He just smiled and said, “No need. They don’t really like crowds.”
Back then I foolishly believed him, thinking, ‘People nowadays are socially anxious, and not liking socializing is normal.’
But it turned out, it wasn’t that they didn’t like crowds. They just didn’t like me.
Suddenly, the hospital room door opened.
Ross stood there, holding a cake, smiling just like he used to.
“Happy anniversary, baby! I’m late. Are you mad?”
Streamers, roses, mango cake.
It was the same old routine for eight straight years.
If I hadn’t lived through everything that happened today, I might have been moved to tears just like before.
But now, all I felt was irony.
He didn’t know that I knew it—under the glow of those party lights, he had kissed another woman.
He didn’t know that because of that so-called car “accident,” I had lost our child forever.
The life that was supposed to be a surprise had become the price of his celebration with his other woman.
I swallowed the storm inside me and forced my tone to stay calm. “What are you doing here?”
“No matter how busy I am, you’re the most important to me.”
He smiled and sat by my bed, his tone gentle as always.