Chapter 3

The next morning, he got up at 6:30 AM.

I knew because I had barely slept all night.

Faint sounds drifted from the kitchen—the sizzle of butter in a pan, the low hum of the espresso machine.

At exactly 7:00 AM, he knocked on the bedroom door.

"Breakfast is ready."

I sat down at the dining table, and he slid a plate in front of me.

A sunny-side-up egg. The yolk was perfectly runny, the edges crispy and golden.

"Entry No. 11: She only eats sunny-side-up eggs with runny yolks. Never serve them hard-boiled or over-easy; she hates dry yolks."

I poked the yolk with my fork, watching the golden liquid run across the white.

"I have to head into the office today," he said, holding his coffee mug as he sat across from me. "I might be home late tonight."

"Okay."

"There's beef stew in the fridge. You just need to microwave it for lunch."

"Sounds good."

As he walked to the entryway to put on his shoes, I spoke up.

"Carter."

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"Where is Maya now?"

His movement paused for a fraction of a second as he tied his shoelaces.

"I don't know. We haven't spoken since the divorce."

I nodded and didn't press further.

Once he left, I went into the study and opened his desktop computer.

I knew the passcode; it was our wedding anniversary.

I searched "Maya Song" in his file manager.

No results.

Then I searched just "Maya."

A folder popped up.

It was titled: [Old Archives - Sorted].

I opened it.

It wasn't documents inside. It was screenshots of text messages.

The dates ranged from eight years ago to six years ago.

It was his chat history with Maya.

I scrolled through a dozen images and stopped at one.

In that screenshot, Maya had sent a message:

[If you meet someone else in the future, when you do something nice for her, don't constantly ask yourself why. Just trust your gut. If you have to look up a guide to remember what she likes, it means you don't actually care about her enough.]

The next message was Carter’s reply:

[I used a guide for you, too.]

Maya replied: [And that’s exactly why we got divorced.]

I stared at those words for a long time.

So, I wasn't the first one.

Before closing the folder, I noticed a calendar reminder flashing in the bottom right corner of the screen.

I clicked on it.

"October 17th: Vivian's birthday. Is the letter ready?"

Today was October 5th.

He was already preparing for it.

For lunch, I didn't heat up the beef stew. I went out and grabbed pasta at a diner down the street.

At 3:00 PM, I booked a consultation with a family law firm.

"What legal services do you require?" the receptionist asked.

"Divorce."

"Understood. Could you give us a brief overview of your situation?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

What was I supposed to say?

"My husband treats me beautifully—so beautifully that he acts like a computer running code written by his ex-wife?"

"I just want to know... if one party files for divorce and the other party refuses to sign, what is the legal process?"

After hanging up, my phone screen lit up with a text from Carter.

[Did you heat up the stew? It's chilly today, make sure to wear a jacket if you go out.]

I stared at the message.

Without those 256 entries, I would have found this sweet and caring.

But now, I just wondered: "Which entry number is this?"