After I Became Paralyzed, My Ex-husband Became My Caregiver

Carl's job was simple.

He brought me three meals a day, made sure I took my medication.

Occasionally, he pushed me outside for some fresh air.

Once his tasks were done, he would leave without saying a word to me.

The neighbor lady said I was wasting my money. "You should have him stay with you 24 hours. Look at you—you're almost getting bedsores."

"I can hire someone else for other things."

I said, lowering my head in embarrassment.

It wasn't that I had money to burn.

I just... I just didn't want Carl to see what I had become.

Under my clothes, my muscles had atrophied, my skin had lost its elasticity.

I was incontinent, and my body reeked.

I could endure the physical pain of my illness,

But I couldn't bear the humiliation.

I wanted Carl's last memory of me to be of someone beautiful.

Having Carl with me in my final days was enough.

I didn't dare ask for more; I didn't deserve to.

That afternoon, Carl brought me braised beef for lunch, but I couldn't chew it at all.

I remembered how my mother's braised beef was the best when I was a child. My father and I would always fight for the last piece.

Suddenly, I wanted to go home. I asked Carl to take me back.

I missed my mom.

"That's not part of my job."

"If you take me home, your work for the day will be done," I said with a smile. "That way... you won't have to see me as much."

Carl hesitated for a moment but finally agreed.

I gave him the address of my new home—it wasn't the upscale neighborhood from before but an old, rundown building in a remote area.

The apartment was on the first floor, but there were still a few steps in front of the building.

Carl couldn't find a ramp for the disabled, so he bent down and lifted me in his arms.

As I lay in his embrace, for a moment, it felt like old times...

But as soon as he opened the door, Carl's face darkened.

He frowned at the man in an apron standing inside.

"Who are you?"