Chapter 20

A minute before Anderson's call, Emily had just finished organizing the past three days' photos and chat logs on her phone.

In her messages, Michael's number was marked with a tiger emoji, and the chat history was empty. A single swipe would temporarily remove his name from the list.

She hadn't taken many photos, but each one held significance.

The bustling port at dawn, the heavily laden fishing boats, the array of seafood, the golden sunrise, the receding sunset at the end of the highway...

In some photos, Michael appeared—sometimes just a hand, an arm, half his body, or even just a shadow.

Unable to bring herself to delete them completely, Emily uploaded the photos to cloud storage before erasing them from her phone.

Anderson called, saying he was two red lights away from the station. Emily, in a sweet voice, replied that she was waiting by the passenger pick-up area and he'd see her as soon as he turned in.

The air was stifling and humid, with no hint of approaching autumn.

Cars came and went in the pick-up lane. Suddenly, a black Toyota drove by, startling Emily with its familiarity. Her gaze followed it, quickly realizing Michael had returned the Toyota long ago.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm, and composed herself just as a white BMW pulled up.

Anderson got out and walked towards her, rounding the front of the car.

Emily donned a gentle smile, her lips curving higher than usual, and softly called out, "Darling."

"Are you tired? Get in the car." Anderson bent down to pick up her suitcase, then glanced at her, his eyes sweeping from head to toe before returning to her face, slightly surprised. "How come you look even prettier after just a few days apart?"

Emily suppressed her pounding heart, scratching the back of her neck shyly. "How come you've become so glib after just a few days?"

Her tone was light, but her nails dug into her skin, the sting masking her anxiety.

Earlier, she had gone to the mall's restroom, where she noticed a faint red mark under her right ear—Michael's last playful act. Unable to hide it, she scratched it redder to cover the impulsive bruise.

Anderson pointed at her neck, "Why is it so red?"

"I don't know, probably a bug bite. It's getting itchier."

"There's ointment in the car. Use it."

"Okay."

While Anderson walked to the trunk, Emily quickly slipped a powered-off smartwatch from the car's pocket into her bag.

She glanced at the clean backseat and carpet. Anderson must have had the car cleaned; it was much tidier than the day she left.

She didn't need to look for any telltale signs of another woman; she only had to wait for Anderson to return to the car, then shift and adjust her seatbelt, musing aloud, "Did someone adjust my seat? It feels different."

Feigning innocence, she asked, "Did anyone else use your car these past few days?"

The car jerked slightly as Anderson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "No, maybe the carwash attendant moved it."

Emily accepted this explanation with a nod. "Oh, that's possible."

In truth, the seat's position and angle were exactly as she had left them.

Anderson initiated a conversation, mentioning how his mother asked about Emily's health during dinner with his parents.

Shortly after their wedding, Emily had desperately wanted a child, but after six months of trying, they had both undergone medical examinations.

Emily was diagnosed with mild PCOS, and Anderson's results showed low sperm motility.

They had informed his parents honestly. Anderson's mother, seemingly understanding, had assured them that modern medicine offered many solutions, urging them not to rush. Yet, she still took Emily to see doctors, and Emily dutifully brewed and drank her bitter Chinese medicine every day, determined to conceive.

The daily disappointment of a single line on a pregnancy test had been deeply disheartening, but now she felt a strange relief.

After discovering Anderson's infidelity, Emily started taking birth control, just in case.

She couldn't imagine being as resolute about leaving if a child were involved.

The city lights flickered outside the window. As the car turned, they swayed like a swing.

Emily had traveled this road from the east station countless times over the years, but now it felt unfamiliar.

She had returned, yet it felt as though she hadn't.

Emily mused that this change in her heart likely stemmed from the changed dynamics with those around her.

Even her home felt foreign.

Anderson brought the luggage inside, then turned to find Emily still standing at the door, looking up at something.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Emily blinked away the sting in her eyes and entered. "Nothing."

She glanced around. The cleaner came every Sunday, leaving the house spotless and tidy.

She quickly unpacked, put the dirty clothes in the washing machine, and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

The drain cover wasn't clogged with hair, and the shampoo and body wash seemed untouched, but the thought that Sophia, Amanda, or some other unknown woman might have used them made Emily nauseous.

