The love I cherished, the marriage I was so proud of, turned out to be nothing more than an elaborate deception, a colossal joke.
Through my teary eyes, I looked up and saw the familiar pair of leather shoes by the door.
The door was gently pushed open, and Liam stood there, a gentle smile on his face as always, but deep in his eyes, there was a hint of barely perceptible fear and panic. He strode over and reached out to help me, his voice trembling slightly: "Clara, just now... were you at the door of my study?"
Looking at his hypocritical face, at the fleeting calculation in his eyes, I slowly, very slowly, lifted my blood-stained foot.
The wound on my ankle was still bleeding, and the pain was so bad that I could barely stand.
But on my face, I managed a calm, almost eerie smile.
"You've had a hard time taking care of our son these past few days." My voice was soft, slightly hoarse from crying, but devoid of any emotion. "I specially made some bird's nest porridge to help you recover."