Karen looked at him, curious.
"Then, Simon, your skills are so good. Why don't you treat Delilah yourself?"
He went silent.
Colder than winter snow.
A long while passed before I made out his low murmur:
"A case as complicated as yours is already more than enough to keep me busy."
That night, I tore out the last few pages of my notebook.
On the day of my third follow-up appointment.
I called an Uber.
As I got into the cab, I saw them from a distance.
Simon was holding the umbrella over Karen, steady and careful, not a single drop of rain touching her.
Only then did I notice that Simon's umbrella could tilt after all.
When the appointment ended, Karen came out too.
"Delilah, it's been so long since we had a girls' day, just the two of us. Simon's still at work, so let's go out and walk around."
"And we can try on wedding dresses while we're at it, to get ready for your makeup wedding."
She was holding a car key. It looked familiar. It was Simon's spare.
My hand tightened.
Years ago, Simon forgot me in the car. I was trapped inside for a full day and night.
Right as I went into labor, while the pain in my belly was at its worst.
I called Simon countless times, and not once did he answer.
I grabbed whatever was within reach, shut my eyes, and pressed it to my belly.
I performed surgery on myself. But the baby was gone all the same.
By the time Simon arrived, what he saw was me crouched beside the trash can, staring at the lump of flesh inside, not even a hundred grams.
Murmuring under my breath: "Baby, good baby, go to sleep now."
He held me like a madman, his tears running into the hollow of my neck, cold.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"My phone was off."
More than once I'd thought that if only I'd had a spare car key, maybe my baby wouldn't have died.
There were only two keys. Before it all happened, I'd asked him for the other one.
He didn't give it to me.
Even after the baby died, he still didn't give it to me.
Back then, I didn't understand why he held onto it so stubbornly.
Now, I understood.
Karen drove Simon's car with practiced ease and took me to the bridal shop.
She was more eager than me, the bride. When she went to try on the bridesmaid dress, she handed me her phone.
The moment I took it, dozens of notifications about "Simon" popped up on the lock screen.
I stared at it for a long time. Before Karen stepped into the fitting room, she gave me a little smile.
"Delilah, the passcode is your birthday."
And with that, the fitting room door slammed shut.
I hesitated for a long while, then finally, with great effort, swiped open the screen.
Like a thief, I scanned through the messages quickly.
Hundreds of messages sent. The most recent exchange between him and me was from last month.
The newest one read:
"A new seafood hotpot place opened up on the north side. You love seafood. Let's have that tonight."
My fingers trembled.
This morning he'd promised to come home for dinner tonight. He'd forgotten again.
Then, as if some force had taken hold of me, I tapped into his social feed.
There were so many posts I'd never seen. A feed he'd kept hidden from me.
All of them were photos with Karen.
I counted them. Over a hundred photos, more than a dozen cities.
The most recent was the lake country. The farthest was the northern lights at Lofoten.
The farthest Simon and I had ever gone together was a coffee shop a few streets from home.
The pinned post was a trip to Disney.
It showed the date. It was the same day he'd missed our wedding.
In the photos he smiled so naturally, nothing like the stiffness whenever he posed with me.
He'd lied to me.
The truth was, he liked having his picture taken just fine.
Karen came out, and like a thief again, I pressed the screen dark.
