Chapter 4

He returned at 8:00 PM.

He was holding a bag from the bakery down the street—the one I frequented.

"I was passing by and grabbed this," he said, placing the bag on the table. "Hazelnut mousse cake. You said you wanted it last week."

"Entry No. 82: She always talks about dieting, but when she's stressed, she craves sweets. Don't tell her to restrain herself. Just buy it for her."

I didn't touch the bag.

He changed into his loungewear and came back out. Seeing the cake still sitting untouched on the table, he didn't say anything.

He sat on the opposite end of the sofa and turned on the TV.

Two throw pillows sat between us, marking the distance.

In the past, I would have naturally curled up next to him, resting my feet on his lap.

Today, those two pillows felt like a concrete wall.

"Carter."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you actually know me?"

He set the remote down and turned to face me.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Literally. Aside from that folder on your computer, do you actually know me?"

He was silent for a few seconds.

"I think I do."

"Tell me one thing. One thing that isn't written in that document."

He looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You... you always flip your pillow over before you sleep because you like the cool side."

"Entry No. 19."

I knew it was No. 19 because I had read through every single one of them until 4:00 AM the night before.

But I didn't call him out.

"You always taste the soup before you add salt when you're cooking," he added.

"Entry No. 44."

"You hate answering phone calls in an Uber because you find it too noisy."

"Entry No. 103."

Every single one was correct.

Every single one was written by Maya.

I let out a soft, hollow laugh.

"What else?"

He seemed to sense that something was deeply wrong. His voice softened.

"Vivian, I know that file makes you uncomfortable. But it was just a reference. A lot of things..."

"A reference," I repeated, cutting him off.

He stopped.

"The first time you wrote me a handwritten letter, you got ink on your hand and left a smudge on the corner of the paper."

"I kept that letter in my nightstand drawer."

"I thought it was proof of how adorable and clumsy you were when you tried hard for me."

His lips pressed into a tight line.

"But now, I don't know if you wrote that letter because you actually wanted to, or because you opened your notes, saw No. 189, and decided it was time to check it off your list."

"Vivian."

"Is there a difference?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

I stood up and picked up the hazelnut mousse from the table.

I couldn't stand seeing it there anymore, looking like a completed task on his daily checklist.

I walked into the kitchen and put it in the fridge.

As I shut the fridge door, I noticed a sticky note on the side.

"10/6: Vivian's annual physical results are ready. Remind her to pick them up."

Tomorrow.

I stared at the note.

Then I peeled it off, folded it twice, and tossed it into the trash can.

The next morning, I went to the clinic and picked up my results myself.

Everything was normal.

But I didn't tell him.

At 2:00 PM, I called the law firm back.

"I'd like to schedule an in-person consultation to draft the separation agreement."

While the receptionist was confirming the time, a text popped up from an unknown number.

[Hi Vivian, this is Maya Song. I think we need to talk.]