At Mrs. Delima's Residence.
The woman paced her room, her hands trembling as she attempted to call her husband for the twentieth time that day. There was no answer. None at all.
Mrs. Delima had even reached out to her social circle, asking after the man's whereabouts. The answers were always a choir of the same refrain: no one knew where Mr. Rendra had gone.
Shatter!
The sound of a ceramic vase meeting the floor echoed through the room. Mrs. Delima stood over the shards, her chest heaving with a mixture of fury and desperation. Her husband had vanished; the lawsuits and debt collectors were already circling like vultures.
"Is he trying to dodge me? To shed his responsibility?" Mrs. Delima hissed, her voice laced with betrayal. "After I did exactly what he asked of me."
She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the weight of her isolation finally pressing down. Jendral refused to listen, and Mr. Rendra had disappeared. Where else could she turn?
Your husband is in Lombok.
