Expired Love, Farewell Forever

Alan didn't bother to explain further. He didn't even try to comfort me, just grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom.

I sat on the couch, stunned, with his words "See you tonight, my love" echoing in my head.

She is his love. So what am I? Our five-year marriage was a joke.

"I've got to work late, won't be home tonight," he said after his shower, wearing cologne for the first time—a citrus-scented one.

He couldn't even wait until evening. Fresh out of the shower, he was already rushing out the door. Did he think of our home as just a hotel room?

I hurried to get up but cried out in pain, only then realizing that I hadn't tended to my injuries, and the couch was stained red with my blood.

"Alan, could you stay?"

Five years of love weren't so easy to throw away.

I held onto a tiny hope. If he cared for me, even just a little, I'd find the courage to keep going.

"Got to work." Alan impatiently signed again.

"It hurts so much. Could you stay with me? Please, don't go."

I grabbed his sleeve, like a drowning person clinging to a lifeline.

Alan scowled and yanked his arm free, his face full of disgust.

"Stop pretending. If it hurts, go to the hospital. Don't you love hospitals?"

Love hospitals?

It felt like a knife had pierced my heart. Did I want to go to the hospitals? Did I want to be deaf?

I sensed the unusual bitterness and violence in his tone, but I couldn't find the reason why.

In the past five years, I had been to countless hospitals, not just for my ears but also because I couldn't get pregnant.

"As long as you're healed, I'm willing to sacrifice everything."

"I don't care about a child. I only care about you."

I could remember every word Alan said.

Back then, his business was booming. My mother was eager for me to have a child to tie him down.

Following her advice, I visited every famous hospital in the country, enduring injections that left my arms bruised, and taking medications that made my hair fall out in clumps.

Seeing me still not pregnant, my mother grew desperate, forcing me to take dubious herbal remedies.

I drank so much I ended up in the hospital for a month, nearly losing my life.

My mother gave me a break for two weeks before she started hounding me again, insisting I take more treatments, even pushing us into an uncomfortable routine as husband and wife.

I was filled with shame and guilt, but Alan said he didn't care and gave me the respect and dignity I needed.

How did he turn into this? I bit back my sobs, but the tears kept flowing.

Frustrated, Alan pulled out his phone and typed a few lines.

I wiped my tears and finally saw the words clearly.

"Calm down. I don't like troublesome women."

With a loud "bang," Alan slammed the door shut.

I pushed him away and let out a bitter laugh, "Fine, I'll go. You're free now."

Alan's expression darkened, his eyes turning cold instantly.

"Think carefully. I never beg."

I didn't respond, just picked up my phone and walked out the door.

But I had no idea where to go, so I wandered aimlessly.

After not eating or drinking for over ten hours, my stomach started cramping painfully.

I passed a noodle shop and went inside to order a bowl of pork noodles, but as soon as it was placed in front of me, nausea hit, and I threw up, clinging to a trash can until I nearly passed out.

I went to a pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. The young clerk, startled by my condition, helped me clean my wounds and urged me to go to the hospital.

But I didn't go. I went home instead.

When I saw the two lines on the test, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

If I had known about this baby yesterday, I would have been overjoyed, eager to share the news with Alan.

I thought he should know. After all, this was the child we'd been waiting for five years.

I would tell him, then leave. That was what I told myself.

I sat in the dark until dawn. Alan finally came home with Lucy.