Chapter 5

Liam sat by the hospital bed, watched me for a long moment, then gently took my hand.

"I had the chef at home make some porridge. Want some?"

I managed a strange smile. "Sure."

Liam opened the thermos, scooped out a small bowl, and brought a spoonful to my lips.

Zara's exact same porridge.

Zara's exact same caring gesture.

I slapped his hand away, knocking the entire bowl to the floor.

I slowly and meticulously wiped my hand with a tissue.

"My apologies, but I hate red dates, and I hate sweet porridge."

"My chef has worked for five years and still doesn't know my taste. Your effort was wasted, fire him."

Liam called someone to clean up, his emotions steady.

"What would you like to eat? I'll have the chef make it."

I didn't want to talk.

Liam called the chef, asking about my preferences, then listed dishes one by one, watching for any reaction from me.

"Shrimp porridge. That's it." He finally said.

I said coldly, "My accident has nothing to do with your Hayes family. You can go. No need to waste your time here. We're already divorced, anyway!"

Liam didn't listen. He went to the bathroom, wet a towel, and came back to wipe my hands and face.

Before, I begged him to come, and he didn't hear.

Now, I ordered him to leave, and he still didn't hear.

I threw the water glass at him.

"Get out!"

Liam's shirt was soaked, but he didn't even look. He moved everything from the nightstand within my reach.

"Keep throwing. Once you're done, keep cleaning yourself. You're sticky with sweat, you'll be uncomfortable."

I kept throwing things at him.

When everything was thrown, Liam picked them up and motioned for me to continue.

The third time, I couldn't throw anymore, letting him wipe my body like he was caring for a paralyzed elder.

After he fed me the porridge, Liam's phone chimed with that special alert.

He stood up. "Zara is still in her post-miscarriage recovery and isn't feeling well. I'll go check on her."

He didn't return all night.

In the morning, my friend, the doctor, came to check on me, asking why I had hidden the miscarriage from Liam last night.

"When he brought you in for emergency care, his chest wound was covered in blood. Everyone advised him to get it bandaged, but he wouldn't listen. He only went after you were out of the emergency room. Aria, if you had seen how distraught he was, you'd know he absolutely cares about you."

"I know. I was slightly conscious then, I felt it."

I looked out the window, the sunlight stinging my eyes, making me squint.

"That's why I'm scared. Scared that if he knew and felt a little pity for me, I'd fall for him again. My bottom line for him is… incredibly low."

But a human life stood between them. Liam would never be able to cross that chasm and truly connect with me.

The illness took a heavy toll on me.

I stayed in the hospital for five days, then recuperated at home for a full week.

Those five days, Liam, uncharacteristically, pushed aside his work to care for me. For the following week, he was on a business trip.

But from the provocative videos and pictures Zara sent me, I knew he had taken her along.

Liam always hated mixing business with pleasure. When we first got married, I wanted to accompany him on business trips to help him with his daily life, but he refused, saying I was too much of a free spirit.

Now, I wondered how many times he had broken his own rules for Zara.

'I told him I'd never been to Shanghai, so Liam brought me along. Your husband is so thoughtful.'

'He took me to a revolving restaurant and Disneyland, promising to show me an even bigger world in the future.'

'He took all these pictures of me. I love taking photos so much; we took them for two whole hours. Your husband is so patient, and his photography skills are amazing!'

I had never enjoyed any of these, not even once.

I didn't know his heart was so soft, so accommodating; I didn't know he was such a good photographer…

How ridiculous.

I was learning about my own husband from another woman.

I typed a reply:

'Why no bed pictures? Don't you want to sleep with him?'

The other end went instantly silent.

I tossed my phone aside and called the housekeeper.

"Pack all of Liam's belongings into boxes."

This was our marital home, bought by my father. I personally decorated it when I was full of happy illusions about love.

In a week, we would be divorced. Liam was the one who should leave.

Returning from his business trip, Liam sensed a change in the house.

But I liked to rearrange the decor, so he didn't pay much attention, handing me a gift.

"My work is temporarily finished. I can spend three days with you. Where do you want to go? A change of scenery would be good for your health."

I was astonished.

All these years, he had never proactively offered to spend time with me.

Many travel itineraries I had eagerly planned were canceled, day after day, due to his "busy work schedule."

The refusal was already on my lips, but then vivid images of all the plans I had carefully made flashed in my mind.

That was the accumulated resentment of five years.

After a long pause, I said:

"Let's drive to the beach. I love the sand."

Let this terrible marriage have a somewhat dignified farewell.

I opened the gift box and took out the LV cashmere shawl.

Even though the color didn't match my taste at all, I graciously put it on.

Liam drove the sports car as I requested. Halfway there, his phone chimed with that special message alert.

'Liam, I twisted my ankle, it hurts so much.'

Liam immediately called Zara and simultaneously changed the navigation—he actually had my location on a couple's app.

I stared intently at the app. I checked online; it was indeed a couple's app.

At this point, did it even matter if they were physically intimate?