I didn't have time to tend to the bleeding wounds, so I hastily threw on some clothes and followed Jose out.
Phoebe stood leaning against the staircase, frowning and her tone was full of sympathy. "Don't pick things out of the trash can next time. As long as you're good, no one will punish you, Hans."
Before she married me, Phoebe was just a junior employee at the company.
Back then, while she was pursuing me, she learned about my sensitive stomach and spent half a year's salary on a nutrition course. She would show up with fresh Band-Aids on her fingers every day, yet the thoughtful lunch box she delivered to my office never once stopped coming.
Even after we were married, the stomach-soothing lunch boxes continued. No matter how late I worked, there was always a wisp of steam in the kitchen.
"Hans, if you like it, I'll make you a lovingly prepared lunch box for the rest of my life," she said.
The sound of keys jangling snapped me back to the present. Jose stood in the living room, impatience flickering in his eyes. "Hans, it's time to leave."
I politely nodded to Phoebe, gesturing for her to move aside. But instead of letting go, her brows furrowed even deeper as she gripped my wrist tightly. "Hans, you weren't like this before."
Before?
Did she mean after marriage, when I treated her with genuine affection, promoted her to Vice President, handed over all my high-level authority and confidential files to her? Or when I gradually told her all my weaknesses and sore spots?
We once spent a loving night wrapped in each other's warmth, looking forward to having an adorable baby someday.
At that time, I always thought I'd be the best father in the world. Alas, those days were now gone forever.
Later, Jose walked upstairs in his leather shoes.
Before Phoebe could pull me into her arms, he interlocked his fingers with hers. "Phoebe, why don't you drive us there? You've been home these days, you must be bored."
Phoebe nodded and I instinctively gave up the front passenger seat.
As the scenery outside the window changed, my heart suddenly clenched. This road … wasn't it the way to the cemetery?
Before the car even came to a full stop, I yanked the door open and rushed out.
The once crowded rows of tombstones were gone, replaced by fields of crops. A worker nearby was watering them with a hose.