Chapter 3

Mom didn't expect me to come back two days early.

All morning she hurriedly stuffed things into my bag.

"Juliet, when you get back, treat Fernando well. That boy came from nothing. It wasn't easy for him to get where he is today."

"Tell him for me, thank him for the money transfer, but I can't accept it."

My hands stopped packing.

"When did he send you money?"

"Just now. Didn't he tell you?"

"When exactly?"

Mom put her phone in my hand.

"See for yourself."

I opened Mom's phone. It was at 7 AM.

He'd transferred $2,000 to Mom and sent a message:

[Auntie, I have to work overtime this time and couldn't go back with Juliet to see you. Please accept this money. This Christmas I'll definitely go back with Juliet and call you Mom.]

Thinking about how I hadn't replied to Fernando's messages from last night until now,

my hands suddenly went weak.

Fernando really knew how to manipulate my emotions.

I forced myself to calm down, stuffed the phone back to Mom, and smiled.

"Not taking it is right. After all, who knows what will happen in the future."

"Don't talk nonsense!"

Mom smiled and touched my face.

"Your dad said yesterday, boys as sincere as Fernando are hard to find these days. You need to treasure him."

"I know, I know."

I cut off Mom's nagging.

"By the way, don't tell Fernando about me coming back. I want to surprise him."

Mom laughed.

"Alright, I know."

At 3 PM, I arrived at the apartment Fernando and I rented.

Fernando wasn't home.

After entering, I put down my suitcase and looked around. Everything seemed normal.

I immediately checked the home surveillance footage.

But three days ago—the night I left—the surveillance had been turned off.

I went to the kitchen. It looked the same as when I left.

But in the trash can lay a receipt from the supermarket. From yesterday.

It was mostly daily necessities, but at the end were three boxes of condoms.

The brand Fernando had begged me to try multiple times.

I thought the flavored ones were weird and never agreed.

I clutched the receipt and headed straight to the bedroom, pulling open the nightstand drawer.

The condoms Fernando and I regularly used were still there.

Of those three new boxes, only one remained.

I opened the closet. In the most accessible spot, Fernando's pajamas were neatly folded.

Fernando never folded clothes, especially not pajamas.

Every time, I followed behind him organizing things.

But those pajamas—I didn't fold them.

I yanked the folded pajamas out of the closet.

I immediately saw the chestnut-colored long hair on the pajamas.

With trembling hands, I took out my phone.

I found Fernando's Instagram, clicked on the profile of the girl who replied to him.

I stared at her chestnut-colored long hair, frozen in place.

The color—the same. The length—the same.

I suddenly pulled back the pillows on the bed.

Under my pillow were some overlooked, unprocessed chestnut-colored long hairs.

I stumbled into the bathroom.

Near the shower drain, I saw more of that chestnut-colored hair.

My stomach suddenly began to convulse. I leaned over the toilet and dry heaved.

I sat limply on the floor.

My fingers accidentally scrolled through that girl's profile.

Three years ago, she posted a photo of intertwined fingers.

The caption:

[Tonight, I bloom for you.]

I recognized it immediately—that hand crumpling the bedsheets was Fernando's.

Three years ago.

I scrolled down frantically.

Finally, four years ago, in a large group photo from Fernando's company, I saw that girl.

She was his coworker.

But in all these years, I'd never seen her at any of Fernando's company dinners.

For him, she was willing to hide herself like this.

I forced down the nausea churning in my stomach and sent Fernando a message:

[I'm back. I know everything.]