The Unlit Incense

Simon Graham had one rule when it came to his affairs: the women had to be docile. Any mistress who dared to approach his wife would be dealt with by the next day. But they still came, one after another, drawn to the flame. Because I, his wife, was known to be a complete pushover. To marry Simon, I had signed a prenuptial agreement. In the event of a divorce, I would leave with nothing. Later, to have our child, I agreed to send him to live at the family estate, seeing him only once a month. I had no power, no connections, no friends of my own. My skills were limited to beauty treatments and flower arranging. Until Simon’s latest mistress came to show off. “Mr. Graham is so rough,” she purred, rubbing her knee. “He had me on my knees all night. They’re still swollen.” I smiled, set down my shears, and led her toward the storage room. And when her back was turned, I shoved her inside. “You’ve worked so hard,” I said, my voice soft. “You should rest for a couple of days. Don’t see anyone.”

1 When Simon was young, he studied under a great artisan and had a mentor he looked up to like an older brother. During his most difficult times, this mentor helped him immensely. So, when the man passed away, Simon was the first one there. A week later, he returned with an orphan girl—his mentor’s daughter. She called him Uncle Simon. He raised her for two years. On her eighteenth birthday, she had too much to drink and confessed her feelings. “Uncle Simon,” she slurred, “I’m in love with you.” Simon’s face hardened. He forced her head under the faucet. “Are you sober now?” he demanded. He told me later, “If I had known she harbored those kinds of feelings for me, I never would have taken her in.” I smiled and nodded. “Of course, I believe you.” But he was afraid I’d dwell on it. The very next day, he sent the girl, Camilla, abroad. He promised she would never come back. Everyone said Simon was heartless. What they didn’t know was that as soon as her plane was in the air, he was on the phone with a friend overseas. “Take care of her. Make sure she doesn’t suffer, that she doesn’t get hurt. Tell her to be good, and I’ll visit when I have time.” His friend was confused. “If you can’t bear to part with her, why send her away?” Simon took a long drag from his cigarette, his voice low and gravelly. “I can’t risk it. I’m afraid Evelyn will snap and hurt her.” The friend didn’t buy it. “No way. The truth is, you can’t bear to part with Evelyn. You two have too much history.” A sarcastic smile touched Simon’s lips, but he said nothing more. To the world, Evelyn was the most obedient, submissive wife imaginable. Only Simon knew how terrifying she could be.

2 So he sent the girl he cherished most to the other side of the world. And to distract me, he began his string of affairs. For two years, he flew abroad countless times to see her. He spoiled her, coddled her, and in doing so, made her bolder. She even started to provoke me. Today is my birthday. She sent me a text: [Happy birthday, Aunt Evelyn.] [But I’m not feeling well. I miss my uncle. I want him to come and be with me.] [Who do you think he’ll choose? You, or me?] Today is my birthday. Simon told me he had a business trip overseas. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he promised. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll bring it home.” Simon had a new assistant. She was a fiery, flamboyant woman who moved with a sharp, confident energy. She clicked across the marble floor in her high heels and let herself in with a key code, not even bothering to knock. Her eyes swept over me, a dismissive sneer on her face. “Mrs. Graham. I’m here to pack Mr. Graham’s luggage.” She didn’t wait for a reply, striding past me. But then she stopped, a sly look in her eyes. “Mrs. Graham, could you do me a favor and run upstairs?” she asked. “I need the third and fifth suits from the middle wardrobe. As for underwear, the new ones I bought are in the second drawer. I’m sure you can find them.” She smiled sweetly, bending over to rub her knee. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “But Mr. Graham is so rough. He had me on my knees all night. They’re still swollen.” I listened quietly, a freshly cut rose in my hand. With a single, sharp snip, I severed the stem. The cut was clean, but it ruined the flower’s beauty. I sighed with mock regret and tossed it into the trash. I set down the shears and gave her a soft, fragile smile. “Simon said he needed to bring a contract with him. I’m not sure which one it is. Could you come help me find it?” My reaction made her frown, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. I lowered my head. “Never mind. You probably wouldn’t know. I’ll just call him.” “How could I not know? I handle all of Mr. Graham’s affairs,” she declared, her chin held high. “Show me where it is.” “Of course.” I led her down the hall, around a corner, and down a flight of stairs to the basement level. “Where are we? What is this place? Why would a contract be down here?” “This is the darkroom, for developing film. Simon brought the contract in here a couple of days ago. It’s on that table over there. Go see.” She walked in without a second thought. “Where’s the light…” Before she could finish, I stared coldly at her back and slammed the heavy door shut. “What are you doing? Evelyn, what are you doing? Let me out!” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “You’ve worked so hard. You should rest for a couple of days. Don’t see anyone.” Camilla’s texts were still on my phone screen. I picked it up and replied: [Simon can’t make it. Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.] I blocked her number and deleted the conversation. Then I dialed Simon. “Hello, Evie…” “Your assistant. I’ve locked her up.” The line went dead silent. After five long seconds, Simon’s voice exploded in a furious roar. “What did you do to her? Evelyn, what did you do?” I idly toyed with a fruit knife. “Don’t worry, she can still scream. Do you want to listen? Oh, wait, there’s no signal down there. You won’t be able to hear a thing.” I continued in a conversational tone. “Let me repeat what she said. She said you won’t let me get away with this. She said when you find out, you’ll kill me.” Something in that sentence triggered him. He growled my name. “Evelyn.” A delighted laugh escaped my lips. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Simon, if I were to kill her, would you call the police on me, or would you help me bury the body?” “Evelyn… Evie, I’m sorry!” His voice trembled, but he forced himself to speak slowly, calmly. “I’m on my way back now. Just wait for me. Don’t do anything foolish. Evie, it’s all my fault. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay home and celebrate your birthday with you. I’ll even make you longevity noodles…” “You haven’t answered my question, Simon. Answer me. Are you the informant, or the accomplice?” My voice was a soft, gentle whisper. His breathing, once heavy and ragged, slowly evened out. He took a deep breath, and his voice was a low murmur, almost a prayer. “I’m your accomplice.”

