Even though most of my bone marrow has been removed and my body is already depleted, why does my heart still ache so terribly?
Footsteps came from the study.
I trembled with fear, like prey whose tail had been stepped on. Ignoring the wound on my foot and the mess on the floor, I clutched my chest and stumbled back to my room. I locked the door behind me, leaned against it, and gasped for breath, my whole body shaking.
Inside the room, his son was sleeping soundly. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, falling on his peaceful little face, his long eyelashes drooping, making him look like a fallen angel.
But he will never call me Mom again.
She will never reach out her little hands again, wanting me to hold her.
I looked at his sleeping profile, and the grievances, pain, and despair that had accumulated over the past six months collapsed in that moment. I covered my mouth, and suppressed sobs escaped through my fingers. My shoulders trembled violently, and I almost fainted.
After the accident, I blamed myself countless times in the dead of night, blaming myself for not taking good care of my son, blaming myself for being so useless that I couldn't even protect the person I loved most.
I even thought, "If only I had been the one who got into that accident."
But I never imagined that the culprit would be my husband, whom I had loved for ten years and married for seven.
He is the man who took gentle care of me when I was sick and cried bitterly when his son was critically ill.
How could he be so cruel?
The child is only two years old, and that's his own son! How could he do that?
The love I cherished, the marriage I was so proud of, turned out to be nothing more than an elaborate deception, a colossal joke.
Through my teary eyes, I looked up and saw the familiar pair of leather shoes by the door.
The door was gently pushed open, and Liam stood there, a gentle smile on his face as always, but deep in his eyes, there was a hint of barely perceptible fear and panic. He strode over and reached out to help me, his voice trembling slightly: "Clara, just now... were you at the door of my study?"
Looking at his hypocritical face, at the fleeting calculation in his eyes, I slowly, very slowly, lifted my blood-stained foot.
The wound on my ankle was still bleeding, and the pain was so bad that I could barely stand.
But on my face, I managed a calm, almost eerie smile.