He said nothing.
Kitty posted to her feed again, this time a grid of nine photos. The living room, the study, the garden of the old estate, and one shot of herself. No makeup, a white dress, standing in front of that carved wooden door, looking pale and remote.
The caption read: "Thank you, for being willing to stay when everyone else walked away."
I almost laughed out loud.
That post was meant for Derek. Plain as day.
"What exactly are you to her now?"
"Nothing." Derek looked at me. "I told you. I was just helping her out."
"Then what's a post like that supposed to mean?"
"How would I know what she means?" An edge crept into his voice. "Can you stop being so sensitive?"
Sensitive.
The first time he called me sensitive was the day Kitty left the country. He'd had too much to drink. I asked him what was wrong, and he said it was nothing. When I pushed, asking if it was because of Kitty, he said I was being sensitive.
The second time, we ran into a friend of Kitty's at the mall. The woman smiled and said to Derek, "Did you hear Kitty's back?" Derek said he knew. At home I asked when the two of them had been in touch, and again he said I was being sensitive.
This was the third time.
I stood up from the couch and handed his phone back to him.
"If you want to help her this badly, why don't I just step aside?"
Derek's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." I looked at him. "The two of you should have ended up together in the first place. If she hadn't insisted on going abroad back then, you never would have married me. Now she's home, things aren't going well for her, and your conscience won't leave you alone. I get it."
"Ruby—"
"I'm tired. We'll talk tomorrow."
I turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.
My hands were shaking. Not from anger. From knowing I was right. The day Derek proposed, I asked him why he'd chosen me. He said, "You're suitable." I assumed at the time that was just his way, a man who didn't waste breath on pretty words.
Only now did I understand. He genuinely thought I was "suitable."
Not like Kitty, the one he could never get out of his head.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up. A message from Derek.
"Kitty is just a friend to me. If it bothers you, I won't contact her anymore."
I didn't reply.
He sent another: "The eight million was my mistake. Tomorrow I'll move the money back into our joint account. Call it a loan."
Still nothing from me.
When the third message came through, I turned off my phone.
At some point it had started raining outside. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. Three years ago, when we got married, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world.
Derek was handsome, successful, and attentive enough to me. He'd promised not to keep flowers in the house because of my pollen allergy. He said he didn't like cats, then kept three for me. He remembered every one of my habits.
I thought it was because he loved me.
Now I wondered if he'd simply gotten used to being good to someone.
Who that someone was didn't really matter.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. A little after two in the morning, I got up for a glass of water and saw the living room light still on.
Derek was awake.
He sat on the couch, phone in his hand, the screen still lit. I stepped closer. It was his chat with Kitty.
The last message was from her: "Derek, thank you for today. The keys to the old estate—when should I give them to you?"
Sent one minute ago.
Derek hadn't answered yet.
I stood behind him for a long time, and he never noticed. In the end I was the one who spoke first. "If you want to go see her, then go. You don't have to hide it from me."
