Watching their departing figures, a sharp pain pricked my heart. Yet, at the same time, I found it painfully ironic.
In my past life, I had married Jason as I had always dreamed, but I didn't get the happiness I wanted.
On my birthday, I wished for nothing more than to spend a quiet day with him. Instead, he told me, “Celebrating birthdays is a waste of time. I’m busy; I don’t have time for that.”
Later that day, I saw photos on Shairine’s social media of them hiking and camping together.
When my stomach ulcer flared up, and I asked him to accompany me to the hospital for a check-up, he said, “I’m not a doctor. Having me there won’t make you better. Don’t bother me.”
Yet I found out later that he had taken Shairine to the hospital for nothing more than a mild cold.
When I was eight months pregnant and suffered massive bleeding from a car accident, the doctor called him urgently, asking him to come sign the consent form for surgery.
However, his reply was as cold as ice. “Is she dead? If not, don’t call me.”
As his words echoed through the phone, I heard Shairine’s excited voice in the background. “Jason, this concert was totally worth it! They’re finally on stage!”