"Betty, do you still love ?" I blurted out, right after Betty wiped my mouth with a wet cloth.
Betty's hand froze at the corner of my mouth, a flicker of surprise and confusion crossing her eyes.
"Love? Of course, I love you. Why would you ask such a thing? Let be clear, I love only you, and that will never change. Don't believe ? Feel my heart." Betty took a deep breath, her gaze firm, and she guided my hand to rest against her chest.
Feeling the softness there, my mind flashed back to just a few hours earlier when Michael's hands were fervently kneading her breasts.
I quietly withdrew my hand and didn't respond to Betty. Instead, I slowly closed my eyes, my thoughts more turbulent than ever.
Lying there with my eyes shut, sleep eluded as the conversation with Betty swirled in my head.
Seeing Betty with Michael, I should have scoffed at her passionate declaration.
Yet her words and expression seed so genuine and steadfast, showing no signs of pretense.
Betty, which one is the real you?
With my eyes closed, I heard Betty leave the room with the dishes, then the soft sounds of washing from the kitchen.
She was being very careful, seemingly afraid to disturb my rest.
Then, Betty's phone chid with a ssage tone. The washing sounds stopped, followed by the faint clicks of her tapping on her phone screen, a long, quiet interaction. She was definitely texting soone—probably Michael.
After washing the dishes, Betty changed her clothes and climbed into bed, gently touching my forehead.
She had removed my IV drip, yet I lay awake, mories flooding my mind.
I suddenly felt sothing was off. Betty usually showers before bed, even if it's just a quick rinse.
But tonight, she went straight to bed after doing the dishes.
Maybe she had showered before I woke up, likely after being intimate with Michael.
Now, I was particularly concerned about one thing—did Betty and Michael finish inside? Regretting not witnessing the entire scene, I wouldn't be left guessing now.
"For you, I would do anything, pay any price, even if it costs my life," Betty whispered, hugging my arm, thinking I was asleep. Her voice was soft, yet it stirred sothing deep within .
What did Betty an by that? I couldn't grasp it at the mont.
The next morning, I woke up at 9:13 AM, surprised I had slept so long.
Betty had already gone to work. I stretched, feeling much better physically, though emotionally, I was still heavy.
In the living room, I saw a covered dish on the dining table.
Lifting the cover, I found a lavish breakfast, clearly made with great care, surpassing any morning al before.
I imagined Betty getting up early, yawning as she prepared breakfast, and my heart softened.
I quickly dismissed these feelings; I couldn't let my heart weaken and succumb again.
"Dear, rember to eat breakfast! I noticed your fever was gone this morning, so I could go to work relieved. Don't go to work today; I'll make you a delicious dinner when I get back." A note beside the al, penned in Betty's neat handwriting, caught my eye.
Betty, a teacher with beautiful handwriting, left a note that made smile.
But whether it was a genuine smile or a bitter one, only I knew.
I stared at the breakfast for a long ti before finally picking up the chopsticks to eat.
Initially, I had no appetite, but now I felt compelled to cherish every mont, unsure of what the future might hold.
As I ate, the delicious breakfast suddenly tasted salty.
It took a mont to realize that tears were streaming down my face, mixing with the food in my mouth.
After eating, I sat on the couch, lost in thought.
I felt indecisive, unsure of what to do next.
Betty's kindness from last night through this morning made it hard for to confront her.
I feared the consequences of such a confrontation.
What if she decided to leave with Michael if I confronted her?
Losing her made realize how much I valued her, especially since our reconciliation.
The thought of possibly losing Betty again made less willing to let go.
I sat on the couch until my back began to ache, and just as I was about to get up, I heard the door unlock.
Betty appeared at the door; it was 11:45 AM, her usual ti to finish the morning shift at school.
"Why are you back?" I asked, surprised to see Betty with bags in her hands.
We usually don't co ho for lunch since both our workplaces have cafeterias.
"I couldn't stop worrying about you. I prepared breakfast, and I had to make sure you had lunch too!" Betty said, wiping the sweat from her forehead, clearly having rushed ho.
"I could have just ordered takeout," I said, sighing as I ca back to reality.
Facing Betty, my emotions were a tangled ss, a feeling most people couldn't understand.
The things weighing on my heart felt suffocating, yet I couldn't bring myself to voice them.
"Takeout isn't clean," Betty replied, shaking her head before she hurried into the kitchen to start cooking.
The sounds of chopping and clanging pots filled the air.
Watching Betty busy in the kitchen, I couldn't help but wonder if she had done the sa for Michael in that little house.
My beautiful wife, she wasn't just mine anymore.
"Honey, the food will be ready in half an hour. I need to head back to school," Betty said, checking the ti and wiping her face with the back of her hand. She was smiling, despite the rush.
I just nodded silently.Betty put on her shoes, smiled at , and left. The house fell silent again, except for the simring sounds from the kitchen and the distant echo of her high heels on the stairs.
Was she rushing to squeeze in a quick rendezvous with Michael at that little house? Or was she genuinely just pressed for ti because of work?
Now, with my leave from work almost over, I didn't have much ti left.
These thoughts frightened , and I rembered I had left my computer on when I left the cabin. I needed to take care of that.
Despite the delicious slls wafting from the kitchen, I had no appetite.
I quickly dressed and stepped out of the house, my mind racing with what to do next.
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