Allen Jones’s phone rang again.
He stood at the door of the operating room, signing the consent form as Sadie Darby’s family member.
His ringtone kept echoing through the corridor. One of the Jones family’s doctors, noticing it, spoke up with quiet concern.
“Mr. Jones, your wife has called so many times. It must be urgent. Maybe you should check in on her?”
Irritation flickered across Allen’s face. His mind was occupied by the surgery Sadie was about to undergo.
“Ignore her. If she has the time to call me this much, she must be bored at home,” he said, his voice cold.
“She was the one who left after starting a cold war. Does she expect me to beg her to come back? If she wants to leave, let her. For all I care, she never has to return.
“Five years of marriage, and the only thing she’s learned is how to lie. If I believe her now, who knows what tricks she’ll pull next? Let her do whatever she wants—I don’t care.”
On the hospital bed, Sadie’s pale face held a faint, fragile smile.
“She must be upset again,” she said softly. “You know, you should’ve deleted those photos. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to talk to you either.”
Allen didn’t mention my name. He only tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine in a few days. Right now, your surgery is the most important thing. I’ve arranged everything, and I’ve got the best doctors handling your surgery.”
Sadie smiled again and closed her eyes.
At the same time, in another room. I was strapped to the bed, my limbs bound to the cold metal frame.
A needle pierced my skin, delivering a slow stream of anesthetic into my veins.
The unanswered call still flickered on my phone’s screen.
Tears slipped silently from the corners of my eyes, but my fingers had lost the strength to dial again.
‘Allen, the thing I regret most in this life is marrying you.’
