Chapter 3

I splashed cold water on my face and walked out of the restroom.

At the end of the hallway, Alexander was settling the bill at the front desk.

Ingrid stood beside him, reaching naturally into his coat pocket to fish out his car keys.

"Alexander, I'll go start the car and turn on the heat. It's freezing outside."

"Go ahead. Turn on the passenger seat warmer too."

Alexander didn't look up, still checking the bill.

The ease between them flowed like water over flat ground, without the slightest friction.

I walked over just as Alexander finished paying.

"Let's go. Time to head home." He glanced at me.

When we reached the underground parking garage, Ingrid was already sitting in the passenger seat.

She'd kicked off her high heels and changed into a pair of fuzzy flats.

Seeing me approach, Ingrid smiled somewhat apologetically.

"Talia, I have an old ankle injury. I can't wear heels for too long. The passenger side has more legroom so I can stretch out. You don't mind me sitting here, right?"

Before I could respond, Alexander had already opened the back door.

"Talia, you sit in back. Ingrid has a bad back—I specifically adjusted the passenger seat's lumbar support to match her spine curvature. It's too much hassle to keep readjusting. It's only a half-hour drive anyway. Just make do."

I got in the back seat. The car pulled out of the garage.

Ingrid's phone screen lit up. The car's Bluetooth automatically connected, and soft jazz flowed through the speakers.

"Oh," Ingrid turned to look at Alexander. "Why does your car system still default to connecting to my phone first?"

Alexander kept his eyes on the road ahead, his tone casual. "Still from the last time you connected it. I didn't change it. Your playlist is fine—saves you from always complaining my taste is outdated."

He didn't disconnect the Bluetooth. He didn't switch it either.

He just let her preferences fill the space between him and me.

At a red light, the car stopped.

Ingrid opened the center console with practiced ease and pulled out a tube of hand cream.

She squeezed some into her palm, rubbed it in, then naturally took hold of Alexander's right hand resting on the steering wheel and applied some to him too.

"The wind's harsh in winter. Your hands are getting all dry and flaky."

Alexander didn't pull away, letting her massage the cream into the back of his hand.

"I'm about to be a married man. A little rough is fine. Why bother with this sticky stuff?"

He complained with his words, but his tone was completely unguarded and relaxed.

After finishing with his hands, Ingrid held the hand cream toward the back seat.

"Talia, do you want some? This brand is really moisturizing."

I stared at the familiar logo on the tube.

Last month when my hands were cracking from the cold, I'd asked Alexander to stop by the counter after work and pick one up for me.

He said the counter was too far out of the way and bought me a two-dollar jar of Vaseline from the convenience store downstairs instead.

Now, that hand cream he never bought for me sat naturally in Alexander's car, belonging to Ingrid.

"No thanks." I looked away, turning toward the window.

The car stopped in front of Ingrid's apartment building.

"Alexander, I still can't figure out how to connect that new robot vacuum to Bluetooth. The manual is so complicated. Can you come up and help me set it up?"

Ingrid unbuckled her seatbelt.

Alexander turned off the engine.

He looked back at me. "Wait here for ten minutes. I'll just help her connect it to the network and come right back down."

As he spoke, he habitually pulled out the car keys.

The engine stopped running. The warm air in the car immediately cut off.

"Leave the keys." I looked at him. "I want to run the heat."

Alexander frowned. "It's just ten minutes. There's still residual warmth in the car. Why waste gas running the engine when no one's driving? Since we're getting married, we need to live frugally. Stop being so high-maintenance."

He lectured me self-righteously about "married life."

Then he closed the car door and walked into the building side by side with Ingrid.

I sat in the back seat. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Half an hour.

The residual warmth in the cabin completely dissipated. Cold air seeped through the window cracks like needles.

I pushed open the car door, hailed a taxi on the street, and went home.

Walking into the bedroom, I pulled out the suitcase from under the bed and opened the closet.

I began folding my clothes one by one and placing them in the suitcase.

On the bathroom counter, my skincare products occupied only a small corner at the edge.

Most of the space was taken up by Alexander's various colognes and men's hair products.

In the toothbrush holder sat Alexander's blue electric toothbrush.

Next to it was a pink one—left behind by Ingrid when she stayed over once.

Alexander wouldn't let me throw it out, saying she'd need it next time she visited.

Half an hour. Two suitcases. They contained my entire four years of youth.

At 12:30 AM, Alexander sent me a WhatsApp message.

"The robot's motherboard was broken. I helped her disassemble it to file a warranty claim. You took a taxi home? Why didn't you tell me? Keep the receipt—I'll reimburse you. Stop being so wasteful once we're married."

I opened the screen, replied "OK," then long-pressed the conversation and clicked delete.

The chat history cleared instantly.