Now, he sat there, pretending to be annoyed, but honestly eating the meal given by the little nurse. The soup I had brought for him was cold, with a layer of white oil floating on top.
Noticing this, the girl lifted it.
"Oops!"
The soup spilled all over the floor, and the greasy liquid splashed onto my skirt.
This skirt wasn’t pretty, but Oliver had made it for me himself, and it was my most treasured piece.
At first, I wanted to start over with him.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't sure."
"But Auntie, you're really something. I heard you've been married for over ten years. How could you forget such a small detail? Do you... not love my brother at all?"
I chuckled softly.
"I have something to take care of tonight, so I won’t be coming."
As I turned away, a single tear slipped down my cheek without warning.
About two months ago, I discovered that Oliver had someone else. Since then, the word “divorce” has sat at the edge of my lips, yet I’ve never been able to say it out loud. I thought I could become numb to the ebb and flow of love after so many shared moments, so many separations and returns.
But I overestimated my strength and underestimated the trust I’d built in Oliver over ten years. Now, the remnants of that love feel like sharp thorns, digging deeper with every memory. I still remember that day when the car lost control—Oliver, lying twisted before me, half his body soaked in blood, yet still reaching out, trying to shield my eyes.
“Lisa, don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
Maybe God doesn’t want us to separate, I thought. Childhood sweethearts—how easily people romanticize it. But sometimes happiness only exists when you’re blissfully unaware of the truth.
I opened the car window, letting the sharp autumn wind bite at my face. It stung, but not as much as the betrayal I now carry. Two months ago, I asked Oliver to go driving with me—just the two of us. For the first time, he refused.
"Lisa, you’re smart and independent. You can handle these little things just fine without me."
But I stubbornly insisted he teach me.
The notification sounded.
Oliver was sitting in the passenger seat, and the air around him felt frighteningly cold.
He glanced at me, then lowered the brightness of his phone.
The screen slowly shifted toward me.
Maybe he thought I was focused on the road, but I noticed every little movement.
So, I turned up the music in the car, pondering whether there was a rift in our marriage.