We spilled dinner that night.

Thu liked my tomato bisque a lot, so she asked me to make it again. We both got a bowl of it, but I was clumsy with the rest of the pot. It spilled all over her dining table, and it soon got sticky with fruit and cream.

And it refused to come off easily.

Thu did not help, but we had different jobs to do. I cleaned, and she read her work emails. Outlook was open the whole time while I scrubbed at her table, when she wasn’t taking a tea break. I couldn’t fathom what being a hapless young CEO was like. There wasn’t much at stake being a housekeeper, at least without factoring in how I felt about my master. No businesses or economies hinged on me. And even with such a minor job, I still wanted a cup of her peppermint tea.

What I learned that night from the Cotes still ate at me. Thu was such a gorgeous young widow…not that she would ever call herself that. She was distant, yet gentle and emotional. At least one branch of her now-confirmed family hated her.

It didn’t ruin her for me, at least not in the way the Cotes must have hoped. Every drop of venom from their lips couldn’t kill this. Every concerned report of Thu’s supposed insanity and scarred legs couldn’t keep me away. I could quit work at any time, and didn’t.

But that didn’t stop me from looking pouty on the job either. I wanted her to say anything. Even the safest answers would help. Yes, I’m widowed. Does it matter? Or, those wounds are in the past.

I sat down next to her. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Are you?” she asked. “You’ve looked uncomfortable all week.”

“And you always do too. I’m just imitating my master.”

“Axel, my personal problems are not a part of your job,” she said, sighing and looking faint. “Unless I pass out, it’s not your concern.”

“But there’s a lot about you…uh…I guess there are things I’m concerned about–”

“I know,” she said, sharply. “But I did not hire a therapist.”

“You hired a companion.”

“I advertised it that way. But I don’t and shouldn’t have to tell every single person about my life. You’re not an exception.”

“Can you give me one thing?” I asked.

“Fine, but no guarantees.”

“Why is your husband never around?”

She almost froze with anger, and in her silent flat, I could almost hear her racing heartbeat. “Why does it matter to you?” she asked.

“Because…because you mention him all the time, and you live in this gorgeous penthouse and have a job people twice your age couldn’t dream of having, and it’s all because of him. And he’s never around! It makes me worry…about all of you.”

“He has plenty of reasons not to be here,” she said. “It’s not a problem you should be involved in.”

“I guess…I guess it’s something I just don’t understand,” I said. “And maybe I could help if I knew what was going on. Like if he’s out of love, or unwell–”

“I don’t want you asking about him again!”

After a few heavy breaths, she got up from her stool.

“I’m going to take a long bath,” she said, as she walked away. “You can leave after that.”

I wanted to ask if she meant permanently, but I didn’t want to push it.

I liked to analyze Thu’s collection of paintings while she bathed. It captured my attention, but not enough to stop listening to any cry for help. Thu knew that using her bathtub was a bad idea. But if the aura of a seizure started to hover, she could yell for me to help her to somewhere safe.

She owned two big triptych paintings from local painter Marco Ford. One was in her living room, and the other was on the other side. His signature was big, sweeping brushstrokes, to capture the essence of this big, crazy city.

Behind me was her movie room. I never cleaned it, largely because Thu said there was no need to. I asked her about her favorite movies one day, and she shrugged. As it turned out, she was rich enough to build a movie room and never use it.

At least, she wouldn’t use it without Andrea. He enjoyed foreign cinema, especially from Italy, regardless of genre. He took pride in understanding it when Thu was lost. She lamented not being able to watch movies with him like they used to.

That was weeks ago. But now I could complete that statement: because he’s dead.

I must have been the first person to sit there in ages. A thin veneer of dust coated the bookcase against the wall and her hanging Indian tapestries, but the room wasn’t filthy. The couch was still vibrant and orange, like it was bought recently. Maybe Thu tended to her little nook herself, when I had a day off.

She stored DVDs underneath her huge, wall-mounted screen. La Terra Dei Santi. Sworn Virgin. Tôi Thấy Hoa Vàng Trên Cỏ Xanh. Hey, Mẹ liked that film too! Billy Madison. Yes, the Adam Sandler comedy. Everyone had their guilty pleasures.

There was a lot about her movie room that I never noticed, just passing by it. A white iPod stood up docked and forever lit. She had a replica of one half of Independent Hands. I later learned the original was two sculptures of folded hands. They never got shown together until well after the artist’s death. Her novel collection was large too, with encyclopedias and two shelves of Vietnamese literature. I would stand no chance of reading it and understanding.

She mounted a set of four photos, high above her screen.

I never noticed those either, and judging by what she said before bath time, she must have wanted it to stay that way. I recognized Thu in all of them, albeit she wore a wedding dress and smiled.

How could I ignore that side of her for so long? How could I keep accepting that Thu had a mysterious, but alive husband? And what would be different if I knew that she was once happy?

She was beaming for all of it. Whether with an unnamed old lady, or kissing Andrea, or even posing next to scowling new stepchildren. And she was the most beautiful bride I had seen, in real life or in pictures. Thu’s fashion and grace was distilled to its most perfect form that day. Andrea couldn’t even look at the camera. His eyes were locked on her, in all her youthful beauty.

And she didn’t seem to mind his craggy old face, or how baggy his tuxedo was on his slim frame.

I felt bad for her, if scared. She couldn’t talk about the one reason she was trapped in this glass dungeon, or the other one at Cosavo.

She couldn’t tell me that, for a brief moment, she was happy.

“Why are you in here?”

“Thu, I…I was just waiting–”

“Can you even hear me from the bathroom in here?” Her voice grew mad and hoarse. “And this is what I meant when I said stay out. I just want this one thing.”

“I didn’t think there would be anything in here,” I said. “I…uh…was that your husband?”

She started to storm off towards her bedroom, trying to keep that too-big bathrobe tied around her.

“Draw your own conclusions,” she said, before running off and slamming her bedroom door.