Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Arthur returned to the apartment, still carrying the damp chill of the morning mist.

With familiar ease, he wrapped his arms around me from behind as I brewed coffee, resting his chin heavily on my shoulder.

"The multi-car pileup on the highway was brutal last night. I was slammed all night long. I barely have the strength to stand right now."

His tone was exhausted and painfully sincere.

If I hadn't watched him crush Chloe into his arms and kiss her with wild abandon last night, or if I hadn't checked Chloe's secret social media account just an hour ago, I might have actually felt sorry for him.

At 3:00 AM, she had posted a photo on that account.

There was no bloody, chaotic emergency room. The background was a king-sized bed in a boutique French hotel downtown.

Arthur was wearing only a bathrobe, holding Chloe tightly from behind, his face buried greedily in the crook of her neck.

The caption read: [Thank you for always abandoning the whole world to be my one and only cure.]

I lowered my eyes, staring at those exact same hands now wrapped around my waist, reenacting the pose in reality.

I took a quiet step forward, smoothly evading his touch, and turned off the coffee maker.

"Is that so? You must be exhausted." My voice was flat, devoid of a single ripple of emotion.

Arthur frowned slightly, seemingly catching on to my unusual demeanor. "What's wrong? Are you in a bad mood?"

"No. Just thinking about the art exhibition next Friday."

Next Friday was the anniversary of my mother's death.

She had loved the Impressionists more than anything.

A month ago, Arthur had gone out of his way to get VIP tickets to a special exhibition. He promised he wouldn't leave my side that day, that he would help me get through the hardest day of the year.

At the mention of the exhibition, Arthur's eyes visibly darted away. He picked up a glass of water, taking a sip to cover his tracks.

"Elena, about the exhibition next Friday... I don't think I can make it. The hospital just scheduled a critical emergency medicine seminar. I'm the keynote speaker; I really can't get out of it." He looked into my eyes, his face a perfect mask of guilt and helplessness over being torn between his duty to life and his duty to me.

"Okay," I nodded, without putting up any fight. Because I knew exactly where his "seminar" was going to be held.

Arthur clearly froze for a second. Then, letting out a breath of palpable relief, he walked over to kiss my forehead. "I knew it. You're always so strong and understanding."

I turned my head, letting his hypocritical kiss land on empty air.

By the evening of next Friday, a freezing rain had swept over the city, exactly as cold as the day my mother died two years ago.

I took a cab alone to the downtown art gallery. But I didn't walk into the exhibition hall. Instead, I stopped under the shadows of the trees across the street.

Rain battered against my umbrella as I stood quietly in the dark, watching the dazzling, radiant scene unfolding across the road.

The VIP glass atrium, which was supposed to be showing paintings, had been completely booked out for a private event tonight.

There was no medical seminar. The space was strung with warm, starry fairy lights and carpeted with Chloe's favorite champagne roses.

I watched Arthur, the man who detested socializing, slicing a custom cake for Chloe with eyes brimming with tenderness.

Beside them, an elegant, glaringly bright display board read in cursive:

[Celebrating two years of Chloe's rebirth. Safe and sound, forever.]

A wave of suffocation, laced with the metallic taste of blood, clamped viciously around my throat.

For the past two years, on this very day, I had been mourning my dead mother with a shattered heart.

Meanwhile, they had turned this day into their own grand, glorious anniversary of salvation.

I watched as Chloe's eyes welled up with moved tears. Like a reborn, fragile little bird, she threw herself dependently into Arthur's arms, weeping softly.

Even though I couldn't hear the words, I could read her lips:

"Arthur, thank you for giving me a second life."

I watched Arthur tighten his embrace protectively. He lowered his head and kissed away her tears with utter devotion, treating her as if she were the most precious, fragile porcelain in the world.

It was all so deeply moving, so beautifully romantic.

How wonderful it would be—if this touching tale of salvation hadn't been bought with my mother's life and my seven years of trust.