Chapter 37
title: "The Interview" wordCount: 2906
Officer Martinez was looking at me like I'd already lied to her, and we hadn't even sat down yet.
Her office smelled like burnt coffee and photocopier toner. Gray walls, gray desk, gray filing cabinets that probably held the fates of a thousand marriages just like ours. Except ours wasn't like the others. Ours was a carefully constructed house of cards that someone—Richard, probably Richard—had just blown on.
"Mrs. Park," she said, and I flinched. Still not used to that name. "Mr. Park. Thank you for coming in on such short notice."
Daniel's hand twitched toward mine on the armrest between us, then stopped. We'd been sitting in the waiting room for forty-five minutes, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something woody and expensive that I'd woken up to for weeks now—but not touching. Not looking at each other. The confession from last night hung between us like smoke.
I'm in love with you.
I manipulated you.
Both true. Both impossible to reconcile with the man sitting next to me in a charcoal suit, his jaw tight, his hands folded in his lap like he was at a funeral.
"Of course," Daniel said. His voice had that corporate smoothness to it, the one that meant he was terrified. "We understand this is standard procedure."
Officer Martinez smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Standard procedure would have been scheduling this interview weeks ago, Mr. Park. This is a response to a complaint filed with our fraud division."
My stomach dropped through the floor.
"A complaint?" I heard myself say. My grandmother's bracelet felt like it was burning against my wrist.
"An anonymous tip suggesting your marriage may not be bona fide." She opened a folder on her desk. "We take these very seriously. Marriage fraud carries penalties of up to five years in prison and a $250,000 fine."
The room tilted. Five years. A quarter million dollars. My parents had lost everything to bankruptcy, and now I was going to lose my freedom to—
"Our marriage is real," Daniel said. Not it is but it is. No contraction. He was lying, or at least, he thought he was lying. "We can answer any questions you have."
Officer Martinez's smile sharpened. "I'm sure you can. That's why we're going to conduct separate interviews. Mrs. Park, you'll come with me. Mr. Park, Officer Chen will take you to another room."
My head snapped toward Daniel. His face had gone carefully blank, but I saw the muscle jump in his jaw. We'd prepared for this—spent hours going over our story, memorizing details, building a narrative that would hold up under scrutiny. But that was before last night. Before everything shattered.
Before I knew he'd been watching me, studying me, manipulating me from the very beginning.
A young officer appeared in the doorway. Daniel stood, buttoned his jacket with precise movements. He looked at me for the first time since we'd arrived, and something in his eyes made my chest ache.
"It'll be okay," he said quietly.
Then he was gone, and I was alone with Officer Martinez and her folder full of evidence that my marriage was a fraud.
"What time does your husband wake up in the morning?"
I sat across from Officer Martinez in a room that was somehow even more depressing than her office. No windows. Fluorescent lights that buzzed like dying insects. A table bolted to the floor.
"Six-thirty," I said. "He runs before work."
She wrote something down. "Where does he run?"
"Around the neighborhood. Sometimes to the park." I didn't actually know. I was usually still asleep when he left, and he was always showered and dressed by the time I got up to start filming.
"Which park?"
My palms were sweating. "I'm not sure. He doesn't always go to the same one."
"But you're married. You live together. You don't know where your husband exercises?"
"I'm not—" I stopped. Took a breath. "I'm not a morning person. He's usually back before I'm fully awake."
Officer Martinez's pen scratched across her notepad. "What does he eat for breakfast?"
"Coffee. Black. Sometimes toast if I make it."
"You make his breakfast?"
"Sometimes. If I'm up early for filming."
"Filming?"
"I have a YouTube channel. Cooking videos." My voice sounded defensive. "That's actually how we met. He came to one of my pop-up dinners."
She looked up from her notes. "How romantic. What's his favorite food?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. We'd eaten together dozens of times—at the apartment, at restaurants, at his uncle's house. But his favorite food? I'd never asked. He'd never said.
"He likes Korean food," I tried. "His mother's cooking."
"What does his mother make that he likes best?"
"I don't—we haven't—" The words tangled in my throat. "I haven't met his mother yet. She lives in Seoul."
More writing. The scratch of pen on paper was going to haunt my nightmares.
"Where does he keep his toothbrush?"
"In the bathroom. The main bathroom."
"Which side of the sink?"
I pictured our bathroom. His toothbrush was definitely there—I'd seen it every morning when I brushed my teeth. But which side? Left? Right? Did it matter? Would she actually go to our apartment and check?
"The right side," I said, praying I was right.
"What brand?"
"I don't—" I caught myself. "Oral-B. The electric one."
"What color?"
This was insane. "Blue. It's blue."
