Peter and I fly over to Japan for three weeks, touring all over the country. We leave for the foreign in love and return back home very in love. Or that's what I thought up until now.

During the time we have been gone, things have changed. The minute we step inside the house, me happily calling Isabelle's name, we instantly notice the gloom that has settled over the house. It's not just the layers of dust that blankets over the shelves that makes us realize. It's the colorless and the mournful vibe hanging in the air. Isabelle comes running into the parlour. Her face is worried and strained. Her hair is hastily knotted at the nape of her neck. She wipes her hand uneasily on the front of her shirt as she hesitates.

"Isabelle, what is it?" I ask.

She tries to smile, but fails utterly. "Oh nothing is wrong. Just glad to see you both back. How was it?"

"Mom, just tell us." Peter taps his feet impatiently.

Isabelle stares down at the carpet and when she lifts her head, her eyes are brimming with tears.

"John's had a heart attack."

The news comes as a great shock. It's something neither Peter or I was expecting.

"When?" Peter's face is unreadable. Blank. Wiped completely of all emotions.

"Just last week. Oh Peter..." She falls into his arms and breaks down into horrendous sobs. I shift uncomfortably.

"I'll, erm, leave you alone." I murmur avoiding Peter's eyes and grab my suitcase, dragging it up the stairs and into my room in which I pace around, anxious and concerned for John's downgrading health.

Peter doesn't come until late at night when I'm lying awake in my bed, staring at the pool of moonlight on the windowsill. Despite my exhaustion from the long flight, falling asleep is difficult.

"Peter?" I whisper in the dark when I hear the door creak open, and shut.

"It's me." He whispers back, crawling into bed next to me. For a while, both of us stay silent. Then, unsure whether he's asleep or not, I ask, "how is he?"

Peter sighs. "Not good."

"Has this," I hesitate, "has this happened before?"

"Twice. Once ten years ago, once five years ago. This time," his voice cracks, "mom said the doctors don't think he'll survive it."

"Oh." Pity overflows me. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

And that feels like the end of the conversation. So I say as normal as possible, "goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight, MJ."

I don't think either of us slept that night.

When I wake up in the morning, Peter is gone. The area of the bed he'd slept on is still warm, meaning he only just left. I scramble out of bed, tripping over the tangled blankets in the process. It's when I pick myself up that I recall last night's events. John's heart attack.

"Shoot." I mutter. I can't believe I forgot that. Peter must still feel terrible over it. He must be visiting him at the hospital with Isabelle.

I sigh with understanding and start to crawl back into bed. They'll need time without me. Just family. I pause, voices coming through the window that's ajar. Slowly, I creep towards the window, listening hard. An strangely familiar female voice and Peter. I look down, and there they are on the front lawn. The girl I instantly recognise as my best friend from high school, Amy Fabers. And obviously the guy is Peter. They're not arguing. They're not talking. They're in a tight embrace.

Words fail to come out of my mouth. I can only open and shut them. My feet are frozen on the floor, unable to move.

"You don't think she'll see, do you?" Amy says, looking around nervously. She doesn't look up to see me staring down at them.

"No." Peter mumbles. "She's asleep."

Fury, hurt and every possible emotion courses through me. Peter and I've only been together for six weeks, and already he's with another girl? I grab the phone that Isabelle gifted me, and take a quick, clear photo of the pair of them in the embrace. Then I shut the window and sit back on the bed, waiting for Peter to return.

He stays half an hour more with Amy and comes back up presently. I observe his face for any lipstick stains, or at least bronzer on his shirt, but to my surprise, there are none. Amy had always been such a makeup girl and wasn't always so careful when it came to being with boys.

"Where were you?" I ask ever so casually.

Peter shrugs. "At the hospital, visiting my dad. Mom's still there if you're wondering." I can't believe he can lie so easily, so believingly. If I hadn't seen him with Amy, I would believe him.

"Peter, I know for a fact that you weren't at the hospital." I narrow my eyes. Peter's head immediately jerks up and the tips of his ears begin to go red. "Isabelle called me because you weren't answering your phone." This is a lie obviously. The redness of his ears spreads to his cheeks. "So where were you?"

Peter is speechless, and I've never seen him speechless. "I...I was..." He stutters.

I pull out my phone and show him the photo of him and Amy. "Does this explain anything?"

Peter gasps. He points a shaking finger at the screen. "How do you...how do you have that? Where did you get that photo?"

"I'm not really a deep sleeper." My voice trembles. "Why were you with her, Peter?"

When he doesn't answer, I snap, "get out."

Peter flinches. "What?"

"Get out!" I scream. I throw a pillow at him. "Get out! I don't want to see you!" I have to practically shove him out of the room, and I slam the door on his burning face. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I grab his phone that he left behind. Before I can smash it into bits, it begins to ring. I check the ID of the caller.

It's Amy.

I answer it.

"Peter?" I clench my hands into fists at her infuriating voice.

"It's me."

She gasps. "MJ?"

"Who else would it be?"

She lets out a nervous, breathless laughter. "So how are you?"

"Are you really asking me that question? I want to see you, Amanda Faber. It's about Peter."

She doesn't speak for a minute and when she does, she sounds panicked. "You know?"

"I know." I say coldly. "The café near Peter's house at two." Then without waiting for a reply, I hang up.

Amanda Faber, you're dead.