The afternoon sun blazed fiercely, which turned the car into a sweltering box of heat. Sweat quickly streamed down my body, while the wound on my abdomen itched with sharp pain. I called Monica several times, but she cut me off every time.
She hadn’t come down for two hours.
My breaths grew shallow, with dizziness clouded my vision as dehydration set in.
I knew I couldn’t endure any longer. Desperation forced me to grab the safety hammer, shatter the car window and with the help of startled passersby, drag myself into a taxi headed for the hospital.
When the wound was cleaned again, the doctor frowned deeply, his voice sharp with disapproval.
“Didn’t I tell you not to let water touch the wound?”
I could only endure the sting of hydrogen peroxide as it bubbled against my torn flesh, followed by the fiery burn of iodine. I stayed silent, unable to spare words. By the time I returned home after the infusion, darkness had already fallen.
Monica hadn’t called me once.
The living room remained a mess, just as I had left it, not a single thing tidied. Frowning, I dragged my aching, hungry body that hadn’t touched food for all day long back to bed, lying down with my stomach twisting in discomfort.
As soon as I unlocked my phone, Zane’s newest post appeared at the top of my feed. Monica stood on his balcony, wearing his oversized shirt with her pale thighs visible beneath the hem, hanging his underwear out to dry.
I swiped away instantly, not wanting to see such an obvious display. Then, I opened the food delivery app instead. I ordered a simple chowder for myself. However, I hadn’t expected my food to arrive with Monica herself.
The delivery man called and as I stepped into the living room to collect the order, Monica hurled the takeaway bag at my face with her expression cold and unyielding.
“How dare you smash my car! You think you’ll die just because you wait a little longer? Do you even know how long it will take to repair it?”
I glanced down at the takeaway lying at my feet. The chowder was now inedible. My stomach, already fragile after surgery, couldn’t handle going without food for so long.
Even though Monica knew about this, she still deliberately pushed my body to its limits.
I let out a low, bitter laugh and stepped toward her slowly, each step deliberate.
“Do you want to try it then? To see if you’d survive locked in that car under that sun?”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone? I told you repeatedly you didn’t have to take me. If you were busy, I could have gone alone. But you insisted on driving me and then abandoned me there!”
Monica had never seen me speak to her like this. She stepped back twice, startled. Nevertheless, I pressed her more and more. Feeling that she couldn’t get away with it, her panic shifted to fury.
“What are you shouting for? You’re not dead, are you?”
She then shoved me hard with both hands, with her palm pressed directly into my wound.
Without further ado, it sent me dropping into a crouch, teeth clenched and sweat dripping onto the floor.
“Michael … what the hell are you doing? Trying to fool me? Don’t you fucking pretend with me!”
Her brows furrowed and just as she bent down to grab me, her phone rang.
She pulled it out, glanced at the screen and her expression shifted instantly.
“Where’s the plan I asked you to revise the day before yesterday?”
“It’s on the laptop you poured water on yesterday.”
“What?”
Her voice then shot up in pitch, causing her to be even angrier.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why didn’t you fix it for me last night after the computer burned out? How could you sleep like a goddamn baby? Do you realize you’ve ruined everything for me?”
“I really can’t believe you. Fix it now! Use my computer.”
She shoved the laptop at me, but I pushed it back, covering my abdomen as I forced myself upright.
“If it’s that important, go ask whoever’s job it really is to fix it.”
While waiting for the replacement porridge to arrive, I finally made up my mind. I would divorce Monica. I needed proof, so I scrolled through Zane’s posts again.
One caught my eye, posted just the night before.
How had I missed it?
[The plan was approved by the supervisor. Luckily, my childhood sweetheart fixed it for me. You’re always there … I’m the happiest man in the world!]
The attached image shown on the post was a screenshot of the plan, with sensitive data blurred. Fortunately, I had memorized much of the plan when editing the plans for Monica. Comparing the details carefully, I realized this was the exact project Monica had asked me to revise.
Below the post, Monica had commented.
[It’s just instinctual to me to pamper you!]
And it didn’t stop there. Scrolling further, I found nearly every project I had revised for Monica over the past six months had originated from Zane. For half a year, I had been unknowingly crafting ‘happy plans’ for them.
“What do you mean by this?”
Monica’s tone carried no guilt, only indignation.
Without a word, I shoved Zane’s post in front of her.
“I … ”
She faltered, rare for her, at a loss for words.
I didn’t wait for her to think of excuses. Grabbing my coat, I turned and headed for the door.
I needed food more than her lies.
“Where are you going?”
Monica chased after me, but I didn’t bother to turn back.
