When my husband came to pick me up from the hospital, my best friend was already in the passenger seat. Her smile was still bright and generous, but she made no move to get out.

"It's been so long since I’ve seen you. You’ve been sitting in that passenger seat for ages—can’t you let me have it now that I’m back in the country, Mrs. Frans?"

Frans Charles, hands on the wheel, said nothing. He just changed the subject.

"How were the test results?"

I held the report in my hand—the one confirming my pregnancy—opened the back door and replied slowly, “Just indigestion.”

I hadn’t expected Zaney Qameela to show up at today’s gathering. I thought she’d been abroad for the past three years, doing well. If I had known she’d be there, I never would have gone.

“Little Orange,” she said with that same teasing tone, using the nickname from our school days, “you’re still as dramatic as ever. I didn’t realize indigestion could land someone in the hospital.”

“What a waste of medical resources.”

She acted as if nothing had changed between us, as if we were still close. She casually flicked the small charm I’d hung in the car.

"And you, Frans—this car cost a few million and you made it all girly? Are you even a man?"

Frans just kept his eyes on the road, smiling faintly. “She likes it.”

“Ugh, I don’t. Such a handsome car, dressed like... well, it’s almost incestuous.”

“I’ll buy you one if you want,” he said calmly.

“Tch. Don’t pretend to be a big shot in front of me. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

The curve of his lips deepened. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long time. The cold air in the car was on full blast and it felt like icy water was pouring straight into my heart.

——

I reached for the thin blanket beside me and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“Cold?” Frans glanced at me through the rearview mirror, frowning and reached to adjust the temperature.

Zaney quickly pressed his hand. “Hey! I’m burning up. If she’s cold, why not open the window and let the hot air blow in? We’re almost there anyway—she can tough it out.”

Their hands were naturally intertwined, fingers laced, until Frans saw me nod. Only then did he pull away and focus on driving.

“One of you’s afraid of cold, the other of heat. I wonder how you ever managed to live in the same dorm.”

This time, Zaney didn’t respond.

I smiled. “Have you forgotten? She barely stayed in the dorm. She was always out with you.”

Neither of them said a word. Zaney lowered her head and fiddled with her phone. The silence hung thick in the air, heavy with something like heartbreak. Zaney and I had known each other since childhood. Her father died young and her mother worked as a maid in our household.

We shared a bed growing up, dressed up old rag dolls together, split packs of sanitary napkins and whispered about boys in the dark. Later, I realized we had also fallen in love with the same man—Frans.

In the beginning, I’d invite her to join us on dates sometimes. Frans didn’t mind. But gradually, in those outings for three, I became the one sent to buy drinks. Eventually, they went to parties together without me.

I didn’t like internet cafés, couldn’t shoot birds in the hills and was too timid to join their biker stunts. But Zaney was curious about it all—even if she wasn’t good, she tried. Back then, I never thought they crossed a line. I just felt happy.

My best friend and my boyfriend were like brothers. We felt like a family. Until one day, she made a bet with me: would Frans choose her or me? She lost. But I didn’t win either.

Zaney went abroad with everything provided for her—visa, tuition and living expenses—all arranged by Frans. She said she wanted to pursue her studies and he gave her everything she needed to do it.

As for me—the chosen bride in a union between two prominent families—he didn’t even have the right to refuse.

The party turned out to be more unbearable than I expected. I don’t know who ordered the durian pizza, but the smell made my stomach churn. I covered my mouth, muttered an excuse and hurried away from the table.

The restroom was inside a private room, separated only by a wall with mediocre soundproofing. So when Zaney casually announced that she had returned to Canada “for love,” I heard every word—clear as day.

A burst of laughter followed, crashing in my ears like a wave.

“Who’s worth chasing that much, Miss Qameela? Come on, tell us!”

“Oh, I’d rather not. Might make someone angry.”

“Angry? Who’d dare be angry at you? Say the word and I’ll help you chase him down.”

That was Frans’s voice.

“You said it,” she replied.

“Mm-hmm.”

“That person... is not far away in the sky, but right in front of me.”

Silence fell over the room. The stillness pressed down like a weight on my chest. Then came soft laughter again—Zaney’s—and Frans’s helpless voice

“Zaney, that’s enough.”

I pushed the door open. She had already moved into the seat I had vacated earlier. Leaning gently against Frans, her eyes still shimmered with affection she hadn’t bothered to hide.

Frans was the first to rise. He walked toward me, his expression full of concern. “Feeling better?”

So many times, it only took a few words from him to make me feel like spring had returned. No matter what had happened, as long as he spoke, I would begin to convince myself that it was all okay. Because his reputation always seemed more important than my feelings. And he assumed I would always know my place. I looked up at him—and slapped him across the face. His always-composed, indifferent eyes were stunned, just for a second.

From behind, Zaney screamed. “Shery Raymond! Are you crazy?!”

I kept my gaze on the man I had loved for years. “Frans,” I said coldly, “I want a divorce.”

