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Miriam sensed that something was amiss early that morning. Nothing felt right! Lữ had been out all night and still hadn't returned. For quite some time now, Lữ’s nights of wandering had become increasingly frequent. The first time Lữ skipped sleeping at home—staying out until dawn before returning—Miriam raised a furious scene. Lữ remained silent, saying nothing, completely indifferent to Miriam’s scathing reproaches. He offered neither apology nor excuse; instead, he calmly washed up, sat down at the table to eat breakfast, and read the newspaper.
 
Miriam grew even more incensed when she saw that Lữ paid absolutely no heed to her anger. To make matters worse, while Miriam glared furiously—grilling her husband and cataloging his offenses—Lữ calmly flipped through the *Wall Street Journal* to check the stock market fluctuations!

Miriam snatched the newspaper and tore it into shreds to vent her rage, but Lữ merely shrugged, changed his clothes, and left for the office. On subsequent occasions when Lữ chose not to sleep at home, Miriam said nothing more. She contemplated filing for divorce but could not bring herself to make the decision. Miriam felt that she still loved Lữ. She wasn't ready to let everything fall apart completely.
 
And so, Miriam tried to rationalize Lữ’s neglect by attributing it to the cultural divide between Asians and Americans! Was this how Asian men were? Incapable of remaining faithful to their wives, even while still loving them? Miriam couldn't help but laugh at the circular nature of her own thoughts. She could scarcely believe that the untamed spirit she had been less than three years ago had now transformed into a submissive, weak-willed woman like the one she saw in herself today!

Miriam confided in Sơn. She felt she had no one else but Sơn to turn to—to ask about Lữ, to gain insight into her own feelings, and to seek guidance regarding her and her husband's future:

"Is it true that Asian men tend to take adultery very lightly, Sơn?"

Miriam asked Sơn one evening when Lữ was away and she had invited Sơn over to talk.
Sơn didn't know how to answer. He knew about the affair between Lữ and Uyên, yet he still felt compelled to defend Lữ. Sơn smiled:

"It’s not just Asians! I think men are pretty much the same, no matter what culture they come from!"

"I’ve heard that Vietnamese men have a penchant for polygamy—that they’re never content with just one wife! Since polygamy isn't allowed here in the States, they resort to having affairs instead. Is that really true, Sơn?"

"Not at all! Over here, everyone is too busy trying to make money and get rich; who has the energy left to even think about having an affair? Of course, there are always exceptions—you get all types—but I honestly don't think the infidelity rate among people living here is as high as the media and books make it out to be. Just earning a living is stressful enough as it is; very few people would dare invite even *more* stress into their lives by having an affair!"
 
Miriam shook her head:

"You’re wrong! The *more* stressed people get, the *more* they crave an affair! It’s a way to escape the monotony—to find some fantasy that helps them forget all their troubles and anxieties!"

She looked at Sơn intently:

"Do you think Lữ is that kind of man, Sơn?"

Sơn felt flustered. He lied to cover for his friend and offer a defense:
 
"Lữ isn't like that, Miriam. Lữ is the type of person who actually becomes *more* energized and stimulated the *more* stress he’s under. He’s not the kind of guy who runs away just to find an escape or chase after fantasies!"

Miriam nodded:

"You’re right! And that’s exactly *why* I’m so worried, Sơn! If Lữ is having an affair, it implies that he must be driven by some incredibly intense passion. I could probably accept it if his affair were purely a physical matter—just about sex. But Lữ is in love with someone else! I can’t even bear to think about it!"

Sơn looked at Miriam with deep sympathy. He couldn't find the right words to comfort her—to ease her anxiety and help her regain her zest for life. For the first time in his life, Sơn felt a sense of unease toward his friend. Or perhaps it was something more than just unease? Could it be—jealousy? A flicker of anger because Lữ had caused Miriam such suffering? Sơn wasn't sure. He felt unsettled by these strange, new sensations.

Sơn felt uneasy sitting there, talking to and comforting Miriam on a night when Lữ had gone astray and failed to come home. It felt just like a scene from one of those melodramatic *cải lương* plays—the kind of sentimental social dramas he used to mock whenever he happened to catch one back in Vietnam.
 
Sơn smiled. Real life, it turned out, was often far more sensational—and far more melodramatic—than anything one could possibly imagine! Nor did he try to deceive himself: he was undeniably captivated by Miriam. Captivated by her beauty—the beauty of a white woman, yet one who still bore the distinct Middle Eastern features of a Jewish people who had wandered in exile for two thousand years.
 
Captivated by her sharp intellect. And by her artistic soul. By the deep sense of empathy that flowed between them whenever they visited art exhibitions together. By their shared tastes in color, form, and music. Even in food and fashion. Miriam resonated with him on every level—like a true kindred spirit, a soulmate.

But could a genuine friendship truly exist between a man and a woman? Sơn didn't believe so. The sexual tension between a man and a woman, he felt, would always be too potent to allow for a purely platonic friendship. And the emotional stirrings born of such deep resonance would—sooner or later—inevitably lead to love. Sơn realized he had fallen in love with Miriam.
 
It was a love that had arrived gently, tentatively, yet grew more palpable with every passing moment. Sơn’s nature was not one to embrace a tempestuous, frenzied love—nor did he desire such a thing. Passion and fervor, he believed, were merely like a fire of burning straw: brilliant for a moment, but quick to burn out. Or like a violent storm that sweeps through, leaving behind only the silence of wreckage and ruin.

Just like the love between Miriam and Lữ! Sơn harbored no ill will toward his friend, yet he was acutely aware of the true nature of the romance between Lữ and Miriam. 
 
Sơn was not surprised by the cracks—now widening into a full-blown collapse—in his friend’s marriage. He felt only a deep unease for having allowed his love for Miriam to blossom—a transgression, both improper and disloyal, against a close friend. Yet, what else could Sơn have done? He could not stem the tide of love rising within his own heart. As for Miriam—he had no desire to seize this opportunity to win her affection in return. Instead, events would simply flow like the currents of destiny.
 
He would do nothing that he might later come to regret vis-à-vis his friend, yet neither would he shy away. Everything has its own time and place. And so, Sơn would simply respond to whatever unfolded—without calculation, without expectation, and without acting in any way contrary to the natural course of the events to come.