Zero Minutes

Today was the seventh anniversary of the plane crash that took my twin sister, Chloe. My husband, Julian, checked the watch on his wrist and urged me on. “I’ve only blocked off ten minutes for this visit. Hurry up and lay the flowers.” He was a pathological stickler for time, meticulously managing every minute and second of his life. Shopping was sixty minutes, intimacy was fifteen minutes, and dinner was ten minutes… As he walked back to the car to grab an umbrella, his phone slipped from his hand, hit the ground, and lit up with a cloud calendar notification. It was his hidden master schedule for family. I stole a glance at it, and my blood instantly ran cold. The entry for me read, “Spend two hours.” And the very next entry ten minutes later read, “Cemetery visit ends. Head to the Southside residence immediately to pick up Chloe and our son for his toddler’s gym class.” I stared at my sister’s photo on the tombstone, finding it all ironic. So the past seven years, spent racing against the clock, were nothing more than an extreme time-management strategy Julian had devised for her while she was pretending to be dead. Julian walked back over under the umbrella. He picked up his phone and frowned. “Riley, your ten minutes are up. Stop dawdling.” Wiping the rainwater from the tombstone, I let out a liberated smile and said, “I'm not dawdling. It just struck me that Chloe must be having a wonderful time in hell. With the Devil and his demons keeping her company, I’m sure she’d never want to leave.” Chapter 1 “Riley, this grief isn’t normal. This doesn’t align with what psychology says about recovering from a seven-year grief.” Julian Stewart tilted the black umbrella forward slightly to shield my shoulders from the rain. He raised his left wrist, his gaze lingering on his custom watch for two seconds. “What you just said lacks logic. Feudal superstitious concepts like hell shouldn’t appear in your emotional expressions.” I looked at his cold, rational face, my fingers digging tightly into my palms. He didn’t understand my sarcasm at all, or rather, he didn’t care. To him, I was merely a bug that had to be fixed for grieving on my sister’s death anniversary. “Is that so? Maybe I’ve just been too tired lately.” I uncurled my fingers, letting the rain wash away the pale marks left by my fingernails on my palms. “Since you’re tired, you should strictly follow the schedule I set for you.” Julian naturally wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His grip was neither too firm nor too light—just enough to keep me controlled under his umbrella. “The temperature has dropped to fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. With your poor health, staying outdoors for another three minutes will increase your chances of catching a cold by forty percent.” I said nothing. I merely stared at the photo of Chloe Hudson’s smiling face. Seven years ago, when the news of the plane crash came, I fainted from crying multiple times. It was Julian who broke my every day down into minutes. What time to wake up, what time to eat, what time I was permitted to cry—everything was written into the schedule. I used to think that was his way of holding the world together for me, but now I realize those minutes weren’t salvation—they were just a division of his time. While I was shoved into the gaps in his time, he was saving his actual life for another living person. “Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, you’re here to visit your sister again this year.” The cemetery caretaker walked over in a raincoat, holding a broom in his hand. He watched Julian shielding me from the rain, his eyes filled with emotion. “It’s been seven years, yet Mr. Stewart frees up his time every year on this exact day to accompany you. There are very few young men these days who can do so much.” Julian nodded and spoke, his tone polite yet distant. “I’m her husband. It’s the best I can do. Riley is emotionally fragile and requires companionship.” After the caretaker left, the backup phone in Julian’s pocket vibrated. He didn’t step away from me and simply put the call on speaker. My mother-in-law’s sharp voice came through, mixed with the sound of the rain. “Julian, why are you still there in that godforsaken place? The living are more important than the dead! Those at Southside are waiting for you. Don’t make the child wait!” I turned to look at Julian. His expression remained unchanged as he raised his hand to check his watch. “Mom, I know what I’m doing. We still have ninety seconds left in the cemetery.” “You’re the only one who spoils her! Visiting a dead person year after year… Would visiting her for seven years bring her back to life?” My mother-in-law, Jane Stewart, sneered on the other end before hanging up. “That’s just Mom’s temper. Don’t take her words to heart.” Julian put his phone away, smoothly adjusted the collar of my trench coat, and added, “An important business partner has family in the Southside whom I need to pick up on the way. That’s part of my itinerary.” Looking at his unbothered, honest eyes, I felt disgusted. Even when he lied, he covered it up with such flawless logic. A business