Chapter 2I Won’t Stay in a Home for Three

Gigi reached out, grabbing the edge of my suitcase.

"Sera, come on. It's just a locked door. You're not actually mad, are you?" She pouted. "Don't overthink it. I kept forgetting the old code, so Johnny changed it to my birthday."

Johnny let out a sharp scoff.

"She's just being dramatic. It's a bunch of numbers. Who cares if they change?"

His face showed nothing but contempt, but his inner voice grew louder, panic-stricken.

[Say something! Say that the old code was our anniversary. Tell me I'm not allowed to change it.]

[Sera, why aren't you reacting at all?]

I remained silent.

Gigi leaned against the doorframe, letting out a soft yawn. "Are you coming in or what? We're heading to bed soon."

I pulled my copy of the keys from my purse and set them quietly on the console near the door. "No, thanks. Get some sleep."

Johnny froze.

"Fine, if you're not coming in, then get lost!" he snarled, slamming the door shut with a deafening bang.

The force of it made me stumble backward. My handbag slipped from my shoulder, spilling its contents onto the cold hallway floor. A stack of old train tickets slid across the tiles. The one on top was dated exactly seven years ago.

On the day I was transferred to the regional office, Johnny had walked me to the platform. The boarding announcement had chimed three times before he finally let go of me.

"Go on, Sera," he had said, his tone breezy. "Don't look back."

But in that exact second, I heard his inner voice for the very first time.

[Sera, I don't want you to go.]

[But I can't hold you back.]

[I love you. Please wait for me.]

I had frozen at the turnstile, tears blurring my vision.

After that, during those long-distance years, I took that five-hour train ride countless times. Even when I worked past midnight, I would rush to catch the red-eye just to see him.

Until the time I pulled back-to-back all-nighters, fainted at my desk, and missed the train.

The second I woke up in the hospital bed, I called him. It took seven attempts before he finally picked up.

"I'm having dinner with Gigi," he said, his voice freezing cold. "What are you crying for? You didn't have time for me, so I found someone who did. She's your best friend, isn't she? With her keeping an eye on me, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

That night, Gigi posted three updates on social media: hot pot, a dimly lit bar, and the city streets at three in the morning. Meanwhile, I lay alone in a sterile hospital room, a cold IV drip running into my arm all night.

A tear fell onto the old paper ticket in my hand. I tried to wipe it away, but the ink only smudged, leaving a dark, permanent stain.