When I woke up, the doctor was the first to speak.
"You lost so much blood and didn’t take care of yourself. You were found freezing in the snow. Do you realize you were on the brink of death when you were brought here?"
I closed my eyes, fighting to keep the tears at bay.
"Sorry..."
"Sorry? Why are you apologizing to us?" The doctor and nurses exchanged concerned looks. "You should be apologizing to yourself. You’ve pushed your body too far. If you don't take better care of yourself, you could lose your kidneys. It could even be fatal next time."
A sharp thought struck me. "Who brought me to the hospital?"
"Your wife. She cried for a long time when she dropped you off."
I froze, biting my lip to hold back the wave of emotions.
The door to my room opened, and the doctor added, "She's here now. Be more careful in the future. Don't take your health for granted."
I turned, expecting to see Serena, but my gaze locked onto someone I hadn’t seen in ten years: my stepsister, Gwen.
I felt a pang of embarrassment. "Gwen, it's been so long. What brought you back to Los Angeles?"
She wiped her red, swollen eyes and sighed. "I came for a multinational meeting. I didn’t expect to see you on the road to the winery."
I realized then that the car I had seen when I collapsed that night was hers.
She reached out, her hand warm as she gently placed it over mine. "Anthony, if you're tired, come back to me. Auntie’s gone, so you don't need to stay with a woman who doesn’t love you, just to avoid me."
I whispered, "I chose Serena because I love her."
Gwen sighed and placed a plane ticket on my bedside table. "Anthony, this ticket never expires. Whenever you're ready, just take it to the airport, and a private plane will bring you to me."
"You still remember my number, right? Call me anytime, and I’ll be there for you."
When she left, I gripped the ticket tightly for a moment before setting it down.
I opened my phone and bought the next available flight. Then, I called the place where Serena and I had signed our marriage contract.
"If you request a divorce unilaterally, we’ll strip you of all your assets, transfer everything to the woman, and you’ll face a one-year sentence. Think carefully."
I spoke quietly but firmly, "If it means I can get a divorce, I’m willing to do anything."
"Your divorce will be finalized in a week."
As soon as I checked my phone, I was bombarded with notifications—endless bills for hotels, nightclubs, and Smurfs that had been charged to my account.
Then, I saw a screenshot from one of my friends, showing Isaiah’s Instagram. From the night I collapsed in the snow until now, there had been over a dozen posts.
Serena had taken Isaiah on a vacation to an island.
In one photo, their little hands were overlapped, and the reflection in the window showed their blurred figures. Another showed Isaiah holding Serena’s hand as they cut a cake to announce the gender of their baby.
A comment from someone who knew us appeared: "Serena’s not even divorced yet, and here she is flaunting her relationship with the so-called ‘mistress.’"
Serena’s reply was cold: "Only the unloved are mistresses."
My heart twisted in agony, and a hollow smile crept across my face. Despair was the only thing left.
I checked out of the hospital, and while they were on vacation, I prepared to pack my things.
When I opened the door to my house, I was hit with the stifling air, and the floor was covered in Smurfs.
