back to the bedroom, and dug out the earrings she'd given me the day before.

Same design style. Same faceting.

Only mine were thinner, the shine duller.

So she hadn't suddenly given me earrings to celebrate the end of my last repair surgery.

She'd given him a whole set of expensive jewelry, then pulled a free promo pair off it and tossed them my way like a handout.

【Frank, come by the office. The old-timers here miss you too.】

I closed the chat and opened the front camera.

The face inside it had been through several rounds of repair, but the skin tone was uneven, the graft borders winding and irregular, and when I smiled the right corner of my mouth wouldn't pull up.

A very unfamiliar face.

Two years ago, Mavis and I were at the mall when the fire broke out. I threw everything I had into getting her out, and ended up in the ICU with severe burns.

After that, for a long time I couldn't stand to think about how I looked.

Even at home I wore long sleeves and long pants every day, hiding those ugly scars.

Every mirror in the house was put away. I wouldn't give myself a single glance.

Whenever it broke me, Mavis would hold me and comfort me in a soft voice:

"Your injuries are because of me. No matter what you become, in my eyes you're just as good-looking."

In the span of a few short months, her verdict on me had turned into "a stiff face" with "scars, skin grafts, and a bald patch the fire left on top of my head."

I dug out a dusty mirror from a corner, and the concealer with it.

Half an hour later, I'd covered the flaws, and looking in the mirror, I lifted the corners of my mouth a little, as if I'd caught sight of the person I used to be.

I left the apartment and took a cab to the office.

On the way, I sent a message to a lawyer.

"May I ask what I need to prepare for a divorce?"

The reply came:

"If the other party is at fault, I'd advise you not to tip them off. Quietly hold on to the relevant evidence."