chapter 1
In the twelfth year of our marriage, my Husband took me abroad on a trip, to a small coastal country in Africa-Equatorial Guinea.
Rainforests connected to beaches, which in turn met the sea, stretching endlessly into the horizon. The natural scenery was breathtaking, but the place was remote and isolated.
Before we set out, I hadn’t realized that what my Husband valued most was precisely its “remoteness.”
In the early hours before dawn, we went out to sea, aboard a Motor Sailer, guided by a local.
The coastline gradually disappeared from view, and when there was nothing but vast ocean all around, he sat at the edge of the boat and waved to me, “Come look, there are jellyfish.”
I stared at him blankly, then lowered my head to look at the message on my phone.
The world was wide, the waves surged, and I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat-thump, thump, thump.
On my phone it said: Don’t go out to sea. Your Husband wants to kill you.