Two years after our marriage, we had a house.
Three years later, we had a child and moved into an even bigger house.
In our nine years of marriage, he bought me countless luxury items, enough to fill up another spare house.
But there was one thing missing—a ring.
I used to think he was too busy and not attentive enough.
It wasn't until I accidentally saw him with a young girl, entering the VIP section of a jewelry store, that I realized the truth.
When they came out, the beautiful girl had a dazzling diamond ring on her hand that could blind passersby.
Rubbing my waist, I slowly sat down next to Harris. I took his hand, and naturally, our fingers interlocked like an old married couple.
With a smile, he accused me.
"Honey, you haven't given a single phone call to me recently. You're heartless. By the way, I bought many gifts for you and momo, still in the car and haven't brought them in yet."
I didn't speak; I just examined Harris's hand.
As expected, there was a faint mark from a ring.
My throat trembled uncontrollably, and I closed my eyes.
When he stood up, preparing to get the gifts from the car, I opened my eyes and spoke softly to him.
"Harris, I had a hysterectomy. Congratulations, now you can openly find someone else to have children with."
During the period when Harris used the excuse of being busy with work and indulged in the world of being promiscuous in sex relations, I was diagnosed with early-stage uterine cancer.
On the day I received the diagnosis report, feeling lost and helpless, I made countless phone calls to him.
At first, I managed to reach him a few times, but later he probably found me annoying and simply turned off his phone until the next noon when he impatiently replied with a short text message.
He informed me that he was on a business trip and we could talk when he got back home.
Not long after, someone with ill intentions sent me photos of him having fun at Disneyland with that young college girl.
Looking at the picture of him laughing heartily, I thought it was time to let go.
In the spacious living room, Harris turned his back to me, rubbing his temples with one hand and pacing in front of me.
It was a sign that he was getting angry.
Sure enough, not long after, he suddenly turned towards me, his handsome face contorted with anger, and he interrogated me.