3 Simon was back in less than half an hour, moving faster than I’d ever seen him. He burst through the door, breathless, and without a single glance at me, charged straight for the darkroom. The moment the door opened, the woman stumbled out, sobbing, and tried to throw herself into his arms. Simon sidestepped her without hesitation, letting her fall to the floor. “Mr. Graham, she—” “Shut up!” His eyes were vicious, his jaw clenched. “You will swallow what happened today and never speak of it again. If you breathe a single word of this to anyone, I will destroy you.” The woman stared at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? She locked me in there for no reason! I don’t care, I’m calling the police! I’m having her arrested—” She made a crazed dash for the exit, but Simon grabbed her, his face a grim mask. I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. “Maybe we should just kill her. I’ll do it, you dig the hole. We can bury her in the backyard. That tree by the fence could use some fertilizer; it’s barely grown this year.” I said it casually, as if discussing the weather. Simon remained silent. Finally, the woman seemed to realize something. She began to tremble, a whimper escaping her throat, the terror in her eyes impossible to hide. Simon took a deep breath, his gaze turning to ice. “I’ll give you a sum of money to disappear. You should know that even if you go to the police, you have no evidence.” He escorted her out. The woman who had arrived like a proud peacock left with unsteady steps, completely broken. I smiled, returned to my seat, and continued my flower arranging.

4 Simon came back quickly, a warm, forced smile plastered on his face. “Are you hungry? What would you like to eat?” “Should I bring Noah home? We could all go out together.” “It’s been so long since the three of us have done something as a family.” … “If you don’t want to go out, I can go grocery shopping and cook at home.” “I’ll just check the kitchen to see what we have.” He turned to leave. “Your phone is ringing,” I said coolly. “It’s been ringing for a while. Aren’t you going to answer it?” Simon froze. “It’s just work. It can wait. Today is all about you.” “It’s ringing again. You should probably get it.” “It’s not…” “Mine’s ringing too, let me just see…” Before I could reach for my phone, Simon lunged forward and snatched it out of my hand. I stared at him, my face a blank canvas. “What are you grabbing?” “What are you afraid of?” “What are you panicking about?” Simon’s face was a tight, rigid mask. His entire body was tense. “You know.” It wasn’t a question. I placed the last flower in the vase and pushed it to the center of the dining table. “Know what?” “That you sent Camilla abroad to protect her?” “That every business trip was just an excuse to see her?” “That when she stripped naked and threw herself at you, you didn’t touch her because you couldn’t bear to?” I pulled his phone from his pocket. It rang again. I answered it. A girl’s helpless sobs came through the speaker. “Uncle, I think someone’s in the house! What should I do? I’m so scared!” Simon’s breath hitched. “Camilla…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, with raw fear and concern. But I didn’t give him a chance to say more. I ended the call. Simon stared at me, his eyes burning. He looked as if he’d made a decision. He turned and started for the door. “If something really did happen to her,” I said, my voice calm, “you’re too far away to do anything in time.” “But I can give you an opportunity.” “Draw up a divorce agreement that satisfies me, and I’ll sign it.”

