Chapter 9

A warm body enveloped me.

It was Ellie.

Her eyes were red as she held me, her voice trembling, “Did it hurt a lot during the surgery when you were sick?”

“I can’t even bear to watch blood being drawn, let alone an open surgery.”

Five years have passed.

People say your husband is great, that everything will be alright.

But it’s the first time someone asked if it hurt or if I was scared.

Her voice was full of youthful softness, “You must have been really scared, right? I had a stomach flu and spent the whole night rolling in my mom’s arms.”

During my hospital recovery, it was the caregivers who took care of me.

Half a month in the hospital, with no one by my side.

Only the day and night outside the window rotated on schedule, with the weather shifting from heavy rain to clear skies to overcast.

I never thought about the pain or fear, only about Theodore, only about getting better quickly.

I leaned on her shoulder and cried out loud.

These five years, I have indeed been terrified.

I was scared on the operating table, scared during every follow-up check, even a small bout of acid reflux would frighten me.

Afraid to the point of sleepless nights, and afraid that staying up late would affect my health.

Ellie’s hand was like a butterfly’s wing, gently brushing my back intermittently.

Alexander Vance’s message came through: [I’ve calculated, even with your data added, but given my faultlessness, you being full-time for years, in the divorce you would get at most three million and a house.]

I wasn’t surprised by Alexander Vance’s shrewdness.

I’ve contacted lawyers and other “evidence” as well.

Yet Ellie bit her lip and asked me, “Why do you still want to be full-time…”

I wiped away the tears and looked at her, saying, “Because when you’re unhealthy, only health is real.”

After the surgery, I didn’t go back to work.

I became a full-time wife, asking for money with an open palm.

My friend Sophia scolded me for gambling too much, especially since he was a man whose conscience was teetering.

But I know, I’m not betting my future on a man’s conscience.

I’m just no longer consumed by “half-baked” feminism.

At this moment, what I need most is enough time and money to recover my health.

Love, future, independence, they’re all illusions.