"Virginia, Vivian hurt her foot. I need to go check on her."
His eyes were anxious, but there was something tentative beneath it. A nervous edge.
He was gambling.
Gambling on whether I'd make a scene.
But I was calm. I just gave a slight nod.
"Fine."
He didn't seem to expect me to agree so easily. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"So... the rest of the immigration paperwork, you'll handle it?"
I nodded.
"Sure."
Something shifted in his expression, a trace of guilt passing through.
"Virginia, you've always been so understanding."
He walked over and took my hand.
"Actually, this works out. I'll go ahead and get everything set up, so it won't be so rushed when you arrive."
He seemed pleased with himself for finding a reasonable excuse.
"I'll wait for your update. I'll pick you up at the airport."
I pulled my hand free. Still calm.
"Go take care of it."
I turned around and went back to packing.
His hand hung frozen in midair. It took him a moment to process.
Right then, another message from Vivian popped up on his phone.
"Robert, did you book the ticket yet? I think my foot is swelling..."
Without a second thought, he threw some clothes into a bag and rushed straight to the airport.
The next day, Vivian updated her social media.
In the photo, Robert was wearing an apron, head bent over a cutting board, chopping vegetables.
The caption read: "Home-cooked meal tonight! It feels so nice having someone cook for you."
Something slammed into my chest. Hard.
So he could cook after all.
Ten years in America, and I had been the one cooking every single meal.
I remembered that winter. I'd come down with a high fever, a hundred and two degrees.
Two full days without eating a single thing.
"Robert, I really want some soup... Could you make me a bowl?"
He was watching a game. His brow creased when he heard me.
"I don't know how."
Eventually, he shrugged on his jacket with visible reluctance.
"I'll grab you something from the restaurant downstairs."
I waited forty minutes.
What came back was a cold bottle of milk and a burger, brought home by a man who'd already eaten his fill.
I'd wanted to cry so badly that night.
But later, I talked myself out of it.
Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.
I shouldn't expect too much from him.
Now I knew. It was never that he couldn't cook.
He just never wanted to cook for me.
The house sold. The car sold. Bank accounts closed.
Ten years of life compressed into a few boxes, a few documents, a few wire transfers, all within a single month.
I sorted through his things one by one and shipped every last item to him.
Three days later, Robert called.
"Virginia, the luggage arrived. When's your flight?"
He hadn't even noticed. Only his belongings had arrived. Nothing of mine.
I kept my voice flat.
"Three days."
His tone brightened with excitement.
"I'll pick you up at the airport. Just send me your departure time."
"Vivian's thrilled you're coming. She's been begging for your braised ribs. Honestly, I've been craving them too."
I said nothing.
I hadn't even arrived yet, and they'd already assigned me a job.
"Virginia? Did you hear me?"
"I heard you."
"Great, it's settled then. I'll pick you up, and we'll hit the grocery store together."
I didn't respond.
But he hung up anyway.
As if my agreement was a given.
Three days later, I stood in the departure hall of Boston International Airport.
Robert sent a voice message.
"Virginia, Vivian's in the hospital. Acute gastritis. I need to stay with her."
