"Check the second room on the right. That's where Michael slept last time."

Something twisted low in my chest. I'd never known Michael had stayed over at her place.

Passing through the living room, I saw the women's clothes hung out to dry on her balcony, and Michael's clothes mixed in among them.

Including his underwear, right beside Gretchen's.

Gretchen followed my gaze and tossed off a remark.

"Last night that idiot Michael had too much to drink. He threw up all over himself, and all over me too."

"So I washed everything for him."

It sounded like an explanation, but every word was a challenge.

She hadn't always provoked me this openly.

She used to swear to me that she and Michael were nothing more than childhood friends.

That she'd never harbor any improper thoughts.

These past two years she'd stopped saying that, always wearing a look that said believe it or not, I don't care.

Now it had escalated. She used her eyes, her veiled words, to declare war on me.

She was waiting for me to tear away the thin paper between her and Michael, waiting for me to fight her over it.

But I only answered calmly: "Mm."

As I pulled my gaze back, I happened to notice the coffee on the tea table, the brand Michael had loved drinking for years.

Just like at the home we shared, where there were the slimming products Gretchen always used.

I was calmer than I'd imagined.

After her shock faded, a trace of disappointment showed in Gretchen's eyes.

After all, I hadn't fought with her the way she'd expected.

Hadn't given her the scene where she could play the wounded little flower and make Michael ache for her, take her side.

I followed her into the room.

The moment I stepped through the door, I saw the wall by the bed, a heart-shaped wall covered with photos of her and Michael together.

Some were casual snapshots from everyday life, others were warm, intimate portraits shot in a professional studio.

There was a photo from every single year, from their births right up to now.

The one in the very center stood out, Gretchen in a white gown, a white veil over her head.

Hand in hand with Michael in a suit, the two of them running into the wind.

Not wedding photos, yet so much like them.

In every single picture, Michael was smiling, easy and happy.

Gretchen followed my eyes to the photos on the wall and said:

"These are all the beautiful memories Michael and I have recorded, from childhood to now."

I felt nothing. So it turned out that once your heart had gone to ash, you really did stop caring about everything.

My voice only went a few degrees colder as I agreed:

"They really are your beautiful memories."

She looked at me and deliberately suggested:

"Sandra, why don't you join us?"

A cold smile touched my lips.

In that snide, mocking tone, she was telling me:

Of the three of us, I was the one who came last.

Even after twelve years with Michael, I was still the outsider.

Facing her provoking stare, I stayed calm:

"A game for two stops being fun with three."

I had no wish to waste more words on her, and asked again:

"Where's the pillow?"

Gretchen hadn't expected me to be this composed, and the smile on her face turned even more fake.

She walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, complaining on purpose as she searched.

"Michael, honestly. Where did he put that pillow! He's not usually so careless about things."

"I'm really going to have a good talk with him about this one of these days."

I stood off to the side without a word, calmly watching her perform her own little play.

She pulled Michael's clothes out of the cabinet, his underwear included.

Gretchen looked at me and said with a smile:

"Sandra, don't get the wrong idea. Michael stays here seven days a month at most."

"Men need their space sometimes. When you're away on business, he comes over here."

"He's just lazy. When he comes to my place, he lets me wait on him, and he doesn't have to lift a finger."

She called it an explanation, but which word wasn't a challenge?

I said, “Whatever's going on between you two is none of my business. I'm only here for the pillow.”

Gretchen wore the look of someone waiting to see how long I could hold out. She flipped back the smoothed-out comforter.

Underneath lay a row of neatly arranged pink lace-trimmed pillows.

Beside them sat a box of ultra-thins.

Gretchen followed my gaze to that opened box of ultra-thins.

She didn't say a word, just waited for me to blow up first.

Still, I only said, calm as ever,:

“I have other things to do. Hurry it up.”

“Then let's check the dressing room next door.”

I followed her into the dressing room next door.

An open suitcase sat on the floor.

It held a few clothes, and on top of them lay an unopened box of ultra-thins.

Gretchen said, “I'm packing. Tomorrow I'm flying overseas with Michael to catch a game.”

Seeing me keep my face cold and refuse to take the bait,

Gretchen deliberately added another line::

“The World Cup, once every four years, so popular plenty of people can't even squeeze in to watch.”

“A world you can't squeeze into, yet you keep spending time trying, always thinking you can change the ending. But the seats are fixed!”

“The ones who can't squeeze in were never going to.”

My patience was wearing thin. My voice came out cold and hard::

“I'm only here for the pillow. Michael's yours, a gift from me!”

She froze for a second, then put on her innocent, sweet-poison act::

“Sandra, what are you talking about? Don't get the wrong idea about me.”

“I was only telling you about the World Cup. I didn't mean anything else.”

I stressed each syllable and said it again::

“I'm only here for the pillow!”

Her expression turned hard to read, and then something seemed to come to her::

“I just remembered where it is. Come with me.”

I followed her to a third room.

The room had been set up as a cat den.

The moment I stepped in, I saw it: the rectangular sleep pillow, white with mint-green embroidery, sitting inside the litter box.

Reeking of cat urine.

I stared at the pillow fouled with cat waste, and rage surged through me.

Gretchen explained in that calculated tone, half innocent, half maddening enough to kill::

“Sorry about that, Sandra. My cat's just so naughty.”

“It's only a pillow. I'll buy you a better one.”

“And honestly, Michael spoils that cat way too much.”

I raised my hand and slapped Gretchen hard across the face::

“You did this on purpose!”

“Sandra!”

Right behind it came Michael's sharp shout.

He pulled Gretchen into his arms, gazing with pained tenderness at the slap mark on her cheek.

Gretchen wept, the picture of fragile pity, putting on her understanding act::

“Michael, don't be harsh with Sandra.”

Michael frowned and scolded me: “It's just a pillow. Was that really necessary?”

My eyes went red with fury, and I raised my hand and slapped him too::

“It was!”

Michael's face snapped to the side, a pink slap mark blooming across it. He glared at me in disbelief.

“Sandra, what's gotten into you?”

“I'm done with you, that's what! Michael, I really regret loving you for twelve years!”

I turned to leave.

He shouted after my back, furious::

“Stop being unreasonable!”

The next day, after handing off the last of my work at the company, I wheeled my luggage to the airport.

A message came in from Gretchen::

“I already ordered you ten pillows online. They'll arrive in the next couple of days, so keep an eye out for the delivery.”

“Michael and I are about to board. My cat's a little delicate, so there are a few things to keep in mind. I made a chart.”

“Just follow what's in the chart and take care of her for me.”

Michael sent me a message too::

“On the 9th of next month, I'll be back right on time to get our marriage license.”

I stared at the message and let out a cold laugh.

Michael, your punctuality means nothing to me now. I'll never show up for you again.

From here on, you can fly off to your World Cup, and I'll fly off to my freedom.