Chapter 2: The Rumor Mill Turns

"Oh, you finally can’t take it anymore?" a neighbor called from her porch, coffee mug in hand, her voice floating above the morning traffic noise.

"It was so hard to make it to Chicago and even buy a house—why are you leaving again?" another chimed in, the rumor mill was already in overdrive. A CTA bus rumbled past, splashing dirty slush onto the curb as the neighbors leaned in, mugs steaming in the cold.

News of Derek’s transfer spread quickly. Those who thrived on gossip and those who were just curious all came to ask questions. None of them knew that the transfer was something Derek had requested himself, all for the sake of the heroine, Lillian Snow.

After Lillian and the main guy, Calvin Price, broke up, she no longer wanted to stay in Chicago. So Derek didn’t hesitate to give up the bright future he’d earned through ten years of hard work. Truly the devoted second lead. It was the sort of loyalty that would earn you points in an old Hollywood melodrama, except here it just left everyone bewildered and me tired.

At that moment, Derek sat in the living room reading, watching me return after dealing with the neighbors. He took the grocery bag from me, looking a bit dazed, almost as if he’d forgotten what being home really meant.

"Why so little?" he asked, peering into the paper sack, one eyebrow raised.

His salary had never been much, and now he gave most of it every month to Lillian. Real estate in Chicago was insanely expensive; buying this tiny two-story house had nearly wiped out all our savings—all of which I’d scraped together from running a food truck. I never imagined that after such a short time living here, we’d have to sell it. Without my careful planning, Derek, who had no sense of money, hurriedly sold it off and lost forty percent of its value.

I didn’t mention any of this. I simply said, "Groceries in the city are expensive."

Derek made veggie pasta, looking every bit the devoted husband. He hummed softly as he boiled water and chopped onions, the steam fogging up the kitchen window where you could just see the El tracks in the distance. He always put on that apron with the faded Cubs logo—his little ritual of domesticity, like it made up for everything else.

When we lived in remote Silver Hollow, the neighbors always praised Derek as a rare man. They said a girl like me with no family connections was truly lucky. They never saw me getting up at dawn and staying up late to run my food truck, flipping pancakes on a sizzling griddle, the air thick with the scent of bacon and burnt coffee. All they saw was Derek’s talent and his thoughtfulness toward his wife. Folks in Silver Hollow were quick to talk, slow to see beyond a polished smile.

When I first arrived, I also felt lucky that my mission target was Derek. I was supposed to change his fate—to stop him from giving everything for Lillian Snow and ultimately dying for her.

From the first day of college orientation, I transmigrated and was bound to the system. Counting the days, I’ve been here for more than five years. Sometimes it felt like the system was just another voice in my head, another silent roommate in our cramped house. Sometimes, I wondered if it was lonelier to have it or to be completely alone.

Just yesterday, the system told me my mission was complete. For some reason, the male and female leads didn’t end up together, and I married Derek instead.

Staring at the bland veggie pasta, I silently chanted, "Mac and cheese, mac and cheese," and forced it down. Anyway, in seven days, I’d be able to go home and eat real food. I missed Mom’s Sunday pot roast, the way the whole house would smell like rosemary and beef, cornbread cooling on the counter, laughter echoing from the living room.

While I was eating, Derek spoke up: "Anna, Lillian has an urgent need. My paycheck for this month..."

Only then did I remember—today was payday. It looked like, once again, there would be nothing left for us. The envelope would be thin, and the fridge just as empty.

Derek glanced at me, searching my face for a reaction. His words tumbled out, too fast: "It’s been cold lately. Lillian’s place is running out of heating oil. You know she’s not like us—she can’t stand the cold..."

I cut him off lightly: "Alright." My tone was as flat as the countertop. I didn’t look up, just kept tracing circles on the table with my finger.

Derek looked at me in surprise, his mouth half open as if waiting for a fight.