Chapter 2

The hand holding the mug didn't even shake.

That was the most sickening part of his reaction.

Carter calmly set the mug and the heating pad on the nightstand. His movements were identical to those on the first day of my period for the past five years—placed gently, with the mug handle facing to the right, making it easy for me to grab with my right hand.

"Which entry?" he asked quietly.

I turned my phone screen toward him.

The screen was stuck on that very page: 256 entries. Author: [Maya Song].

He stared at it for three seconds.

"That's something from a very long time ago."

"Seven years ago," I said. "We've only known each other for six."

"I know the timeline."

He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping an arm's length of distance between us.

"Maya... she was very observant. She used to write down random notes. When we got divorced, she wiped her shared notes, but I forgot to delete this specific folder from my local drive."

He had used it for five years, yet claimed he "forgot to delete it."

What a pathetic excuse.

"So, for the past five years, you've been living with me by following a cheat sheet she wrote?"

"It's not a cheat sheet." He frowned slightly. "I observe what you like on my own, too."

"No. 189," I challenged.

He didn't reply.

"On my birthday last year, you wrote me a handwritten letter," I said, my voice cracking. "I cried for half an hour because of how touched I was."

"I wrote that letter myself."

"But the "idea" to write it wasn't yours."

I pushed the mug two inches away from me.

He stared at those two inches of distance. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say a word.

Suddenly, I wanted to know what the very last entry was.

I scrolled down to the bottom.

"Entry No. 256: If she stays silent for more than five minutes, do not press her. Give her space. But afterward, you must initiate the apology, even if you feel you did nothing wrong."

Looking at those words, I silently started a timer in my head.

One minute.

Three minutes.

Carter didn't leave, nor did he speak.

Right at the four-minute mark, he stood up.

"You should get some rest. I'll be in the study."

"Entry No. 256, right?" I called out to his retreating back.

He stopped at the doorway, his back to me, his shoulders tensed in a rigid, straight line.

"Vivian."

He rarely called me by my full name.

"What do you want me to say?"

I didn't know.

But I knew I didn't want to hear another pre-programmed response pulled straight out of someone else's manual.

He walked out.

He left the study door open.

I unlocked my phone, took screenshots of the entire document, and emailed them to myself.

Then I opened my contacts list and scrolled to the "Emergency Contact" section.

Carter's name was still at the very top.

My thumb hovered over it for three seconds.

I didn't change it.

But when I closed the app, I opened Safari instead and typed in a search:

[How to file for an uncontested divorce.]