partner’s family. So that was the code name he gave my biological twin sister and his illegitimate son. “Mr. Stewart, the car is warmed up.” His assistant, Greg, walked up the steps under a black umbrella and handed over a dry tissue. “You have twenty-five minutes until your next schedule. Traffic reports indicate slight congestion on the Southside freeway, so I suggest leaving immediately.” Julian took the tissue and offered it to me. “Riley, clean your hands. It’s time for us to go.” I didn’t take the tissue. Instead, I stuffed my mud-stained hands straight into my coat pockets. “You go ahead. I’d like to stay with Chloe a little longer.” Julian frowned. “This isn’t in today’s plan. When you’re feeling emotionally down, you need to keep warm, not stay in the rain.” “I said, I’d like to stay a little longer.” I looked straight into his eyes and kept my tone calm. He stared at me silently for a few seconds before sighing and compromising. “I’ll grant you an extra five minutes. In five minutes, Greg will send you to the car on time.” With that, he turned around and walked down the steps, his leather shoes tapping rhythmically against the puddles. Greg stood three steps away from me, like an emotionless countdown timer. “Ma’am, you have four minutes and thirty seconds remaining.” I turned back around to face the cold tombstone once more. “Chloe, your dear Julian is on his way to pick you up. I hope that in the toddler’s gym down in the Southside, he can keep time just as precisely.” Chapter 2 The heater in the car was running high, filling the space with his signature cedarwood fragrance. I leaned against the passenger window, watching the city streetscape rapidly recede outside. Julian kept both hands on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead. “You stayed for an extra forty-two seconds back there,” he said. “To make up for the schedule delay caused by those forty-two seconds, tonight’s quality time together will have to be shortened accordingly.” I didn’t even bother to look up as I replied, “Whatever you want.” As if dissatisfied with my attitude, he reached over with one hand to turn up the air conditioner. “Riley, rules are rules. Time is a constant. If you overspend here, you must pay it back elsewhere. This is the foundation that keeps our marriage operating efficiently.” I found it hilarious listening to him rattle off all his technical jargon. An efficiently operating marriage? Did he mean his strict routine of allocating two hours of his so-called undivided attention to me every day, only to spend the rest of the day with that mother and child at the Southside residence? “My head hurts. I’m taking a nap.” I closed my eyes, trying to cut off this suffocating conversation. “There are still fifteen minutes until your optimal nap window.” Julian pressed a button on the center console, and soft white noise began playing through the car speakers. He continued, “You can do an eyes-closed meditation. In fifteen minutes, I’ll lower the seat back angle so you can enter deep sleep.” He even reached over and placed his hand precisely on my chest. “Your heart rate is fast, and your body temperature is slightly low. You’ll need a warm drink heated to a hundred and thirteen degrees Fahrenheit when we get home.” I jerked my hand back so suddenly that the seatbelt buckle made a sharp clacking sound. “Julian, I’m not your experimental data.” He froze for a moment, then looked at me with a patronizing gaze. “You’ve been really emotional today. I understand. It’s the lingering effects from your sister’s death anniversary.” He withdrew his hand and gripped the steering wheel once more. “I’ll log your emotional fluctuations into the family’s master schedule. Tomorrow’s therapy will be increased by twenty minutes.” Staring at his perpetually rational facade, the knot I felt in my stomach twisted. He even had to quantify my grief into data, logging it inside that cloud calendar that hid his other secret family. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, and a confirmation text from a preschool popped up on the screen. Because I had once used this phone number to register for various lifestyle services for Julian, I was still listed as the backup contact for some of those accounts. [Dear Mr. Stewart, your toddler’s gym session with Ms. Chloe Hudson has been confirmed. Please arrive at the Southside campus promptly at 2:00 p.m.] I stared at the text and felt my eyes water. Toddler’s gym session. Ms. Chloe Hudson. They didn’t even bother to disguise her name. Just like that, they were openly spending time together right under my nose. “Who’s the text from?” Julian asked as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Just spam.” “Your heart rate accelerated again. Did you see something triggering?” I calmly deleted the message and casually opened an encrypted document in my notes app. The title of the document read “Draft Divorce Agreement.” “If you have any objections to the current schedule, you can bring them up during tonight’s review session,” Julian said, continuing to appease me with his logic when he saw I wasn’t speaking. “As long as your request aligns with the optimal solution for