She retrieved a fresh bottle of shampoo and quickly showered.

As she bent down to rinse off the last of the foam, the bathroom door lock clicked, startling Emily and instantly tensing her shoulders.

Outside the door, Anderson asked in confusion, "Darling, why did you lock the door?"

Previously, when it was just the two of them at home, Emily often didn't bother to lock the door while using the bathroom or showering. This act of locking the door was indeed unusual.

Pretending not to hear clearly, Emily shouted loudly, "What did you say?"

"Forget it, it's nothing. You go ahead and finish washing."

Emily stood under the shower for a while longer before stepping out.

Above the bathroom sink were three mirrored cabinets: one for Emily's skincare products, one for Anderson's use, and another for miscellaneous items.

After her morning routine on Friday, Emily had been cautious and took photos with all three cabinets open.

Now, she opened her own cabinet again and compared it to the photos.

Sure enough, there were subtle changes in the arrangement of the moisturizers and creams.

Emily remained silent for a moment, then took down the jar of face cream, unscrewing the lid.

In summer, she tended to develop milia from face cream, so since returning from the South, she had only used water and moisturizer for her skincare routine; it had been two or three months since she had used face cream.

Yet now, there were clear signs of it having been used from the black jar.

Despite her mental preparation, witnessing this deliberate or inadvertent act of provocation sent a rush of anger through Emily's chest, making her want to confront Anderson right then and there.

But it wasn't the best time yet. Emily gritted her teeth and returned the face cream to its place.

She took out a daily sanitary pad, opened it, stuck it in her underwear, and put them back on.

In the living room, a Hong Kong drama played on the TV while Anderson sat on the couch, tapping on his phone, seemingly messaging someone. Upon seeing Emily come out, he rotated his phone into a gaming posture.

Pretending not to notice, Emily dried her hair as she walked past. "What did you just say outside the door? I didn't catch it."

Classic gaming music played from Anderson's phone, his eyes looking slightly suggestive. "Nothing much, just thinking it's been a while since we showered together."

A chill crept up from the soles of Emily's feet, but she suppressed the rising nausea, feigning annoyance to urge her husband to finish his game quickly and go shower, waiting for him to start the washing machine with his clothes.

The small balcony connected to the kitchen. Emily walked over and threw the bath towel into the washing machine.

Glancing towards the living room, Emily saw Anderson had once again positioned his phone upright.

Emily finally entered the kitchen.

This time, the "restoration work" in the kitchen had been done quite thoroughly. Emily speculated that perhaps Sofia felt that the "kitchen demonstration" was far less effective than the "bathroom demonstration," or it could have been cleaned up by Anderson.

Recalling Anderson's blatant implications just now, Emily couldn't help but tremble.

Physically and mentally, she recoiled from Anderson's approach, let alone intimacy.

She feared that if Anderson asked her to perform oral sex, she would be unable to resist the urge to bite off his manhood.

"Wife, I'm going to shower," Anderson shouted from outside.

Emily responded, "Okay."

Listening to Anderson's footsteps entering the bedroom, she sighed deeply, took a bottle of sugar-free tea from the fridge, and walked to the sink to open it.

After a few sips, the ice-cold drink quenched the fire in her heart, and she instinctively looked out the window.

Across a few lanes was that building. Many apartments had no lights on, including the small grid she had been watching for a long time.

Memories seemed to be hidden in the boiling spring underground, flowing out whenever there was a gap.

Many scenes vividly appeared in front of her.

Sensual, lingering, wanton.

Illicit, wild, unrestrained.

Black, white, red.

Emily shook her head to dispel these romantic entanglements.

Just as she was about to leave, a faint spark suddenly lit up in the midst of that densely packed grid across from her.

Extremely fine, very weak, about the size of an ant, it flashed and disappeared in an instant.

Emily, whose eyesight was poor, thought she might be seeing things, leaning forward against the sink with her hands, squinting at that spot.

Her heart raced hard, thump, thump.

After a few seconds, the spark lit up again.

This time it lasted longer, long enough for Emily to confirm that it wasn't her imagination.

Like a fire ant biting her eye corner, a tingling sensation spread through her body.

She took out her phone from her pocket and quickly found that tiger emoji.