Officer Martinez set down her pen and looked at me. Really looked at me, like she could see through my skin to the panic underneath. "Mrs. Park, you seem uncertain about basic details of your husband's daily life. Details that any married couple would know without thinking."
"We've only been married a few months." My voice came out too high. "We're still learning about each other."
"How many months?"
"Three. Almost four."
"And you lived together before the marriage?"
"No. We—it was fast. We fell in love fast." The lie tasted like copper on my tongue.
She picked up her pen again. "Tell me about the scar on your forearm. The burn. How did you get it?"
The question caught me off guard. I touched the comma-shaped mark automatically. "Culinary school. I was making caramel and—"
"Does your husband know the story?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I don't remember if I told him."
"You don't remember if you told your husband about a significant scar on your body?"
My nails dug into my palms. "It's not something that comes up in conversation. It's just a scar."
Officer Martinez made another note. Each scratch of her pen felt like a nail in a coffin.
"Let's talk about your living situation," she said. "Whose apartment is it?"
"Daniel's. He owned it before we got married."
"And you moved in after the wedding?"
"Right before. A week before." Truth. Finally, something I could answer with certainty.
"Why did you move in before the wedding?"
Because I was about to lose my visa and he offered me a solution that seemed too good to be true because it was. "It was practical. We were getting married anyway, and my lease was ending."
"Convenient timing."
"Yes." I met her eyes. "It was."
She studied me for a long moment, then closed her folder. "Thank you, Mrs. Park. You can wait in the lobby while I interview your husband."
I stood on shaking legs. My grandmother's bracelet caught the fluorescent light, throwing green shadows across the table.
"Mrs. Park?" Officer Martinez's voice stopped me at the door. "That's a beautiful bracelet."
"Thank you. It was my grandmother's."
"I'm sure there's a story there."
"There is." I didn't elaborate. Couldn't. My throat was too tight.
I walked back to the lobby on autopilot, my mind replaying every answer I'd given, every hesitation, every moment where I'd revealed that I didn't know my own husband. Daniel was going to fail too. He had to. There was no way he could answer questions about my daily routine, my habits, my—
The door opened. Daniel emerged with Officer Chen, his expression unreadable. He saw me and something flickered across his face—relief? Fear? I couldn't tell anymore. Couldn't read him the way I used to think I could.
Officer Chen nodded to Officer Martinez and disappeared back down the hallway. Daniel sat down next to me, leaving six inches of space between us. Close enough to look married. Far enough to feel the distance.
"How did it go?" I whispered.
"I can handle it," he said, which wasn't an answer.
Officer Martinez called us back together twenty minutes later. We sat side by side in her office, and I tried not to think about prison. About deportation. About my parents finding out that I'd committed fraud and destroyed what was left of our family's reputation.
"I've reviewed both interviews," Officer Martinez said. She had her folder open in front of her, pages covered in notes. "Mr. Park, you were very thorough in your answers about your wife's daily routine."
Daniel's hand twitched on the armrest. "I pay attention."
"You certainly do. You knew her coffee order—oat milk latte, extra shot, no sugar. Her filming schedule—Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually starting at ten. The scar on her forearm—culinary school, second year, making caramel for a crème brûlée demonstration." She looked at me. "You told him that story?"
"I must have," I said weakly. I didn't remember telling him. Didn't remember him asking.
"He also knew that you say 'okay so' when you're anxious and trying to regain control of a conversation. That you end questions with 'right?' when you're seeking validation. That you avoid talking about your parents' bankruptcy directly." Officer Martinez's eyes were sharp. "Those are very specific observations, Mr. Park."
"I love my wife," Daniel said. Still no contraction. Still lying, except—was he? "I notice things about her."
"Mrs. Park, you were less certain about your husband's routines. You didn't know his favorite food, which side of the sink he keeps his toothbrush on, or where he runs in the morning."
My face burned. "I'm not—I don't—"
"She's not a morning person," Daniel interrupted. "I leave before she's really awake. And I don't talk about myself much. That's my fault, not hers."
Officer Martinez leaned back in her chair. "How long have you two been together? Total, not just married."
"Not long enough," Daniel said quietly.
The words hung in the air. Officer Martinez's expression shifted—just slightly, just enough that I saw something soften around her eyes.
"Tell me about the bracelet," she said, looking at me. "Your grandmother's bracelet. You're wearing it today."
I touched the jade automatically. "She brought it from Taipei when she immigrated. She wore it every day in her restaurant. When she died, she left it to me."
"You wear it when you're scared," Daniel said.
I turned to stare at him. "What?"
"You wear it when you're scared. Or when you're cooking something important. Or when you need to feel close to her." His voice was steady, but his hands were clenched in his lap. "She wore it while cooking because it reminded her of home. You wear it for the same reason."
