I had just been discharged from the hospital after giving birth when my husband made me take the bus home while he secretly drove the Maybach and took his entire family out for hot pot. Two hours later, he went bankrupt, and the revelation of my identity terrified his entire family. My wife, fresh from the delivery room, was forced to hobble onto a city bus and make her own way home.
Meanwhile, I casually drove my Maybach, taking my entire family out for a celebratory dinner. I had no idea it would be the last ride of my lavish life. Just two hours later, my empire would crumble and I would be a bankrupt man.
And when the true identity of my seemingly ordinary wife was revealed, my family could only tremble in fear. What terrifying truth lay behind this woman? The smell of antiseptic in the hospital was so strong it made my nostrils burn.
Or maybe it was the nameless bitterness welling up inside me. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clutching my lower abdomen, where the C-section incision, only five days old, still seeped blood and throbbed with a sharp, insistent pain every time I moved. Around me, other new mothers were being gently supported by their husbands, fed spoonfuls of warm soup by their mothers-in-law, the room filled with cheerful chatter about the futures of their newborn babies.
But I was alone with a shabby duffel bag and my tiny son sleeping soundly in his bassinet. Ethan, my husband, the man I once thought was my entire world, was leaning against the window frame. He didn’t look at me once.
His fingers flew frantically across his phone screen as he muttered numbers from some project he was always boasting about, a multi-million dollar deal. “Are you done yet? You’re so slow,” Ethan snapped, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“The doctor signed your discharge papers half an hour ago. Who are you trying to guilt trip by just sitting there?”
I bit my lip, trying to suppress the searing pain from my incision, and struggled to my feet. The heavy duffel bag on my shoulder made me sway.
I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Ethan, my incision still hurts so much. Could you please carry the bag for me?
I have to hold the baby.”
Ethan finally looked up, his brow furrowed in annoyance, as if I had asked for something outrageous. He clicked his tongue, snatched the bag from my shoulder, and slung it over his own with a jerk. “You women are so soft.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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