"Who was calling that you had to answer while driving? Didn't you realize there are constant bends there? It's a dangerous stretch of road!"
Patrick slapped himself violently in deep remorse. He wept bitterly and begged my forgiveness at my bedside, confessing that he should not have risked answering the phone just to compete for the position of vice president.
From then on, he loved me even more and fulfilled my every request.
Out of love for him, I accepted reality after a brief reproach.
To offer an apology and give me a sense of security, he took the initiative to undergo a vasectomy.
Later, we adopted Harry, who was just two years old, from the orphanage.
After a long time, I opened the door and found Patrick standing there, his face showing a hurt expression.
"Honey, the oatmeal is ready and has cooled down. It's just right to eat now."
He stared at me expectantly. Speechless, I walked past him into the kitchen, fetched a bowl of oatmeal, and carried it into the bedroom to feed Harry.
"Honey, can you not treat me like this? You can hit me and scold me, but please don't ignore me."
"Patrick, I always believed you were responsible, but so far, you only asked for my forgiveness. Do you have anything else to say?"
"Yes. I'll explain everything to you. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
I sneered, "I'm not interested in your affair."
Despite countless doubts in my mind, I was reluctant to give him a chance to explain.
Explanation would mean forgiveness, but I couldn't forgive him.
He could do whatever he pleased. Why couldn't I?
Patrick froze in place, sighing dejectedly.
Harry put his arms around my neck and leaned on my shoulder.
"Mommy, the teacher told us that if someone is aware of his mistakes and corrects them, he is still a good boy. What about Daddy? Is he still a good dad?"
I rubbed Harry's head, forced a smile, and said, "Maybe he will be a good dad, but he will no longer be a good husband. Harry, you are too young to understand these things. You just need to know that we will always love you."
It was already nine o'clock in the evening when I lulled him to sleep. Patrick tried turning the doorknob multiple times, but the door remained closed because I had locked it from the inside.
His footsteps gradually faded away. Exhausted, I lay deflated on the bed, feeling as though all my strength had been drained from me, unwilling to move.