"I never told you that."
"I know."
Officer Martinez was watching us with an expression I couldn't read. "How do you know, Mr. Park?"
Daniel was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful. "After Nora and I met, I wanted to understand what mattered to her. I searched for articles about her parents' restaurant. There was an interview with her mother from about ten years ago, talking about the bankruptcy. She mentioned that Nora's grandmother had worn a jade bracelet every day in the kitchen, and that Nora had inherited it. She said Nora wore it when she needed courage."
My chest felt too tight. "You researched my family?"
"I wanted to know you." He finally looked at me, and his eyes were full of something I couldn't name. "I wanted to understand what you'd lost. What you were trying to rebuild."
"That's—" I didn't know what it was. Romantic? Invasive? Both?
Officer Martinez closed her folder. "I'm going to recommend approval of your petition, pending a home visit within the next thirty days. We'll schedule that separately. You'll both need to be present, and I'll be looking for evidence that you're actually living together as a married couple. Shared finances, shared belongings, shared space. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Daniel said.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"You're free to go. You'll receive a letter with the home visit details within the week." She stood, and we stood with her. "Congratulations on your marriage."
The word felt like a joke.
The Federal Plaza steps were crowded with people—lawyers in suits, families speaking Spanish and Mandarin and languages I didn't recognize, everyone caught in the machinery of immigration. The October air was cold enough that I could see my breath.
Daniel stopped at the bottom of the steps. "Nora."
I kept walking. Made it three more steps before his voice stopped me.
"I know you're angry."
I turned around. He was standing in a shaft of sunlight, his hair slightly messed up from running his hand through it, his tie loosened. He looked tired. He looked like he'd been carrying something heavy for a long time.
"How did you really know?" I asked. "About the bracelet. About my grandmother."
"I told you. I found the article—"
"No. I mean, how did you know I was wearing it today because I was scared? How did you know I wear it when I'm cooking something important?" I took a step toward him. "How do you know all these things about me that I never told you?"
He was quiet for a long moment. People flowed around us on the steps, a river of humanity that we were interrupting.
"I've been paying attention," he said finally. "From the beginning. From the first time I came to your pop-up dinner and you were wearing that bracelet while you plated the desserts. You touched it three times while you were explaining the menu. I noticed."
"That was before you proposed the arrangement."
"I know."
"So you were already—what? Studying me? Planning this?"
"No. I was just—" He stopped. Started again. "I noticed you. The way you moved in the kitchen. The way you talked about food like it was a language. The bracelet. I noticed everything, and I couldn't stop noticing."
My throat was tight. "That's not an answer."
"I know." He climbed two steps, closing the distance between us. Not touching, but close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I don't have a good answer. I saw you, and I wanted to keep seeing you. So I paid attention. I remembered things. I looked up your family's restaurant because I wanted to understand where you came from. I watched your videos because I wanted to hear your voice. I—" He stopped. "I know how that sounds."
"It sounds obsessive."
"Maybe it is." He didn't look away. "But it's also true. Everything I said in there was true. I know you, Nora. I know you better than I've ever known anyone, and I didn't need you to tell me. I just needed to pay attention."
A woman pushed past us, muttering something in Russian. The moment broke. I stepped back, putting space between us.
"We passed," I said. My voice sounded hollow. "That's what matters."
"Is it?"
"We have a home visit in thirty days. We need to make sure the apartment looks right. Shared finances, shared belongings, shared space. We need to—" I was spiraling, making lists, finding something practical to focus on because the alternative was thinking about the way Daniel had described my grandmother's bracelet, the way he'd known things about me that I'd never said out loud.
"Nora." His voice was gentle. "Let's just—"
"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't do that. Don't try to make this about something other than what it is. We have a home visit. We need to prepare. That's all."
He nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay so—" I caught myself. He'd told Officer Martinez that I said that when I was anxious. He was right. "We should go home. Make a list of what we need to do before the visit."
"Okay."
We walked toward the subway in silence. The afternoon sun was weak, filtered through buildings and smog. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. Probably my mother, asking about the interview. Probably my manager, asking about the next video. Probably—
It buzzed again. And again.
I pulled it out, ready to silence it, and saw the notification.
Your video "Cooking with My Husband: Korean Short Ribs" has reached 500,000 views.
My stomach dropped. Half a million people had watched me and Daniel in the kitchen, laughing and cooking and pretending to be in love. Half a million people had seen something that was supposed to be fake but felt increasingly real.
I opened the comments without thinking.
The top comment, with fifteen thousand likes, said: Anyone else think these two are actually in love?
I stopped walking. Daniel stopped next to me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
"What is it?" he asked.
I turned the phone toward him, and his face went very still as he read the screen.
My phone buzzed again in my hand.