Chapter 3

About fifteen minutes later Adrian came through the door, dragging himself across the room as if every step cost him something, and pulled me into his arms with his chin resting on top of my head. "Hey, babe. What do you want for dinner? I'll make whatever you want."

His shirt smelled like a perfume I didn't recognize, something light and citrusy, and I thought of the girl in his posts. She probably smelled bright and alive, just like she sounded, and I couldn't blame him for wanting to be near that.

"Whatever's fine," I said.

He let go and headed for the kitchen, and I followed him.

When he started to steer me back out, I stepped in front of him. "Let me make you some pasta."

"You don't have to. Go rest."

"It's your birthday, Adrian. I want to do this for you."

He swayed a little, as if the words had knocked something loose in him, and then he didn't argue. The whole time I cooked he watched me, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

I carried the bowl to the table, and just as I turned around, a deafening crash came from outside, something huge and heavy hitting the ground, and my whole body went numb.

The bowl slipped out of my hands and shattered, and pasta and sauce spread across the floor.

Adrian reacted on pure instinct, scooping me up and setting me on the couch before he went back to the mess.

By the time I came back to myself, he was crouched on the floor picking up pieces.

"I'll do it," I said. "You sit down."

"No."

"I'm the one who dropped it. Let me clean it up." I reached for a piece of the bowl, and he jumped to his feet and shouted, "I said don't touch it!"

"Can you please stop making things harder for me?" His voice cracked. "I work all day, and then I come home and clean up your messes, and I'm so tired, Nora. Do you get that? I am so tired!"

I pulled my hand back and stood there frozen, not daring to move.

He seemed shocked by the sound of his own voice. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and he turned back to the floor and kept scrubbing without another word.

When he'd wiped up the last of the sauce, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stepped out onto the balcony to take it.

I couldn't hear what the person on the other end said, but through the glass I watched him smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

Adrian used to smile all the time. He had these two little dimples, and I hadn't seen them in so long that I had almost forgotten.

He glanced back at me, and there was something in his eyes I couldn't read.

When he hung up, he came over and kept his voice gentle. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn't have. I have to head out for a little while, okay? Will you be all right here? Be good for me?"

I nodded.

He locked the kitchen door and took the trash bag with the broken pieces. I wanted to tell him he hadn't kissed me yet, because he always kissed my forehead before he left and tonight he had forgotten, and that he hadn't brought home new sunflowers, either.

But the sound of him shouting was still ringing in my ears, so I didn't dare say a word.

Then the door closed, and the apartment sank back into a silence so heavy it felt like a hole in the floor.

I sat there for a long time before my phone lit up. His thread had a new update.

He'd posted a photo of a beautiful lemon raspberry cake with a little chocolate plaque that read Happy Birthday, and at the edge of the frame was a woman's hand with perfect nails. Just from that hand, I could tell she was pretty.

[Last time. As soon as I finish this cake, I'm going home to keep loving her.]

I gathered my courage and replied to this anonymously. [What did you wish for?]

It took him a while to answer.

[I wish I'd never met her, so I wouldn't be in this much pain.]

It felt like someone had swung a hammer into my chest. A strange tingling crept out from my ribs into my arms, and my fingers began to tremble so badly I couldn't hold the phone, and it clattered to the floor.

When I bent down to pick it up, my stomach heaved, and I gagged twice with nothing coming up.

I gripped the arm of the couch and lowered myself onto the floor and stayed there until my hands were steady enough to reach for it again.

His reply was still on the screen, and underneath it he had added one more line.

[Honestly, my birthday wish is that she leaves, by any means, and stops tormenting me.]

The old urge flooded back, the one I hadn't felt in so long. The urge to die.

Honestly, I hadn't wanted to die in a very long time.