the schedule, I will adjust it as appropriate.” I looked at the dense clauses of asset division in the document as my fingertips tapped lightly on the scree. Julian was wrong about one thing. I didn’t have any requests. I was simply waiting for the exact moment to settle the score. “The current arrangement is fine.” I locked my phone and turned to look at him. “After all, you’ve given me enough time to do a lot of things.” Satisfied, Julian nodded. “It’s best that you think this way. Emotional stability is the core of a long-lasting marriage.” He stepped on the brake, and the car came to a steady stop at a red light. “We’re twelve minutes away from home. You can sleep now.” I closed my eyes and silently recited the date printed on the divorce agreement once more in my mind. Julian Stewart, I would occupy no time in your schedule again. As for the Southside residence, I'd go check it out. Chapter 3 The gates of the Southside residence were half-open. A carpet of yellow leaves littered the courtyard. Using the pretext of organizing Chloe’s old belongings, I pushed open the front door. Cheerful children’s songs were playing softly in the living room. “Riley, you’re finally here.” Chloe, who was wearing a silk lounge suit, walked out of the open-plan kitchen with two cups of tea and said, “I’ve waited seven years for this day.” Her face, which bore a seventy percent resemblance to my own, wore a gentle smile. There was no trace of the weathered hardships of someone who had cheated death—only the glow of someone who had been pampered and pampered well for a long time. “Saying my name sure rolled off your tongue easily enough.” I didn’t take the tea she offered. Instead, my gaze swept over the children’s toys scattered across the sofa. At that moment, Julian walked down from the study on the second floor with a file in his hand. “Riley, you’re too emotional to be out and about today. Why didn’t you just stay in according to the schedule?” He walked over to Chloe and naturally took the teacup from her hand, setting it down on the coffee table. “Chloe has just completed her psychosocial rehabilitation program and needs a stable environment.” I looked at his self-evident, protective stance and found it absurd. “A stable environment?” I pointed at the villa—a house I had helped design and poured half my own money into—and continued, “Hiding someone who faked her death for seven years right inside my home, and having your child with her—is this what you call stability?” Julian’s brow furrowed slightly. “Riley, your choice of words is too harsh. The plane crash seven years ago gave Chloe severe PTSD. She couldn’t face her past relationships, so I simply provided her with a medically necessary sanctuary.” At precisely the right moment, Chloe shrank back behind Julian, her eyes turning slightly red. “Riley, don’t blame Julian. I begged him not to tell you. I was afraid my existence would disrupt your lives.” With that, she picked up Julian’s phone from the coffee table. “Look, Julian’s schedule is packed every day. His allocated quality time for you is so much more than the time he gives me.” She tapped open the cloud calendar and turned the screen toward me. It recorded my daily emotions and sleep duration. Even the frequency of my temper tantrums had been turned into a line graph. “Julian says you’re very sensitive, Riley, and that it needs to be precisely maintained using data.” Chloe covered her mouth and let out a light chuckle. “Riley, you really live life like a robot.” In their eyes, my privacy, my pain, and my marriage were just a set of data points to be pulled up and laughed at whenever they pleased. “Put the phone down.” Julian gave a gentle reminder, though he didn’t bother to snatch the phone back from her hand. Chloe, don’t make fun of Riley’s psychological data. That doesn’t conform to behavioral norms during recovery.” He then looked back at me, his gaze understanding. “Riley, she hasn’t had any contact with the outside world all these years, so her emotional maturity is stunted. As her sister, you should be kinder to her.” Just then, the butler walked in through the side door carrying a newly arrived package. “Sir, Ma’am, these are the early childhood educational materials Miss Hudson ordered.” The butler looked at the three of us, and an envious smile spread across his face. “Mr. Stewart really takes excellent care of the two sisters. He runs the household so smoothly. Even I’m impressed.” Seeing the oblivious look on the housekeeper’s face, I suddenly felt that even talking back had lost all meaning. In everyone’s eyes, Julian was a flawless controller, and I was merely an occasionally glitching part within his perfect system. Chloe pretended her hand slipped and knocked over the hot tea on the coffee table. The tea splashed onto me, staining the hem of my trench coat. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry, Riley. I’m just so clumsy.” Julian immediately pulled Chloe away to make sure she hadn’t been scalded. Then, he pulled out a few tissues and handed them to me. “Riley, go and clean yourself up in the restroom. Because of this unexpected incident, I’ll compensate you with thirty minutes of exclusive quality time. I’ll readjust tonight’s schedule.” I didn’t take the tissues, leaving the tea to soak into the expensive fabric. “Julian, do you love me?” I looked straight into his eyes and asked a question I had never doubted once in the past seven years. He froze, seemingly uncomfortable with an out-of-the-plan question. “Riley, love is an abstract concept. It can’t be quantified. But I’ve given you more time than I have with anyone else. That’s an objective fact.” I laughed until tears were almost spilling from my eyes. “Fine. Thank you for your generosity, then.” After that, I made my way toward the front door, not sparing either of them another glance. “Riley, are you leaving already? Aren’t you going to stay for lunch?” Chloe called out sweetly from behind me. “No thanks. My schedule doesn’t include any plans for sharing a meal with the dead.” Chapter 4 When I got home, Julian actually came out of his study to greet me—which was rare. “I’ve reserved forty-five minutes for our seventh anniversary. You just need to show up and stay composed.” He pushed a printed document in front of me. It was his meticulously designed schedule for our seventh wedding anniversary. “Enter at 6 p.m., present the gift at 6:05 p.m., exchange a hug at 6:10 p.m., and begin dinner at 6:15 p.m.” His long, slender fingers tapped on the paper as he added, “To handle any potential emotional outbursts from you, I’ve prepared two contingency plans. If you cry, I will offer a tissue and add three minutes of soothing time. If you stay silent, I will play your favorite white noise.” Looking at that densely packed schedule felt like reading a terminal diagnosis. He had turned our marriage into a precise surgical operation. “Julian, I don’t want to live according to your schedule anymore.” I pushed the document back to him, my voice calm. “I want to take a few days to clear my head.” The finger Julian had been tapping against the table paused, his gaze instantly cold. “Riley, this request of yours lacks logical support. Our seventh wedding anniversary is an important event for our family. I’ve upgraded our usual two-hour quality time to two hours and forty-five minutes. This is the maximum adjustment I can squeeze out of my schedule for you. You shouldn’t be so stubborn.” He picked up his phone and opened the family group chat. “Look, Mom and the rest of the family are all waiting for a photo together. We can’t back out.” I glanced at the message Jane had sent on the screen. [Julian, did you book the restaurant for tonight? I don’t want to see that sour face on Riley again. It’s been seven years, and she hasn’t gotten pregnant, yet she struts around with that deadpan expression all day.] Immediately following it was a confirmation message from his assistant. [Mr. Stewart, the flowers have been set up at the restaurant. The time margin error is controlled within ten seconds.] The most glaring of all was a private message from Chloe, which happened to pop up at the top of the screen. [Julian, if Riley is still kicking up a fuss, try to reassure her a little more. After all, she’s getting older, so it’s only natural that she feels insecure.] As I read those messages, an overwhelming exhaustion suddenly washed over me. My marriage was spectated by family, executed by an assistant, and ridiculed by my own sister, who was the mistress. Meanwhile, my husband was trying to use a set of data to prove to me how much he loved me. “I said, I want to take a few days to clear my head.” I stood up without glancing at that document again. “I don’t need you to make adjustments, nor do I need your contingency plans.” Julian stood up, blocking my way. “Riley, your current state is dangerous. You’re straying from the safe path I’ve set for you.” He reached out, attempting to touch my forehead, but I tilted my head away and dodged his hand. “Given your age and our family responsibility, now is not the time for you to kick up a fuss. Our parents’ expectations, the company’s public image, and your own mental health do not permit you to make such an irrational decision.” With an air of superiority, he made a harsh judgment on my life. “Fine, I understand.” Instead of arguing, I merely looked down. “I’m a little tired. I want to take a shower.” Julian’s tense jawline relaxed slightly. “Go ahead. Keep your shower within fifteen minutes, and the water temperature shouldn’t exceed a hundred and four degrees. Head straight to the restaurant once you’re done. I will proceed with the schedule as planned.” I walked into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, and turned on the shower. The sound of rushing water drowned out everything. I didn’t take off my clothes; I just stood in front of the mirror and stared at the pale, numb woman inside. I whispered to myself, ‘In this world that measures everything down to the exact second, I will no longer exist.’ After that, I left a short letter. The last sentence on the paper read, “Julian Stewart, I am returning every single second you gave me back to you.” Beside it lay the watch he had given me, its hands gently pulled to a stop. The time was frozen forever at six o’clock in the evening.