But I no longer had the time to care, because that number—
it was Silas's lock screen code, the middle digits of his bank card PIN, the default combination on the door lock.
It was also Mia's birthday.
I opened the cabinet, and the first thing I saw was a stack of yellowed receipts.
Mia's male deskmate once brushed against her hand in class,
and after school Silas dragged him into an alley and beat him until the bones in his hand broke.
Mia scored badly on a test and got laughed at,
so Silas stood up for her.
Mia had suitors,
so Silas drove every one of them off.
On the back of one receipt,
in Mia's handwriting: "Mia will love you always and always."
Then another wire transfer slip,
every year, every month, even last month's record, all of it here.
Whenever Silas and I came back to the old estate, we slept in the room next door,
but he always came to bed late, always in this room, reading until deep into the night.
Only today did I understand why he loved this one old room above all the others.
Because what he loved was the desk lamp Mia had thrown away,
the water cup she'd made by hand before going abroad,
that line in her reply email: "If I were single again, would you still want me?"
And Silas's answer to her
was a property transfer agreement.
The Fullmoon Bay seaside home. The one I'd loved more than anything.
A weight came down on my shoulder.
Silas reached out and shoved me back, hard.
"What do you think you're doing!"
I couldn't keep my footing and dropped to one knee on the floor.
A dragging pain pulled low in my belly, and a few drops of blood ran down the inside of my thigh.
Silas put everything back and locked it again.
His fingertips rubbed twice over the numbers on the lock, then spun them back into place.
"Some things aren't yours to touch."
"If you love her that much, why did you agree to marry me before, and why won't you divorce me now?"
We spoke almost in unison. Silas's face went blank, then he looked away.
"What's between Mia and me now isn't what you think."
"She was mistreated and came home with nowhere to go, and I can help her. That's all."
I couldn't quite catch my breath. Bracing against the wall, I pulled myself up and looked at the drops of blood on the floor.
When I was kicked in my pregnant belly, Silas couldn't help me,
but no matter what it was for Mia, he would cross any line to help her.
Just as the smell of blood seemed to reach the tip of Silas's nose,
the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
"Sir, Miss Winfield had a bad fright and she's running a bit of a fever. Would you like to go check on her?"
When I burned at a hundred and four, I wanted Silas to stay home.
He answered me: I'm not a doctor, what good would staying home do.
Now, he spared me a single glance.
"Go back to your room. We'll talk later. I'm going to see Mia."
He took a few steps, and I called after him.
"Silas, my stomach hurts…"
Silas turned and saw the streaks of blood on my thigh,
and heard the coughing from the bedroom across the hall.
"You bled before too, and the doctor said it was nothing."
"If it really hurts, come find me again."
Nothing.
My heart dropped to the bottom of a pit.
My hand settled over my belly.
In the middle of the night, several servants were woken to bring tea and water and fetch medicine for Mia.
Silas kept vigil at her bedside, watching the pallor of her face.
Once she was fast asleep,
Silas rubbed the bridge of his nose and walked out,
asking a servant in passing,
"Has Marion gone back to her room to sleep?"
The servant stammered,
and in the end mumbled it out anyway.
Silas's pupils shrank,
as if he'd heard something unthinkable,
and his voice rose before he could stop it.
"What did you say. Say it again!"
