Chapter 2

After the call ended, Fernando sent no more messages.

For our eighth anniversary, we'd originally planned to go to Disneyland together.

But he said he had to work overtime.

He said we were close to saving enough for a house down payment, and he wanted to work overtime to earn more money.

So these past days, when Fernando's messages were few, I never thought much of it.

But now...

After dinner, I posted a Twitter update with a photo of the pasta my mom made.

[The holiday is almost over. I'll miss my mom's cooking.]

I set it so only Fernando could see it.

After posting, I began to wait.

One hour, two hours, three hours, four hours—no response.

Eight years. Fernando had liked every single one of my Twitter posts.

I once asked him, you're so busy with work, how can you always notice my Twitter posts right away?

He stroked my hair and smiled. Because I care, I pay attention all the time.

My fingertips rubbed against my palm. My finger accidentally swept across my phone screen.

The page switched to Fernando's Instagram.

Just one minute ago, he'd updated his story.

The photo was of the evening sky, with a location tag near our house at that little park.

The caption read: [Busy day done. Finally can catch my breath.]

There was only one comment:

[You worked hard today. Next time, my treat~]

Fernando replied almost instantly:

[It's a deal. No backing out.]

I clicked on the profile of the person who replied to him.

It was a young woman with chestnut-colored hair.

At Fernando's last company dinner, she wasn't there.

At 1:45 AM, Fernando liked my Twitter post.

Then he sent me messages, still in an exhausted tone:

"Juliet, I'm literally dying of exhaustion. Didn't expect overtime on our eighth anniversary would be this busy."

"At least in two more days you'll be back. Remember to send me your train ticket. I'll pick you up."

"You must be asleep, right?"

"Good night. I miss you so much."

I stared at these sentences from Fernando for a long time. Then I changed my train ticket.