"Has anyone reported a missing person in the past few days?"

Andy inquired casually, removing his gloves.

His astuteness was undeniable.

If a nearby report had surfaced, it would likely stem from a family member of the victim, significantly narrowing the scope of identity verification.

Max shook his head, handing Andy a towel.

"None of the recent reports have been for missing persons."

Andy nodded. "Then we'll have to wait a bit longer. Let's start by sending the victim's tissue for DNA testing."

Just then, his phone rang out.

A message from Ruby flashed on the screen.

It was a selfie of her donning a slender slip dress. She was stirring soup in her kitchen with a playful smile.

"Andy, when you're done with work, come over for dinner. I've made your favorite mushroom soup especially for you."

Upon seeing Ruby's message, Andy eased his furrowed brow. His eyes were softening with a tender light.

I watched him, lost in thought.

I recalled the early days of our marriage when Andy was equally attentive to me.

His gaze upon me was always brimming with affection and care.

He would cook delicate soups for me and prepare light-flavored dishes that I adored.

I loved concerts, so he would endure the early morning queues to secure tickets for me, unbothered by the dark circles under his eyes.

After work, he would envelop me in a gentle embrace, holding me close.

He whispered, "Nora, let's have a child of our own someday. I hope she can be as adorable as you."

I yearned for this happiness to continue unfurling like a cherished dream.

Yet, such bliss was ephemeral.

It was soon shattered by the arrival of Ruby, whose parents' death led her back from abroad, disheveled and alone.

Andy, once wholly devoted to me, began to stay away for days on end.

Initially, he would offer explanations. "Nora, I can't watch a movie with you today. Ruby is running a high fever, and the doctor says she's lost the will to live. I must care for her."

Ruby and Andy had grown up together.

He spoke of how her parents had supported him in his youth. Now, with Ruby in distress, he felt compelled to assist, unable to abandon her in her time of need.

I empathized, striving to understand his predicament.

Yet, his concern for Ruby escalated. His thoughts were increasingly consumed by her well-being until he transferred his entire focus away from our shared life.

Andy's gaze towards Ruby grew increasingly tender.

Each time he planned a movie outing with me, Ruby was inevitably included.

At meals, he would habitually serve her.

These gestures sparked numerous quarrels between Andy and me.

He would look at me with a mix of frustration and weariness. He frowned as he explained, "Nora, I've told you countless times that Ruby is like a sister to me, and she's quite dependent. Can you please stop overthinking things?"

Yet, he remained oblivious to Ruby's manipulative tactics.

Ruby crafted a secretive social media post, visible only to me, brazenly declaring: [What is mine will always come back to me.]

I retaliated by blocking her, only to be met with her taunting whisper, "Nora, Andy gifts me a present every year for my birthday. What about you?"

My fists clenched as I fought the urge to strike back.

On my birthday, she feigned illness, luring Andy away and seizing my birthday gift- a necklace that should have adorned my neck, now glinting around hers.

"Nora, I merely commented on its beauty, and Andy gifted it to me. Do you think it suits me?"

Unable to endure her provocation any longer, I struck out.

The following day, Andy stormed in, demanding an explanation with anger.

"Nora, why are you becoming increasingly unreasonable?

"Ruby simply admired that necklace. You have so many others. What harm could it do to let her have it?"

I gazed at him coldly, momentarily dazed.

It seemed like only yesterday when he praised my gentleness and charm.

Now, with the scales of his heart tipping away from me, each action of mine could displease him.

As Ruby's invitation hung in the air, Andy smiled and replied: [Okay.]

His fingers paused, scrolling through the chat history with me.

Days had passed without a word exchanged between us.

The last message was still lingering from when I had asked: [When will you be back tonight?]

No response came.

That evening, he was once again summoned to attend to Ruby's personal affairs.

Andy frowned with a hint of discontent etching on his features.

In the past, it was I who initiated the conversations, his replies as capricious as his moods.

Each quarrel ended with me swallowing my pride, extending an olive branch.

Yet, this was the first time we had endured such a lengthy cold war, and I had yet to yield.

He often admonished me not to intrude on his space.

Now that I truly refrained, he should have been content.

But his brows remained knitted as if grappling with an unforeseen dilemma.

His fingers danced across the screen, typing and deleting words in hesitation before finally sending a message.

[Have you figured out how to apologize to Ruby?]

Five minutes passed, but his phone was silent.

Half an hour later, there was still no response.

Andy slammed his phone down with irritation. "Let's see how long you can hold out."

At that moment, a colleague burst in with a parcel in hand.

"Andy, this seems to be for you."

Glancing at the signature, he added, "Looks like it's from your wife, right?"

Andy took it. His expression was sullen as he casually opened the box.

Inside lay the anniversary gift I had meticulously prepared a week in advance.

This year marked our third wedding anniversary. A cherished tradition we had faithfully maintained was the exchange of heartfelt gifts.

However, the serene waters of our celebration were rippled by an unexpected turn: Ruby's return disrupted Andy's memory. He seemed busy day and night.

But I still prepared a gift for Andy.

The gift was a U-shaped latex pillow, which was designed to alleviate the strain on Andy's cervical spine from his frequent naps at his desk.

I chose it after two weeks of searching.

"Andy, you're one lucky guy!" the colleague exclaimed.

"Your wife is so thoughtful, unlike my wife who barely cares me!"

But Andy remained cold, a trace of scorn curling his lips.

"She's just playing these petty tricks."

With that, he discarded the pillow, not even sparing it a second glance.

"You don't want it?" the colleague asked, surprised. "If you abandon it, I'll take it."

Andy didn't even lift his head.

"I'm unwilling to use anything that woman sends.

"Take it if you like it."