Frans had always treated me well. As a husband, he was nearly flawless.

The Charles Family had strict rules. He knew exactly how a man should behave toward his wife. So even when I slapped him and asked for a divorce in front of everyone, all he did was frown.

“Sheryl, let’s talk about this at home.”

No one else dared to make a sound—except Zaney, whose voice rang out, still sharp.

“Don’t be impulsive. Talk it out. Or I’ll go home with you two piece by piece and explain everything. I just—”

I turned and gave her the first direct look of the night.

“Piece by piece? And who exactly do you think you are?”

Frans's frown deepened. “Sheryl, Zaney was just trying to be kind. You don’t have to be so sensitive.”

He had taken a slap and said nothing. But the moment I so much as raised my voice at Zaney, he stepped in to defend her.

My eyes blurred with tears I hadn’t meant to shed. But Zaney’s fell first.

“Little Orange,” she said, her voice trembling, “I was joking. If it upset you, I apologize.”

She bent forward, tears dripping onto the carpet.

“You really don’t have to take it to heart. You probably didn’t know, but Frans and I always joke like that. A lot of our friends know.”

“I’ve just been away too long… I forgot that you two are married now. It’s all my fault...”

Some of the classmates who’d been silently watching the drama unfold began to chime in.

“Come on, Sheryl, don’t be mad. She really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Frans married you—Zaney knows her boundaries.”

“Sheryl was always so gentle. Who would’ve thought she’d suddenly lash out like that? Really unexpected...”

“I didn’t realize Zaney was so outspoken and easygoing. Makes me wish I’d spent more time getting to know her before.”

I laughed—softly at first, then louder, until the tears I had just fought back began to surface again.

“Zaney,” I said, “only you know what’s really in your heart.”

Frans suddenly stepped in front of her, his tall frame shielding her like a barrier from my so-called "accusations." His stance was clear.

“Sheryl,” he said, voice low and controlled, “how long are you going to keep making a scene?”

I stared at the side of his face—still slightly swollen from the slap. Even marred, his features were achingly handsome, but now there was something human in them at last. A flaw. A bruise.

The clarity in his eyes—the sense of righteousness—was still unwavering. He looked down at me like a judge from a high bench, dignified and cold. Compassionate, yet detached. This ridiculous performance—after all—was always destined to end under Frans’s quiet command.

This time, Zaney didn’t get into the front seat of Fran’s car. He was thoughtful enough to call another one for her. Through the window, I saw him lean down, say something to the driver and nod at her gently—as if offering comfort. It reminded me of a summer long ago, outside the school gates. Someone had nudged me and told me to look ahead.

And I saw them—Zaney leaping into a car, Frans brushing her hair aside and murmuring something to the driver. His expression then was the same as now—gentle, indulgent.

Back then, they used to make plans to hang out with friends and I naively believed it was just an unspoken agreement to include everyone. What I didn’t know was that their invitations were exclusive—meant for each other only.

The Zaney of that time was bold and radiant. She’d kiss her own palm and, without hesitation, press it onto Frans’s cheek. He was stunned and she giggled, blushing with pride. I had stood frozen at the sight. All the subtle warnings, all the offhand comments from others—none had the impact of seeing it for myself.

The slamming of the car door brought me back to the present. Frans glanced at the front passenger seat, noticed I hadn’t taken it and let out a quiet sigh.

“Sheryl,” he said, “Zaney didn’t mean anything by sitting there. She just thought the air conditioning was better in the front. That’s all.”

His voice was gentle. Sincere. Usually, by this point, I would’ve melted. Maybe sulked a bit, then eventually climbed back into the passenger seat.

If he bought another rare gemstone necklace at auction and gave it to me, everything would’ve blown over. But not this time. Not when it came to Zaney.

“Frans,” I said, voice steady, “since we got married, you never let anyone else sit in the passenger seat.”

The car remained still for a long moment. Then, without a word, he lit a cigarette. He knew I hated the smell. Especially in an enclosed space like this. But he did it anyway.

“I thought,” he said, after a while, “you’d be happy to see Zaney again.”

“After all, the two of you were such close friends. Weren’t you?”

I let out a cold laugh. “Yeah. Close enough to share a boyfriend.”

Silence filled the car. I turned and cracked the window open, the smoke too suffocating to bear. He flicked the cigarette out the window, barely smoked. His voice was low and hoarse.

“Back then, when I looked at her… I was reminded of you. That’s all. So I tolerated her a bit more. But I only ever saw her as a friend… a brother.”

The dim light from the dashboard cast faint shadows in the car. I stared at my hands, a tear sliding silently down and soaking into my fist.

“You know what?” I said. “One night, she got drunk and cried to me. Said that if she’d been born a man, you wouldn’t be so guarded around her. That maybe the three of us wouldn’t have drifted apart.”

But I still remember the look in Zaney’s eyes the day she showed me that video. There was no sorrow in them—only pride.

She had smiled and said, “From now on, Frans will only have interest in you—no feelings.”