Chapter 3

Evening came again. While making dinner, I checked the security camera app on my phone. Just like this morning, the camera was still broken. Had Sarah done this on purpose? I finished cooking and brought the food to the dining room. Sarah got home carrying a cake, but she was acting weird—hiding it from me, tucking it away in the pantry.

I caught a glimpse anyway: a fancy French mousse cake. I paused. It wasn't her birthday or mine. What was she up to? She didn't say, and I didn't ask.

During dinner, we barely spoke. She acted like a restaurant customer, me like the server. By bedtime, my right hand needed a new bandage. I carefully unwrapped it, put on antiseptic cream, and re-bandaged it myself. Sarah lay next to me, completely ignoring me.

“By the way, Mark, what have you decided?” Sarah suddenly asked.

I was startled. “Decided about what?”

“About the divorce, I mean. Have you thought about it?” she asked again.

I scoffed. What was she really after? Did she marry me just for this? I shot back, "What do you think? Do you want a divorce?" Sarah stayed quiet.

"If you're not happy with our marriage, just say so," I said flatly. "I won't stop you."

Sarah's expression darkened. She suddenly turned away from me. "Go to sleep, just go to sleep!"

"You said to give you time, that once your psychological issues got better, things would be fine. Remember?" I said pointedly.

"We'll see," she said sharply. "I'm tired, just go to sleep!"

I finished getting ready for bed, turned off the light, and lay down. We shared a bed but lived separate lives—this was pure torture. But for now, I had to tough it out.

I must have dozed off without realizing it. Maybe it was muscle memory or just my subconscious at work, but I woke up in the middle of the night. Moonlight filtered into the bedroom—not bright, but enough to see by. I turned my head, and Sarah was gone! She must have snuck down to the basement for her "yoga" again.

As I rolled over to get up, I heard a clink and my left wrist suddenly felt heavy! I tugged, and saw a silver handcuff locked around it—the other end chained tightly to the bedpost!

Clank! I pulled with all my strength; my wrist burned, but it wouldn't budge! "Are you kidding me?!" I was livid! Sarah had handcuffed me just to go to the basement! She wasn't even treating me like a person!

Just then, I heard footsteps outside! Sarah was back! In a split second, I flopped back down, pretending to be sound asleep.

A minute later, Sarah tiptoed over and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. She gently lifted my left hand, unlocked the cuff, unhooked the chain from the bed, and stashed it away—hardly making a sound. When she was done, she lay back down.

Like she was checking if I was awake, she tapped my shoulder lightly with her phone. I didn't move, keeping up the "asleep" act. She exhaled, apparently relieved, and finally settled in.

I caught a whiff of her shower gel, plus a faint cake smell. And mixed in with those was that weird, unidentifiable odor. Had Sarah taken the cake to the basement? Was she eating cake during her "yoga"? Or was there something else hidden down there? I couldn't make sense of it.

Soon, she was breathing softly. I couldn't sleep though—just lay there staring at the ceiling.

Morning came. When I looked in the mirror, I had huge dark circles. I wasn't exactly a model, but I usually kept myself presentable. Seeing how run-down I looked made me feel even worse. I had to end this—if things kept going like this, the stress would break me.

After breakfast, I checked the living room trash can specifically. There was a cake box in there! It was definitely the one Sarah brought home last night! So who ate the cake? Was someone hiding in the basement?! My heart raced. Was Sarah hiding someone down there? Her lover?