Too Late for Regret Once I Stopped Loving

At my daughter's 100-day celebration, I received explicit chat records between James and his secretary. In my panic, I accidentally fell from the second floor, resulting in high-level paralysis. I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.

James Smith immediately fired his secretary and personally took care of all my daily needs.

Even when I had accidents and soiled the sheets, he cleaned them without complaint.

Relatives all urged me to be grateful, saying such a man was rare in this world.

But I was like a walking corpse, turning a blind eye to all his gestures.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, he pushed me to the beach where we had our honeymoon.

As fireworks bloomed in the sky, he knelt at my knees with tears in his eyes.

"As long as we're still together, can we just let the past go?"

I stared at the night sky, my eyes unfocused.

He suddenly stood up and kicked over the beach chair beside us.

"I've been taking care of you for three years! Have I ever complained about dealing with your shit and piss?"

"How long are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment? Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

I adjusted the blanket on my legs.

Turning to look at him, my lips barely moved.

"The wind is a bit strong. Take me back."

When James pushed me back to the hotel room, he roughly shoved the wheelchair into the entrance.

The wheelchair hit the wall with a dull thud.

"Emily Johnson, your temper is getting worse and worse."

He yanked off his tie, his voice full of impatience.

"Just now on the beach, with so many old classmates watching, were you trying to embarrass me?"

I looked down at my numb legs.

These legs once danced the most difficult Swan Lake, could complete the highest difficulty aerial spins.

Now they had withered like two dead logs hanging from the wheelchair.

"I'm tired. I want to rest."

James let out a cold laugh and grabbed a water bottle, gulping it down.

"Tired? You sit around all day, eating and sleeping. How can you be tired?"

"I'm the one who's tired! Managing the company during the day, and coming home to take care of you, this useless person, at night!"

"Three years! Even a stone should have warmed up by now, right?"

I didn't argue back, my fingers unconsciously rubbing the blanket on my knees.

For the past three years, he had indeed been a perfect husband to the outside world.

Never leaving, doing everything himself.

But only I knew the undisguised disgust in his eyes when he wiped my body.

The shameless way he flirted on the phone with others in the middle of the night, right in front of me.

"I'm going to shower."

He crushed the empty water bottle and tossed it in the trash, then turned and went into the bathroom.

The phone on the coffee table lit up.

The screensaver was a family photo of the three of us. In the picture, I sat in the wheelchair, smiling reluctantly.

A message popped up.

The contact name was "Sophia Brown."

"Mr. Smith, the fireworks tonight were beautiful. Too bad you weren't by my side."

Then came a photo.

A scantily dressed woman lying in a bathtub, the screen full of bubbles and red wine.

I calmly looked away.

Sophia was the new dance teacher at my daughter's kindergarten.

How ironic.

I was a废person who could never dance again, yet he found a young, vibrant dance teacher.

The door was pushed open.

A small figure ran in, holding a shovel.

It was my daughter, Cleo.

"Where's Daddy?"

"In the shower."

Cleo acknowledged and threw the sand-covered shovel onto my legs.

Sand scattered all over me, some getting into the blanket, rubbing painfully against my skin.

But I couldn't feel it.

"Why are you so rude?"

I frowned, reaching to brush off the sand.

Cleo stepped back, covering her nose with a disgusted look.

"Ms. Brown said this is called being authentic."

"And Mom, you always smell weird, like a moldy rag."

My hand froze in mid-air.

"Who taught you to say that?"

Cleo stood with her hands on her hips, matter-of-factly:

"Daddy said it too! He said you're just a burden now, and if it weren't for you, we would have traveled the world already!"

"Mom, why don't you just die?"

"If you died, Daddy wouldn't have to work so hard, and I could have a new mom."

Children speak without thinking, yet her words stabbed precisely at the wound in my heart.

The water in the bathroom stopped.

James came out, scooped up Cleo, and kissed her on the cheek.

Cleo giggled and pointed at me, tattling:

"Daddy, Mom yelled at me again! She's mad I got sand on her!"

James's face instantly darkened.

"Emily, why are you arguing with a child?"

"You're already disabled, do you have to spread your negativity to the kid too?"

I looked at this father and daughter.

Watched them so close, watched them united against me.

Suddenly I felt this room was so cold.

Colder than the day three years ago when I fell from the second floor.

"James."

I spoke, my voice hoarse.

"I want some water."

James clicked his tongue impatiently and put Cleo down.

"So demanding."

He poured a glass of water and set it heavily on the coffee table in front of me.

Half the water spilled out, soaking the hem of my skirt.

"Drink up and go to sleep. Stop making trouble."

After saying that, he carried Cleo toward the balcony.

"Come on, Daddy will take you to see the stars. Let's ignore her."

The balcony door closed.

Shutting out the laughter and joy outside.

I picked up the half glass of water, my hands shaking badly.

Three days.

Three more days until that date.