Chapter 2

The drive home from the hospital felt extraordinarily long.

Marcus didn't say a word.

He drove with his eyes fixed straight ahead.

The street scenes outside the window flew backward rapidly, like a silent movie.

The air in the car was so oppressive it felt like it was solidifying.

I sat in the passenger seat, wanting to speak several times but swallowing the words back.

His profile was tense, his jawline rigid like stone.

I'd known him for over twenty years and had never seen him like this.

We'd been together since college, through marriage, and our son was already eighteen.

He'd always been a gentle, responsible man.

No matter how serious the problem, he would shoulder it himself and never let me worry.

But today, he was completely abnormal.

That coldness that emanated from his bones made me feel cold to my core.

"Marcus," I finally couldn't help it and called to him softly.

No response, as if he hadn't heard.

"What exactly did the doctor tell you?" I raised my voice.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

"Nothing."

He said.

His voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth.

"Nothing?" I raised my volume. "Then why did she call you in alone? Why do you look like that?"

"Why are you looking at me like I'm your enemy?"

A series of questions shot at him like bullets.

The car suddenly swerved.

He seemed to have hit the brake, then quickly released it.

"Diana," he called me by my full name. "Can you just be quiet for a moment?"

My heart was pierced by those words.

In all our years of marriage, he'd never called me that.

He always called me "Di" or "honey."

"Marcus, you have to tell me," my attitude hardened too. "It's my body. I have the right to know."

He took a deep breath, as if trying desperately to suppress something.

"The doctor said it's just ordinary hormonal imbalance."

"Bleeding after menopause is a common phenomenon. Nothing serious."

"Just rest and don't overthink things."

He spoke quickly and smoothly, as if reciting lines he'd prepared beforehand.

I didn't believe him.

Not a single word.

If it was just hormones, why would Director Wilson be so grave?

Why would she need to call him in alone and say the "condition was unusual"?

He was treating me like a fool.

"You're lying," I said coldly.

He suddenly turned his head and looked at me.

That glance was full of anger and irritation.

"I'm lying?"

"Diana, do you think your life is too peaceful? Do you have to create drama?"

"The doctor said nothing's wrong. What more do you want?"

His yelling stunned me.

Tears welled up despite my efforts to hold them back.

I wasn't creating drama.

I was just scared.

I just wanted to know the truth.

But he treated my fear as unreasonable nonsense.

My heart turned completely cold in that instant.

I turned my head to look out the window and said nothing more.

Tears silently slid down my cheeks.

The rest of the drive was deathly silent.

When we got home, he threw his car keys on the entryway table and walked straight into the study.

With a bang, he shut the door.

I stood alone in the empty living room, feeling ice cold all over.

This home where I'd lived for twenty years suddenly felt utterly foreign.

That evening, I made dinner.

All his favorite dishes.

I waited at the dining table for a long time, but he never came out of the study.

I knocked on the door.

"Marcus, dinner's ready."

"Not eating. No appetite."

His voice came through the door, muffled and impatient.

My hand stopped on the doorknob and stayed there for a long time.

That night, we slept in separate rooms.

This was the first time we'd slept apart since our marriage, aside from business trips.

I lay on the big empty bed, eyes open, sleepless all night.

0