My Life Was Saved, but My Marriage Ended

The moment I heard the violent screech of tires, Oliver McDaniel yanked me into his arms, wedging me between him and the seat. In the end, he was left with fractures across his entire body, confined to the ICU for half a month. I, on the other hand, walked away with just a scratch on my arm. All the while, his phone still buzzed with messages from his lover.

When he finally woke up, a friend joked, “You say you don’t have feelings for her, but you almost gave your life for her.”

Oliver paused for a beat. After ensuring I wasn’t around, he replied coolly, “I saved her because I’m a man, and she’s my wife. It’s my duty to protect her. But the reason I did it? That’s just being a man—I couldn’t help it.”

——

Through the barely open door, I caught a glimpse of him leaning against the window, half his face obscured by smoke. “Please keep an eye on the house in the west. Anna Morgan is still young, and I don’t want her getting swindled during the renovations.”

“We’ll get a car together soon. I’ll teach her to drive, so she won’t have to rely on taxis to visit me. It’s dangerous, and I can’t stop worrying.” As he lit another cigarette, the brief flicker of the flame illuminated the conflicted expression on his face.

"I shouldn’t have restricted Lisa Welch’s work in the first place. If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be around me all the time. Annoying."

Just as I opened the door, I caught the last word. The room fell silent for a moment. Oliver stubbed out his cigarette and looked up, his expression unchanged.

"Lisa—how long have you been standing there?"

"I’ve been in the hospital too long, and I’m worried the company might suffer. It’s stressing me out," he said as he casually picked up the soup. But then his indifferent look turned to sudden worry.

"What happened? Why are you hurt so badly?" Oliver lowered his gaze, staring at the redness and swelling snaking from my fingertips to my arm, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed.

"The soup… it spilled."

I'm not very good at cooking. Oliver always said that dealing with the kitchen fumes should be his job, so over the years, I’ve rarely cooked.

“I hope you get better soon,” he said. “And get out of the hospital quickly.”

I bit my lip, and all the emotions I thought I had buried turned into quiet sobs as soon as I tried to speak.

"Lisa, how many times have I told you to just buy food from outside?" He sighed, pulling me into his arms.

"I didn’t marry you to serve me. How can you visit the hospital every day if you don’t take care of yourself?"

"Mom’s still waiting for a grandson," Oliver said, looking at me, his eyes carefully avoiding mine.

"It smells so good. What did our Lisa make for me today?"

"Ward rounds!"

Suddenly, a white figure burst into the room, swiftly placing herself between Oliver and me.

“Sorry, auntie, I’m here for rounds,” the nurse said, her wide eyes betraying a mix of hesitation and innocence.

Oliver, typically gentle, wore a dark expression, his glare fixed on the girl before him.

As I handed him the soup, he shoved me aside. “How could the nurse be so careless? Get out!”

A sharp thud echoed in my chest, a jolt of pain radiating through me as a large piece of burned skin on my arm tore away. The young nurse remained oblivious to my distress, stepping closer to Oliver with a smile as she fussed over his clothes, adjusting and straightening them.

Then, she turned to me, her expression hardening.

“Ah! How do you take care of a patient? Don’t you know he doesn’t eat carrots?”

She covered her ears, took a step back, and then dashed out of the room, returning just as quickly.

"There’s a fresh meal at the nurse’s station—take mine too."

"Auntie, don’t misunderstand. These things are in the patient’s admission file. I just have a good memory."

My breath caught, and my head began to throb. The lingering smoke in the room reminded me of Dorthy Ball, who had been abused as a child. Back then, my father would smoke and swing sticks at my mother and me.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t eat carrots."

I spoke, a bit irritated. Eighteen-year-old Oliver used to bring carrots to school every day just because I casually mentioned liking little rabbits. He would quietly look up at me while chewing on them.

He loved staring into my eyes, his mouth pouting as he complained, "The little rabbit likes to eat carrots, and I like carrots too. If you like the little rabbit, then you should like me!"

But things have changed.

I glanced at Oliver, observing him silently. Time had been kind to him, and the person in front of me overlapped with the memory I held. It felt as though nothing had changed, yet everything had.

Now, he sat there, pretending to be annoyed, but honestly eating the meal given by the little nurse. The soup I had brought for him was cold, with a layer of white oil floating on top.

Noticing this, the girl lifted it.

"Oops!"

The soup spilled all over the floor, and the greasy liquid splashed onto my skirt.

This skirt wasn’t pretty, but Oliver had made it for me himself, and it was my most treasured piece.

At first, I wanted to start over with him.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't sure."

"But Auntie, you're really something. I heard you've been married for over ten years. How could you forget such a small detail? Do you... not love my brother at all?"

I chuckled softly.

"I have something to take care of tonight, so I won’t be coming."

As I turned away, a single tear slipped down my cheek without warning.