Chapter 3

The smart lock beeped, and Ethan pushed open the door to our dark, quiet apartment.

There were no lights on, and none of the usual warm aroma of dinner waiting for him.

He stood at the entryway, staring at my flats neatly lined up by the shoe rack, looking utterly baffled.

He had assumed that, as always...

...no matter how angry I was, I would leave a reading lamp on by the couch to welcome him home.

"Nora?"

He called out tentatively. Only the sound of the rain outside answered him.

Ethan changed into his slippers and flipped on the living room lights.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a long voice note from Chloe.

"Ethan, did Nora get home? You guys aren't fighting, right?"

"It's all my fault. I'm so clumsy for slipping on the stairs and making you run to the hospital in the middle of the night."

"If Nora is still mad, I can come over tomorrow and apologize to her in person."

"Even if she slaps me or yells at me, I just want you two to be happy."

Ethan unbuttoned his collar with one hand and sat down on the couch.

He pressed the voice message button, his tone filled with weary reassurance.

"She's not home. Probably staying at a friend's place."

"She's just insecure and loves going off the grid to get attention."

"Don't worry about it. Just keep icing your ankle."

"Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary. I booked a restaurant. She'll show up."

I stood right by the coffee table, watching him finish the voice note and set the elegant pastry box down.

The bottom of the box pressed directly onto a face-down hospital document.

It was the "Critical Heart Failure Warning" I had received yesterday afternoon, which I hadn't had the chance to show him yet.

He didn't even wonder what the paper was.

He casually pushed it aside to make room for his car keys.

Ethan stood up, tossed his tie aside, and walked into the bathroom.

In front of the vanity mirror sat my usual toiletries.

He turned on the faucet, his eyes drifting lazily across the marble counter.

In the corner lay an empty, discarded bottle of my emergency heart medication.

Ethan paused.

He picked up the empty bottle, glanced at the worn label, and shook his head.

With a flick of his wrist, he swept it into the trash can under the sink.

"Always trying to scare me with her meds. She needs a new trick."

He muttered his low grumble, but it wasn't malicious.

He was simply exhausted by what he assumed was a desperate plea for attention.

My translucent fingers drifted through the plastic bottle in the trash.

Yesterday morning, he had been in a rush to drive Chloe to a job interview.

My chest had been painfully tight, and I tried to hold him back, only for him to shove my hand away.

"Chloe's interview is extremely important! Stop causing drama right now, will you?"

In the commotion, I had knocked over my water glass.

My last three emergency pills spilled into the sink, washing down the drain before I could grab them.

After his shower, Ethan dried his hair and walked into the bedroom.

He lay down on our king-sized bed, taking his usual spot on the left.

He unlocked his phone, opened our chat, and typed:

"I'm picking you up from work tomorrow. Stop playing games. I bought you a gift."

After hitting send, he tossed his phone onto the nightstand.

He closed his eyes, his breathing soon becoming steady and deep.

He fell fast asleep without a single worry, utterly convinced that when the sun rose tomorrow, everything would go right back to normal, just like it always did.