Chapter 1The "Mechanics" Club

My husband had to work late, so out of boredom, I picked up his tablet to play a game. Suddenly, a WeChat notification popped up. It was from an account I had never seen before.

The group chat was named "Veteran Mechanics Maintenance Station," and new messages were pouring in:

"Test drove a '75 vintage model today. 1.6L naturally aspirated. The intake was incredible. Handled all kinds of high-difficulty maneuvers with ease. Only downside is the engine knocks a bit, and it leaks a lot of fluid."

"Be grateful it still has fluid at that age!"

"Respect, man. Was it your personal car, or a rental?"

"I haven't driven a classic that old yet. Mind if I take it for a spin? I'll pay for the maintenance!"

I was about to close the app when I saw my husband's reply.

"Classic cars can't beat the new models. I just drove an '01 off the lot. Slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roared twice, and the whole system stalled."

My fingers trembled. The only car our family owned was a nearly ten-year-old SUV.

* * *

As my finger scrolled to the very last page of the tablet's Notes app, it suddenly stopped.

"WeChat Alt Account: rong0525, Password: 20180520."

That was the day we got our marriage license. I vividly remembered Mark holding up our marriage certificate, smiling brightly. "From now on, all my passwords will be this date, so you can unlock everything in my life whenever you want."

But right now, this password unlocked a world I had never seen before.

The moment the login was successful, the WeChat homepage exploded with "99+" unread message notifications.

The group chat was called "Veteran Mechanics Maintenance Station," and every member's profile picture was a car logo.

New messages kept popping up. "Test drove a '75 vintage model today. 1.6L naturally aspirated. Handled all kinds of high-difficulty driving maneuvers with ease. Only downside is the engine knocks a bit, and it leaks a lot of fluid."

Someone quickly replied: "Be grateful a car from that year still has fluid!"

"Was it your personal car, or a rental?"

"Mind if I take it for a spin? I'll pay for the maintenance!"

...

At the very bottom of the chat was Mark's reply.

"Classic cars can't beat the new models. I just drove an '01 off the lot. Slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roared twice, and the whole system stalled. Headlights were blindingly white. An unforgettable ride..."

In a daze, I bumped the desk next to me. A framed photo rattled. It was taken on our anniversary last year. I was leaning against Mark's shoulder, and parked behind us was our seven-year-old black SUV. He had said that day, "My wife is number one, and my car is number two. One is my safe harbor, and the other is the roar of my soul."

But the "cars" he was discussing in this group chat were models I didn't recognize.

The safe harbor was still here, but his soul was roaring somewhere else.

I heard keys jingling at the front door.

I quickly logged out of the tablet, shoving it under a sofa cushion just as Mark pushed the door open.

He walked straight toward me with a wide smile, opening his arms for a hug like he always did. I stiffly hugged him back. As I did, a single, light-brown strand of long hair slipped from his collar—a stark, almost comical contrast to the pin-straight, jet-black hair I had kept for five years.

Mark always said black hair was the most beautiful and grounded.

"Had to drink with Mr. Davis today. His old Audi A8 keeps stalling, so we spent half the night talking about car repairs."

Mark rubbed his temples, offering a helpless smile. "I wanted to come home early to be with you, but he just wouldn't stop talking. You know how these business dinners are. You can't leave until the very last second."

He sighed and reached out to playfully ruffle my hair. "Company retreat next week. We're staying overnight out of town this time. I'll talk to the guys tomorrow and see if I can pay out of pocket to bring you along. Otherwise, I'll go crazy missing you for a whole night."

With his movement, the long, light-brown hair slipped from his collar and fluttered silently onto the rug.

I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe.

All I could think about was the strong scent of gardenia perfume he smelled like when he came home from a "work dinner" last week. It was the exact same scent filling my nose right now.

I jokingly asked if he had been out stealing kisses. He casually shook his head. "I took the car in for maintenance, and the shop owner recommended this new air freshener. I'm not used to the smell. It probably rubbed off on me."

Thinking back on it now, he told that lie so effortlessly.