The pain came in waves.
Christine Woods, clutching her stomach with one hand, lay on the narrow hospital bed, cold sweat trickling down her forehead. Her face was pale as paper, and her lips were cracked from dryness.
The IV drip trickled by her bedside for quite a while now, but she felt no relief whatsoever.
About an hour ago, she had sent an SOS message to her husband, Neil Caffrey.
SOS: Severe stomach pain. I can’t take it anymore. Please come.
Ding!
With a soft ding, a message popped up on her phone. Christine picked it up. It was from Neil.
“Stop pretending. I am in a meeting and don’t have time to play your boring tricks.”
There was no concern or care—only coldness and indifference.
She didn’t realize when it happened, but tears started streaming down her cheeks. Pretending? Playing tricks?
If she were pretending, would the doctor have rushed her into the emergency room? Would the nurse have scolded her for enduring the pain for too long?
Even when she was in so much pain, Christine hadn’t cried. However, seeing the cold and indifferent reply from the man she loved—the man she had married—she couldn’t stop her tears anymore.
Christine bit down hard on her lips, trying to hold them back.
She was about to put her phone away when another notification popped up. Her sister-in-law, Sofia, had posted a story on Instagram.
Christine didn’t want to look. She was about to put her phone aside when she accidentally tapped the screen, and the post opened.
A picture filled the display.
It was a photo of her husband, Neil, hugging another woman, chatting and laughing under the warm lights of a restaurant. The woman rested her head on Neil’s shoulder, and he looked at her with eyes full of love.
Christine was very familiar with that woman.
It was none other than Vivian Clark—her husband’s first love, who was supposed to be dead.
There was also a playful caption:
“Some people are meant to be together.”
The timestamp sat at the top of the post, glowing mercilessly.
It was exactly the same time she had been rushed into the emergency room, begging her husband to come and help her.
Christine clutched her phone tightly, her fingers turning numb.
So this was his so-called “meeting.”
Her chest tightened as a sharp pain pierced her heart. It felt as if something were gripping it violently. The truth slammed into her without mercy—he hadn’t just ignored her. He had lied.
Before she could even realize it, she had already pressed the call button.
After several rings, the other party finally picked up.
“What is it?” The man’s low, cold voice came from the other end of the line.
“Where are you?” Christine asked, clenching her fists.
There was a brief pause before he replied, “Didn’t I already tell you? I’m at a meeting with clients.”
“Which client?” she asked.
“Christine, do you even know any of my clients?” Neil’s tone sharpened. “Even though you are my wife, you don’t have the right to interrogate me. So, as a good wife, stay at home and don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Hearing his cold, sarcastic remarks, Christine bit her lip, forcing back her sobs.
“Neil, are you with Vivian?” she asked again.
The person on the other end paused before rebuking her. “What nonsense are you spouting? How can I be with Vivian? Don’t you know… she’s dead.”
Christine clenched her phone as something inside her finally shattered.
He lied—and he did so effortlessly, as if it were something he did all the time.
“Sofia posted a picture of you two at a restaurant together,” Christine said calmly. “You looked very happy with her.”
He paused, then replied irritably, “Sofia posts nonsense all the time. How can you believe everything you see?”
He still didn’t admit it.
Christine let out a soft laugh—dry and hollow, devoid of joy. Three years. Three full years of swallowing disappointment, of pretending not to notice how his eyes glowed whenever he spoke of Vivian. Three years of convincing herself that patience could earn love.
But now, it was time to stop.
“Neil, I want a divorce,” she said coldly.
“What?” He scoffed, disbelief thick in his voice. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” Christine replied. “I’m tired. Let’s end it.”
Before he could say another word, she hung up.
Her phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the bed with a dull thud.
Neil stared at his darkened screen in disbelief. Divorce? She was asking for a divorce? How was that even possible? Christine loved him to the bone—everyone knew that. She had chased after him back then, clung to him after the Woods family collapsed. With her family bankrupt, where could she even go?
She was bluffing. She had to be.
Memories surfaced unbidden.
Back then, after Vivian’s death had left him hollow, Christine had been the one to approach him—gentle, patient, always there. He had married her because it was convenient, because she filled the silence.
Only after the wedding did she realize the truth.
She had only ever been a substitute.
His love, care, and tenderness had never been meant for her.
The phone on the hospital bed rang, snapping Christine back to reality.
She glanced at the screen—it was her mother. She swiped to answer.
“Christine,” her mother said anxiously, “your brother’s tuition fee is due. Two hundred thousand dollars. Can you ask Neil? Just this once.”
Christine closed her eyes.
Pain pulsed through her abdomen, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. Only then did she finally understand—whether it was her marriage or her family, she was always the one expected to endure, to beg, to compromise.
She slowly opened her eyes.
“No,” she said softly and hung up.
After ending the call, Christine walked to the ward window, her gaze lifting to the full moon in the sky. The night was clear, without a single cloud.
“Christine Woods, it’s time to end this one-sided, painful marriage,” she whispered to herself, her eyes calm and resolute.
That night, in a sterile hospital room washed in white light, Christine made a decision that would change everything.