5 Simon’s mother was the daughter of a powerful, wealthy family. She ran away with a poor boy, only to be betrayed by him. Heartbroken, she abandoned Simon and returned to her family alone. She died years later from an illness. Only then did her father, Simon’s grandfather, find him and bring him into the fold. By then, Simon and I were seventeen. We had depended on each other for years. The day he was welcomed into his new life, he took nothing with him but me. And I? I had left everything behind without a second thought to follow him. That is the story of Simon and me, the one everyone knows. But the stories everyone knows are always polished, sanitized versions of the truth. Beneath the beautiful facade lies a wall of rot and decay. When Simon’s mother first ran away with his father, they must have been deeply in love. But how long does love last? A year? Two? The pressures of reality quickly eroded their happiness. The man had to provide, and he couldn’t give her the emotional fulfillment she craved. So she sought it elsewhere. In our small town, my father was a professor at the local college. He was gentle, romantic, and well-read. He and Simon’s mother clicked instantly. First, a meeting of souls, then a meeting of bodies. I was the first to discover them. I was six years old and didn’t understand much, but I knew what I saw was terrifying, disgusting. They were tangled together like two devouring monsters. Later, my mother found out. Then Simon’s father found out. One night, he was supposed to be on a long-haul trucking route, but he came back unexpectedly. He caught them in the act. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a carving knife. One slice, two, three… My father was stabbed twenty-seven times—in the face, the head, the back. He died on our doorstep, leaving a bloody handprint on the door he no longer had the strength to knock on. He was dead. Simon’s father was convicted of murder and sentenced to death. Simon’s mother ran away, abandoning him, abandoning everything. That year, the snow was heavy. Simon, now an orphan, collapsed in a snowdrift. My mother stood at the window, watching him for a long time. Finally, she went out and carried him inside. She decided to adopt him. Everyone was against it. My grandparents threw us out of their house. They would not have a murderer’s son under their roof. My mother said nothing. She just took my hand and Simon’s and walked away without looking back. From age six to sixteen, for ten years, that woman supported us by selling street food from a tricycle cart. Until Simon’s grandfather found us. Then, she killed herself. She jumped from a building. No one knew why. Some said she was paving the way for me, that only by dying could she ensure the wealthy family would take me along with Simon. Some said the burden of raising two children had finally crushed her. Others said she never recovered from her husband’s affair and violent death. But whatever the reason, that year was a cataclysm for both Simon and me. A year of utter devastation.

6 Once everything was out in the open with Simon, he no longer had any reason to pretend. He left for his trip overseas immediately. I composed myself and went to the family estate to pick up Noah. The old patriarch, Simon’s grandfather, had agreed to let Noah stay with me today. My son was ecstatic, chattering away on the phone, telling me to hurry. As I waited outside for Noah to come out, Dominic, Simon’s older brother, arrived. “Brother,” I greeted him. He nodded. “Waiting for Noah?” “Yes.” “You can wait inside. Grandfather won’t give you any trouble.” I smiled and shook my head. “It’s fine.” One must know their place, understand the boundaries. Over the years, perhaps because of my quiet compliance, or because I never caused any trouble, the family’s attitude towards me had softened. Especially the patriarch. He no longer strictly controlled the time I spent with Noah. Sometimes, when I brought Noah back, he would even say, “Stay for dinner if you have time.” I never did, but it was a signal. A signal that I was slowly being accepted. After saying goodbye to Dominic, I took Noah to an amusement park. We had a blast, ate everything he wanted, and only went home when he was completely tuckered out. “Mommy’s going away for a month or two,” I told him that night. “I’ll be back before the New Year.” “Are you going for fun or for work?” he asked, his serious tone making me smile. I tweaked his nose. “A bit of both. I’m going to a retreat in the mountains. They have a ceramics studio. How about I make you a little kitten?” Noah nodded, then asked, “What are ceramics?” I showed him a video. His eyes lit up. “Can you take me next time?” “Of course.” I patted his back gently, and he soon fell asleep. No tears, no tantrums, no need for lengthy explanations. He had been raised so well. Even though his mother was not fully accepted by the family, no one had ever taught him to look down on me, to distance himself from me. Noah had his life. His parents had theirs. His great-grandfather had his. It was all just a normal part of life, like eating and sleeping. Why question it? Why feel sad about it? I never thought a child could be the anchor for my emotional well-being. But he was. In a thousand small ways, he taught me that not everything is worth tearing your heart out over.