Chapter 4

Spoonful after spoonful, I ate the entire bowl of mango ice cream right in front of Robertson.

That night, my whole body burned up and broke out in a rash.

When I got up to find allergy medicine, the living room light turned on.

I thought Robertson had remembered.

Instead, he just walked past me into the bathroom.

"Middle of the night. What are you looking for?"

A bland question, spoken nasally.

He didn't even glance at me before returning to the bedroom.

As for an answer, he didn't care.

Looking at the allergy medicine in my hand, I collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

In that moment, my love died completely.

That night, I sent WhatsApp messages canceling all wedding-related arrangements.

The next day, I was woken by Robertson's voice.

"Why did you sleep on the sofa?"

"What happened to you? All these red spots?"

Robertson crouched by the sofa, his eyes full of concern.

After all these days, it felt like the first time we'd made eye contact.

That feeling was strange yet familiar.

"Damn it! I forgot—you're allergic to mangoes!"

Robertson's guilt came out of nowhere. He called in sick and took me to the hospital.

The entire time, he played the part of an extremely attentive fiancé.

"Your husband treats you so well."

The nurse setting up my IV sneaked a glance at Robertson getting medicine and teased me.

But watching Robertson bustle around, my heart was as calm as stagnant water.

Well? If he treated me well, I wouldn't be having an allergic reaction.

I forced a smile.

Three hours of IV drip. Robertson stayed with me, didn't even touch his phone once.

It rang a few times, but he didn't look.

Actually, I knew it was probably because of his work. Robertson really wouldn't chat during work hours.

He and Thiago only started messaging on weekends after work.

On the drive home after the IV, Robertson seemed to remember something. "Yesterday you said you had something to discuss with me. What was it?"

My hand pulling the seatbelt paused.

So he knew all along. He remembered.

I shook my head and fastened my seatbelt. "Nothing."

Nothing left to discuss.

Robertson kept talking on the way, trying to cheer me up, but I couldn't seem to hear a single word.

"Want me to make you hot milk when we get back?"

Robertson talked as he walked out of the elevator. A few steps later, he stopped.

Through him, I saw Thiago crouched at our front door.

"I'm so sorry, Thiago. I forgot we planned to play games today."

Thiago stood up looking wronged, rubbing her numb legs.

"You didn't even reply to my WhatsApp. So annoying."

"Are we still playing or not?"

Robertson looked troubled and turned to look at me.

I ignored him and walked straight past them to open the door.

Robertson followed hesitantly, negotiating with me in a low voice. "Let me make you hot milk first. After you drink it, rest well. Thiago and I will play games in the study. We definitely won't disturb you."

Thiago had followed inside too.

I looked up. "Do whatever you want."

Robertson could probably tell my mood was off, and ultimately chose not to play games.

He knocked lightly on the bedroom door. "I'll take Thiago home first."

Hearing the front door close, I walked out of the room.

The glass of milk on the dining table was still steaming.

I sat at the table watching the time pass—one hour, two hours. Robertson never came back.

Until dusk fell, the door remained still.

I knew Robertson wouldn't come back.