Chapter 2

Even though it was late, my old friends rushed to the downtown bar.

We sat in a dim booth, drinking stiff whiskey and eating fish and chips. They teased me about how I had vanished from the face of the earth after marrying Ethan, practically becoming an invisible woman.

As the alcohol burned in my blood, for a fleeting moment, I felt like I was back in our days at design school, back when I was a rising star brimming with talent.

After hugging my friends goodbye, I glanced at my phone. The screen was clogged with missed calls, all from Ethan.

Just as I was about to turn it off, a message from Hannah popped up:

"Sarah, I am so, so sorry. I swear, the relationship between Ethan and me is purely platonic friendship. I was having a mental breakdown today, and they were the only ones who made me feel safe. I completely forgot it was your birthday. Please forgive me!"

The whiskey in my stomach began to churn. I grabbed a roadside trash can and retched until I was dry-heaving bile.

Finally, I typed back: "Stop acting. I don't care."

The chat box showed she was typing, but I tossed the phone into my bag.

When I got home, the living room was a disaster zone—even messier than when I had left. Pizza boxes were strewn on the floor; beer bottles were tipped over on the table.

I ignored it and walked straight toward the bathroom. Ethan came out of the master bedroom, looking impatient.

"You finally decided to come back? Reeking of alcohol... look at you. Clean up the living room before you go to sleep."

"Whoever made the mess cleans it up."

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa in the guest room. Something hard dug into my leg. It was Ethan's tablet, unlocked.

The screen displayed his encrypted chat log with Hannah.

"Ethan, I shouldn't have made Sarah angry. It's all my fault. Maybe we should keep our distance for a while."

"Don't be silly. She's just insanely jealous; probably hitting menopause. It's just a birthday—not some national holiday. She's acting like a spoiled child. It's suffocating."

"Don't say that. She has a right to be mad. You should go comfort her."

"Thank you, Hannah. If only Sarah had half your talent and empathy."

Ethan stormed in and snatched the tablet, his neck flushing red with rage.

"Why are you always invading my privacy? We are innocent!"

"Whatever," I couldn't be bothered to argue. "I'm going to sleep."

My indifference stunned him for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his expression.

"Oh, right," he said, seemingly trying to smooth things over. "I bought you a new coffee machine. It's in the kitchen. Fully automatic—it'll make things easier for you."

I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly.

"Ethan, have you forgotten? That model of coffee machine is the prototype I designed five years ago at my last firm."

He froze, his eyes darting around nervously. Then he gave an awkward, dry laugh.

"Oh, right. Well... that's perfect then. You'll know how to use it."

Before marriage, I was a well-known designer in the industry. But after Lucas was born, Ethan said his firm needed his full attention and urged me to retreat to the domestic sphere to support him.

Now, looking at that obsolete machine I had designed years ago, I felt nothing but irony.

"I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight," I said. "Get out."

"Fine," he muttered. "Oh, and I have a client meeting tomorrow. I won't be back for dinner."

"Noted."

With that, I pulled the blanket over my head.