Don't Answer Strange Calls At Midnight

At four in the morning, I received a call from a woman.

She lowered her voice and told me to be careful of my husband.

"Your husband wants to kill you. You should run away!"

My husband, Charlie Jordan, and I grew up together, our marriage arranged by our families. We had always been close.

Although our marriage had had some issues recently, how could he want to kill me?

Was this call a prank, or did it have some hidden agenda?

Before I had time to think, I heard footsteps approaching the door.

My husband, who had gone out in the middle of the night, quietly pushed the door open.

I lay on my side in bed, pretending to be sound asleep, but my mind kept replaying that phone call.

Just as I was thinking, I felt a breath on my face—it was him, close to my face!

Why was Charlie watching me instead of sleeping at this hour?

"Good, she hasn't woken up. This drug is indeed effective..." he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, his tone as gentle and caring as always.

I felt like a poisonous snake had coiled around me, my entire body tense and covered in chills.

Ever since I was discharged from the hospital after the car accident, I hadn't taken any medication.

Why did Charlie drug me?

I didn't sleep a wink that night, my mind filled with memories of the happy life I had before the accident.

I came from a well-off family and had studied piano from a young age, becoming a somewhat famous young pianist in the country.

My husband's company was gradually stabilizing, and business had been good these past few years.

I was busy preparing for a piano concert and getting ready to have a baby with my husband.

But now, everything was ruined!

Because of that car accident three months ago...

Just before my concert, on my way home from work one evening, a car speeding the wrong way crashed into mine.

I lost consciousness on the spot, and when I woke up, my body had suffered various degrees of organ damage.

The driver was also injured and hospitalized, but he was only sentenced to three years, despite driving drunk and causing injury, thanks to the lawyer I had hired.

But my hands were severely damaged, and I could never play the piano again!

"How could this happen... how could this happen!?" I broke down in the hospital when I opened my eyes and saw my hands wrapped in bandages.

For a pianist, losing their hands is worse than losing their life.

On that chaotic and terrifying night, I lost my dream forever.

My parents were heartbroken, setting aside their business to comfort me.

They also had my husband take time off work to stay at the hospital and care for me.

He patiently and carefully comforted me, telling me every day how much he loved me.

I should have felt touched, even happy.

After all, following a miscarriage, I had started gaining weight and getting acne for various reasons.

This made me irritable and caused frequent conflicts with Charlie, straining our relationship to the breaking point.

In the end, he persuaded me to put work on hold and rest at home to calm down.

But now, I couldn't listen to anything he said. My life was already plunged into darkness!

Meanwhile, my phone was bombarded with messages.

Upon hearing the news, many teachers and classmates reached out to express their condolences.

But their sympathetic words couldn't hide their regretful tone, and every sigh felt like salt being rubbed into my wounds!

I forced myself to endure the pain, still thanking them for thinking of me.

All the performances, classes, and competitions I had scheduled were canceled.

Even the concert I had been planning for so long—when I called the venue, they politely told me that the deposit was non-refundable...

I hated the drunk driver who ruined my life!

Why did he drink and drive? Why didn't he just die? Why didn't he die!?

I had always been a proud person, but the pitying looks from others and the shattering of my dreams drove me to despair.

"Honey, I want some cream of wheat from that corner store. Can you go get it for me?"

After sending my husband out, I slowly got up and picked up the fruit knife on the table.

My hands were so weak that I could barely hold the knife, but I still aimed it at my wrist and stabbed hard.

I missed, but the blood still flowed out.

Yes, I wanted to commit suicide.

Maybe if I died, the pain would end.

But my mother's wailing as she rushed into the hospital room reminded me that if I left this world, my family would be the ones who suffered the most.

"Nyla, you ungrateful daughter! Your brother is gone forever. If you go too, what will your father and I do?"

My mother threw herself on top of me, crying bitterly.

My brother's death made my heart ache, and I couldn't hold back my tears as I hugged her and cried.

"Mom... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

My brother died in a car accident three years ago, and his passing devastated my parents.

My father was even unable to continue managing the company for a time.

My best friend Aria Perry helped my father walk in, her eyes red as she said to me, "Nyla, you're not alone. You still have us! Your brother is gone, but if you leave us too, I'll never forgive you!"

Looking at my parents' graying hair and my husband's pained expression, I gave up on the idea of suicide.

But my temper grew worse and worse.

If my husband did anything I didn't like, I would angrily throw things and slam doors.

But he patiently soothed me, never complaining, even when I hurt him.

When Aria came to visit and saw this, she would gently reprimand me for treating my loved ones so poorly.

But whenever I thought of how I was ruined, while she was still a piano teacher managing my studio, I felt jealous.

I envied her long fingers and that she could still chase her dreams; I envied her sitting gracefully at the piano, playing beautiful music!

My parents carefully looked after me, and my husband watched me with exhausted eyes.

But Aria couldn't take my harshness anymore and ended up crying in frustration.

If my brother hadn't passed away early, Aria would have almost married him.

My parents pitied her too, but they didn't dare touch my wounded heart.

I didn't know what was wrong with me; my temper was like an uncontrolled flood, surging out.

I only felt that by hurting those around me every day, I could prove that they still loved me.

After nearly a month of this self-torment, I suggested to my husband that we go to the island where we honeymooned to relax.

I'd always loved the sea.

Three years ago, on the beach, I accepted Charlie's proposal.

I wanted to return to the sea, hoping to rekindle the romantic memories we once had.

I had been too depressed and irritable during this time, unknowingly hurting the people closest to me.

That unexpected car accident ruined me, but it had nothing to do with my family—how could I vent my anger on them?

While watching the sea with Charlie, I tried to let go of my resentment and embrace a new life.