Chapter 6

Christopher slept poorly. The medication offered only slight relief; he remained unwell. He awoke before his alarm. Opening his door, he collided with Melody, emerging from the room across the hall.

"What are you doing?" he asked, instinctively.

"Breakfast," Melody replied flatly, stumbling to close her door before heading to the kitchen.

Christopher was stunned. He'd always expected breakfast upon waking, never noticing Melody rose at 5:00 AM to prepare it. Seeing her unsteady gait, he said, "You don't need to do that."

Melody stopped and turned. She'd served him for two years, preparing meals even when ill, enduring his difficult behavior. This was the first time he'd told her not to cook. She looked down, wondering if his sudden show of consideration stemmed from guilt over her injuries. But then he added, "You don't have to make dinner either. I'm eating out with Cynthia."

He left without looking back. Melody watched the door, a wry smile touching her lips. He'd never truly felt remorse, she realized; she'd been overly optimistic. It was a relief not to cook; she'd had enough. She returned to sleep.

Waking at 8:00 AM to change her dressing, she discovered the gastric medicine from the first-aid kit was missing. She frowned, remembering her door was unlocked that morning. Had she forgotten to lock it? Had the medicine been missing earlier? She dismissed the thought.

After changing, she sat on the living room carpet with her laptop. She spent the morning reviewing her college coursework on academic websites, then spent the afternoon coding and sketching characters and scenes on her drawing tablet. Two years of seclusion had dulled some professional knowledge, but her fundamental drawing skills remained sharp. She'd also supplemented her income with freelance work, gaining a sizable following.

Evening arrived swiftly. Melody poured water. As she was about to order takeout, the doorbell rang. Cynthia entered, Christopher trailing behind, carrying groceries.

"Mel, I'm here to see you. Are you feeling better?" Cynthia smiled brightly.

Melody's expression remained cold. Cynthia, a factor in her injury, now had the audacity to visit, perhaps with ulterior motives.

Ignoring her, Cynthia called out plaintively, "Mel…"

"What kind of attitude is that? Cynthia's being kind enough to visit, even offering to cook. You should be grateful," Christopher scolded, his brow furrowed.

Melody scoffed. "Help yourselves. I'm not hungry."

She went to put away her laptop. Christopher was furious, but Cynthia calmed him, saying sweetly, "Christopher, Mel's injured. Be nice. Let's prepare the food. We'll call her when it's ready."

Melody pretended not to hear. She returned to her room. In the kitchen, Christopher watched Melody pass and frowned. "Why are you using that laptop?"

"I was bored, so I watched a drama," she replied, without turning.

"Why is there a board?" he asked.

"To rest my hand," she answered.

He knew she was lying. A handrest wouldn't have a wire. Her coldness frustrated him; it had persisted since the previous day.

"Christopher, come help with the ingredients," Cynthia called from the kitchen.

He went to assist her. Melody, returning to her room, heard everything. She sneered; the thought of Christopher cooking was unbelievable. Previously, she'd prepared everything, never receiving his help. The notion that men avoided kitchens was absurd; one would cook for someone they loved.

Though soundproof, she could hear Cynthia's loud chatter; it sounded as if they were demolishing the kitchen. Melody didn't mind Cynthia's presence, only the noise.

As she settled in to watch educational videos, a scream pierced the air. She impatiently put on her earphones, but a persistent knocking began.

"Melody, come out," Christopher called.

She clenched her fist. She'd given them space; why the intrusion? He continued knocking, relentless.

Taking deep breaths, she muttered, "28 days left. I just have to endure it…"

Opening the door, she heard, "Go prepare the meal. Cynthia's not used to the country's cookware. She dropped a plate and almost hurt herself."

Melody was speechless. What was the connection? Why did Cynthia seek her out after the incident?

"I'm injured, too," she replied coldly.

Only then did Christopher remember. He looked down at her feet. She thought he finally showed remorse, remembering his earlier words about breakfast.

But he said, "Your hands aren't injured. You only have to stand there."