When I Died, He Was Setting Off Fireworks for His First Love

That night, the rain poured down heavily, accompanied by thunder and lightning, while the wind rattled the windows.

As a light sleeper, I prepared to get up and pull the curtains shut.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake. The building swayed from side to side, and the chandelier flickered ominously.

An earthquake hit, and my husband, Zane, woke up.

He wrapped me tightly in his arms, soothing me with a gentle voice, "It's just an aftershock; don't be afraid. I'm here with you."

A wave of warmth washed over me.

After all these years of marriage, I knew Zane still cared for me.

Out of nowhere, Zane's phone rang, the melody sweet and inviting.

"If there is a destiny from above, I believe it must be you..."

The caller ID displayed "Elizabeth," complete with a heart emoji.

How intimate.

I didn't say anything, but I noticed Zane's expression shift for a moment when he saw who was calling.

I encouraged him, "It's okay, you can answer."

Once the aftershock passed, I leaned back on the sofa to rest.

Zane walked over to the balcony to take the call.

A minute or two later, he returned to my side, holding my hand and saying, "There was an earthquake, and Elizabeth is scared. She's not feeling well, so I need to go check on her."

I fought against my discomfort and replied, "Zane, can you please not go today? I'm scared too."

Zane stared at me in silence, as if I had done something terribly wrong.

His gaze was icy, filled with an unsettling chill.

Finally, he spoke, "Elizabeth doesn't have many friends in the country. I need to help her. Don't worry; I'll be back soon."

Not wanting to prolong the argument, I waved my hand dismissively and said, "You go ahead."

Zane hesitated for a moment but still walked out the door.

It was absurd that he would drive several kilometers to comfort another woman while neglecting his own wife during an earthquake.

The moment the door closed, I could no longer hold back and spat out a mouthful of blood.

I wiped my mouth with a tissue, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash can.

Zane didn't come back all night.

I curled up on the sofa, lost in thought about the countless memories from our years together.

How Zane and I first met?

Zane and I were high school classmates, along with Elizabeth.

Back in those days, Zane was quite the looker - tall, dark, and handsome. He also happened to be at the top of our class academically. However, he just didn't seem to click with anyone.

I think it was because Zane was so introverted and aloof. It was like Elizabeth was the only person who existed in his world.

Zane and I sat next to each other, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

I felt bad that his dad had ditched his mom for some other woman. I cringed every time I saw Zane's worn, hand-me-down clothes. And it broke my heart to know he often went hungry, having to work late nights just to make ends meet.

Elizabeth, the mistress's daughter, was the bane of Zane's existence.

She constantly bossed him around, bullied him mercilessly. There were times she even made him crawl around on all fours in front of the whole class like some kind of dog.

Zane was utterly powerless and humiliated in her presence.

I'd get so mad at Elizabeth's cruelty that I'd confront her time and again.

I fancied myself some kind of knight in shining armor, defending poor Zane's honor.

But I never understood why he put up with it all.

Why did Zane treat Elizabeth so well when she treated him like dirt?

What kind of person falls for their own tormentor?

Back then, my own loving parents were still alive. I still believed I could be Zane's savior, just like the heroines in the romance novels I read.

But I forgot - the favored girl always gets the guy. The one who pines in vain is just the villainess.

Dawn had broken, and the tremors had long since subsided.

Yet, Zane still hadn't returned home.

I knew he had been unfaithful, both emotionally and physically.

After a trip to the hospital, I came back to find Zane already waiting for me.

He had brought back some famous local delicacies from the West Side.

As soon as I walked through the door, he pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Beth, I missed you so much."

I stiffened. Was he calling me Beth or Elizabeth? Did he even know the difference himself?

Zane nuzzled into the crook of my neck. "Beth, it got so late last night with the earthquake. I ended up sleeping in the car."

I replied flatly, "It's fine, I understand."

You drove miles away to see her for a few seconds of aftershocks, yet you didn't spare a single word of concern for me.

"Beth, once things settle down, let's get out and have some fun to make up for missing our honeymoon, okay?" he said.

"I'm not going anywhere. My birthday's coming up soon. Will you watch the fireworks with me?" I asked.

Lately, I'd been feeling worse and worse. The painkillers I took were stronger than ever, but they didn't seem to help much anymore.

The doctor had also given me a grim prognosis.

"Of course, Beth. We'll watch the fireworks together," Zane agreed.

He looked up at me, concerned. "Beth, you look so worn out. Not as pretty as before. Even your skin isn't as fair."

I held his gaze, hoping his medical background would clue him in to my deteriorating condition.

But he just shook his head. "Beth, you're too skinny. I don't like it. Don't just stay cooped up at home all the time. Get out and about."

I suddenly spoke up. "Zane, did you really mean what you said before?"

Zane paused. "What do you mean?"

I took a breath. "You said you saw how pitiful your mom was, how you hated mistresses. That's why you'd never cheat."

I pressed on. "Do you still stand by that?"

Zane froze, his muscles tensing up. An unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. "Why are you asking this now?"

I smiled without answering.

"You'll always be my wife. Don't overthink things," Zane said.

He got dressed and headed out. I knew that was his answer.

I'd always be Mrs. Smith, but never the Elizabeth he loved. Maybe in his heart, I was the mistress who'd torn them apart all along.