Chapter 4

The most spectacular incident was on Leo and Eve's one-year anniversary.

That afternoon, I posted an Ins story visible only to Eve: an old photo of Leo and me, captioned:

"It's that day again. Thank you, darling, for always being there. See you at our usual spot tonight~"

Then, I pre-booked Leo for dinner at home, telling him I'd learned to make his favorite fondant cake, a complex process, and he absolutely had to come home for it.

At seven sharp, Leo arrived home, looking restless.

I pulled him to sit down, fed him a bite of cake, my eyes as soft as water.

Just as he picked up his spoon, his phone began to vibrate wildly. It was Eve.

He glanced at it, his face subtly changing, and hung up. The phone rang again. He hung up again, and it rang once more.

I looked at him, surprised: "What's wrong? Urgent company matter?"

Leo stammered: "No… just a difficult client."

"Then pick up, don't delay important business," I said thoughtfully.

He awkwardly walked to the balcony and answered the call.

The soundproofing was good, but I could still hear his low, anxious voice.

"...I know what day it is! But I really can't leave right now!… Stop making a scene, okay?!… What Ins post? You saw it wrong! That was an old one!… Hello? Eve! Hello!"

He slumped, lowering the phone, and turned to see me watching him silently, still holding a soup spoon.

His face was a mix of embarrassment, guilt, and unvented frustration.

"Darling, I…" he tried to explain.

But I smiled faintly, interrupting him: "Was that Eve? She sounds very anxious to find you. Is today… some important day for you two?"

Leo looked as if he'd been struck by lightning, his face instantly draining of color.

Without waiting for his answer, I put down the spoon, my voice still calm, even tinged with a weary tolerance: "Go on, don't keep her waiting. I'll save the soup for you."

In that moment, the expression on Leo's face was priceless: the panic of being exposed, guilt towards me, and fury at Eve's ill-timed theatrics.

But he eventually grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the house, without even a proper explanation.

I knew that when he left, he would face an Eve completely out of control, driven by jealousy and insecurity.

Appeasing her would require ten times the energy and effort than usual.

Indeed, Leo didn't return until well past midnight, dragging himself in, even more exhausted, reeking of stale smoke and booze, an air of despondency clinging to him.

He saw the living room light still on. I was curled up on the sofa, seemingly asleep, covered by a thin blanket, the TV playing some boring late-night show.

He paused, then tiptoed over, his eyes filled with genuine remorse.

He wanted to touch me, but didn't dare.

I stirred at the opportune moment, rubbed my eyes, and seeing him, offered a tired yet soft smile: "You're back? Want some more cake?"

"No, Freya!" He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse, "I'm not hungry. Why… why aren't you in bed?"

"Waiting for you," I whispered, with just the right touch of grievance and dependence.

My lack of argument, my waiting, my fatigue, my forced tenderness in my eyes—they were like countless needles pricking his dwindling conscience.

He felt an unprecedented wave of guilt, a guilt that demanded immediate atonement.

"I'm sorry, Freya, I…" He stammered incoherently.

Then, as if finding an outlet, he hastily added: "I'll clean the kitchen! You go rest!"

He rushed into the kitchen, clumsily started washing the pots and pans I had deliberately left, splashing water everywhere.

After tidying up, he noticed the floor was a bit dirty. Without a word, he grabbed the mop and started cleaning the floor.

After doing all this, his energy still had nowhere to vent. Or rather, guilt compelled him to do more to compensate.

"Freya, you look pale. You haven't been exercising. How about we do some yoga? I'll join you!" He pulled out the dusty yoga mat.

In the dead of night, after finishing chores, he started exercising again. His breathing quickly grew heavy once more, sweat beading on his forehead.

After a few awkward yoga poses, he was still wide awake. Or rather, he dared not sleep. He was afraid if he closed his eyes, he'd see me, quietly waiting, or Eve's hysterical face.

"How about… we watch a movie? A horror film? That'll wake us up." he suggested, his eyes bloodshot.

So, at three in the morning, we sat on the sofa, watching a horror movie with jarring sound effects and gory visuals.

The screen's light illuminated his pale, agitated face. With every sudden scare, his body jerked, his heart pounded like a drum.

I leaned against him, feigning fear, gripping his arm, feeling the abnormal, violent throbbing of the veins beneath his skin, and his increasingly ragged breaths.

As he stared intently at the screen, gasping in fear at the plot, I smiled coldly.

Look how hard my husband works. Working hard to juggle two women, working hard to burn away what little health he had left.

And I, I just quietly accompanied him,

Until he completely burned out.