Chapter 1

Ten years into my marriage, after five years as a stay-at-home mom, my husband, Ethan, and I barely spoke anymore.

At dinner that evening, I tried talking to him once again.

"Ethan, do you want to take Bella to the aquarium this Saturday?"

"It'll be a great chance for me to take some photos of you two."

He didn't even look up.

Just as I was about to ask again, Bella looked around at the framed pictures displayed throughout the house and asked, puzzled:

"Mommy, why aren't you in any of these pictures?"

I said, "Because Mommy is the one taking them."

She tilted her little head and thought for a second. "Then who takes pictures of Mommy?"

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

She pulled out our family album, flipped straight to the very last page, and added:

"Daddy never takes pictures of you."

Bella was only five. Her voice was still babyish, but every single word felt like a sharp pebble hitting me square in the chest.

I gave her a bath, read her two bedtime stories, and tucked her into bed.

When I walked back into the master bedroom, Ethan was propped against the headboard scrolling on his phone. He didn't spare me a single glance.

In the past, I would have scrambled to come up with random topics.

Like the funny thing that happened while grocery shopping today.

Or why the neighbors had been arguing earlier.

And then he would brush me off with a half-hearted "uh-huh," roll over, and pretend to fall asleep.

Left with nothing else, I would stare at his back—or up at the ceiling—and cry in silence.

Tonight, I didn't sit down on the bed.

I grabbed a throw blanket and walked out to the living room.

The couch in our living room was huge.

When we bought it, Ethan had even teased:

"You're not going to kick me out to sleep on this couch whenever you're mad, are you?"

Only later did I realize he never even gave me the chance to fight with him.

The moment a disagreement flared, he'd claim an urgent work crisis had popped up at the office and that he needed to handle it right away.

Then he'd tell me to stay home and "cool down."

I lay down on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My phone lit up. It was a text from my mom: Are you and Bella doing okay?

I replied: Doing great.

For ten whole years, whenever my mom asked how I was doing, my answer was always "doing great."

Meanwhile, I used to send Ethan long, endless paragraphs.

Reminding him to wear an extra jacket, or telling him not to forget his umbrella.

He never replied to any of it.

When I called, he wouldn't pick up.

Worried that something terrible had happened to him, I once went to his firm looking for him.

He just stared at me, coldly saying, "Can you stop acting crazy?"

Everyone said I was too clingy, that maybe staying home as a housewife for so long had messed with my head.

Even I had started to wonder if something was wrong with me.

I had chased after Ethan for ten straight years, photographing him for ten entire years. How pathetically desperate could someone be?

Yet tonight, that innocent question from Bella felt like someone had pressed a shutter right next to my ear.

Click. Something froze forever in that instant.

It wasn't heartbreak. It was the film of an old, lingering obsession finally being overexposed.

I slept astonishingly well that night.

No dreams. No tears. No waking up in the middle of the night to check if he'd texted back.

The next morning, when the alarm went off, I actually blanked for a second.

It turned out I could sleep this peacefully after all.

It was a Monday.

Ethan had an early morning meeting. Before, I would have dragged myself out of bed at five in the morning to prepare buttered toast, freshly brewed coffee, pastries, fried eggs, sausages, and more.

Just hoping he might pick one of them for breakfast.

Instead of just tossing out a hurried "thanks" and heading out the door to buy coffee at Starbucks.

Today, I only made breakfast for Bella, then packed her water bottle for preschool.

When Ethan stepped out of the bedroom, he glanced at us.

He didn't say a word. He just opened the door and left.

The sound of the door clicking shut sounded identical to the past three thousand-plus days.

Yet for the very first time, I didn't run after him to say, "Drive safe."

Bella looked up at me. "Mommy, you didn't say goodbye to Daddy today."

I smiled, gently pinching her cheek.

"Did you tell Daddy to drive safely?"

She shook her head. "Daddy walks too fast."

Yeah.

He always walked too fast.

I had spent ten years chasing him with a camera, yet all I ever managed to capture was his retreating back.

In real life, I could never catch up to him either.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled through my camera roll.

The most recent photo was taken yesterday—Bella eating an apple.

Scrolling back: Bella drawing, Bella at the park, Bella asleep.

Scrolling further back: Ethan working overtime at his laptop, Ethan asleep on the couch, Ethan playing with Bella in the living room.

Further back still: family gatherings, full group pictures I had taken.

Everyone was in the frame. Everyone except me.

Ten years. Over ten thousand photos. Not a single one of myself.