In that moment, it felt like I had fallen into the frozen lake all over again. My heart turned completely cold.
Three days after I was hospitalized, Isla finally showed up, as if she were doing me a favor. She sat cross-legged on the chair, calm and distant, her first words carrying blame.
“Why weren’t you wearing gloves that day? You know I’m allergic to men. Good intentions don’t matter if they cause trouble; that’s just foolish.”
The bedsheet in my hands wrinkled as I gripped it tightly. Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I asked softly, “Then why did you hug that interpreter? Weren’t you worried about your allergy?”
Her face froze for a moment. For the first time, her usually calm eyes flickered with hesitation.
“He was terrified then, and I forgot.”
“The young man has a weak stomach and can’t stand the cold. He was helping me with work, I couldn’t let him fall, too.”
A bitter laugh rose in my chest.
I couldn’t help but think back to our second year of marriage, when I was burning with a severe gastric fever, barely conscious.
The housekeeper had told Isla to cool me down with a wet towel. But when my finger accidentally brushed against hers, she dumped the entire basin of cold water over me.
Her first reaction wasn’t to worry; she ran straight to the bathroom, washed her hands again and again, and threw up.
“But Isla,” I finally said, unable to hold it in any longer, “you knew I couldn’t swim. Weren’t you scared I’d drown?”
“I calculated it,” she answered calmly. “The rescue team at the base would be there in ten minutes. You’d suffer a little, but you wouldn’t die.”
“Landon Raye, I told you from the start about my condition. You’re the one who insisted on marrying me. So what are you complaining about now?”
Her eyes carried nothing but annoyance, as if I were the one causing trouble. And the truth was, maybe she was right. I had chosen this for myself.
Isla glanced at her watch and stood up.
“Alright, the doctor said you can be discharged. Have the driver take you home. I still have things to do.”
A few minutes later, I heard a man’s startled voice coming from downstairs. I got off the hospital bed and looked out the second-floor window. It seemed Isla had twisted her ankle.
The same sign language interpreter from that day, dressed in a trench coat, was crouched beside her, gently massaging her exposed ankle.