Lying in the hospital bed, barely clinging to life, my body wrapped in bandages, even breathing hurt, but I had only one thought in my mind: once I recover, I must spend quality time with my son and with the exhausted Liam, the three of us, and get through this together.
Six months later, my health improved slightly, and I was able to get out of bed and walk around. I personally cooked bird's nest porridge, simmering it over low heat for three hours, thinking that Liam must be exhausted from taking care of our son for days on end.
Holding the warm bowl of porridge, I tiptoed to the study door. Just as I was about to push it open, the conversation coming from inside was like a sharp, icy knife, piercing my heart and tearing it to shreds.
It was Liam's voice, and Vanessa—the woman he always said was just a work partner.
Vanessa's tone was coquettish, but the end of her voice carried an undisguised smugness, like honey laced with poison: "Liam, you're so cruel. Knowing that the child was severely allergic to cashews, you still peeled them yourself and fed them to him. I was hiding behind the curtains when I saw him turn purple and couldn't breathe, and my heart trembled."