"It was Stuart Lambert—from Lucy's office—whose family had the emergency. You added him on WhatsApp at the last company dinner, right? Go ahead and ask him, if you don't believe me."
After we hung up,
I hesitated for a long time before pulling up Stuart's WhatsApp.
I tapped into the chat, typed "Mr. Lambert," and hit send.
The message bounced. Blocked.
Blocked—when that very morning I'd still been scrolling through his Instagram. Stuart was the person Eugene was closest to at the company, and Eugene had told me to go verify his story, and Stuart had already shut the door in my face.
After the call, Eugene went completely silent.
We'd had plans for the holiday weekend. Disney tickets, booked and confirmed.
But he said he had to work overtime.
He said the bride price was almost saved up—he was so close—and he couldn't pass up triple holiday pay.
So these past few days, when Eugene's messages came less often, I never thought twice about it.
But now...
After dinner, I posted on Instagram. The photo was the scallion oil noodles my mom had made.
The holiday's almost over. Already missing Mom's cooking.
I set it so only Eugene could see it.
After posting, I waited.
One hour. Two hours. Three hours. Four.