Part 3Too Late to Repent

Asher came home just before dawn.

The sound of the door opening was followed by a wave of stale alcohol and heavy perfume. Then I saw him, leaning against the doorframe.

He was typing on his phone. He noticed the living room light, glanced at me, then his eyes went straight back to his screen.

“You’re still up?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, still engrossed in his phone. Someone on the other end must have said something funny, because an unconscious, gentle smile touched his lips.

I just sat on the sofa, watching him.

After three or four minutes, he finally seemed to register that I was still there. He put his phone away, rubbed his nose, and looked up at me with a frown.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I…”

“Good, you’re up,” he cut me off, plopping down on the sofa next to me. He issued a casual command. “Go make me some tea.”

I had studied all sorts of herbal teas to help protect his voice. He always complained they tasted awful, but he would always drink them, grimacing the whole time.

But not this time.

I brought him the tea. He took one sip, then calmly poured the entire cup into a nearby potted plant.

“Tsk. Your skills are really getting worse.”

A sharp, searing pain bloomed on my fingers where the hot liquid had splashed.

I kept my head down, silent.

I thought of another post from his private account.

【The wife burned dinner today, but I ate every last bite!】

Suddenly, this all felt so pointless.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Hey.”

Asher’s voice stopped me. I turned around.

A small, palm-sized box hit me in the chest. I let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

He frowned, annoyed at himself, then turned his head away.

“Happy birthday.”

Inside was a cartoon pendant, a matching one to his. A silly-looking teddy bear was grinning inanely.