My Crippled Husband Regrets Saving His First Love

"Diana, how dare you strike your elders? Don’t you have any manners or proper upbringing?!"

I calmly pulled out my phone and brought up the video I had just recorded.

"Elders should be even more reasonable. Just because you’ve lived a few more years doesn’t mean you can act without restraint."

To his credit, my father-in-law remained composed. He snatched the phone and began watching.

The video captured everything. I was the one giving Jeremiah a warning that he couldn’t swim, urging him to think of me and our child. But he had insisted on diving in.

My in-laws exchanged a glance, awkward and visibly speechless.

"Diana, this was indeed Jeremiah’s fault. But no matter what, you’re still husband and wife. You can’t just leave him behind."

"Yes, your child is already this grown. Think about his future. Don’t act on impulse."

I knew they were just afraid of losing a free caregiver.

After waiting a while longer, the doctor finally stepped out of the operating room.

The result was exactly the same as in my previous life.

Due to prolonged oxygen deprivation, Jeremiah had suffered neurological damage. From now on, he would be confined to a wheelchair, requiring constant care.

My in-laws wailed then promptly found excuses to slip away.

They had other sons. Staying would only mean taking on more responsibility.

Jeremiah, meanwhile, behaved as if nothing had happened. He lay there, casually sending voice messages to Savannah on his phone.

"Savannah, are you okay? I’m fine, too, don’t worry about me."

"Once I’m discharged, I’ll learn how to swim. I swear this kind of thing will never happen again."

Savannah didn’t reply for a long time. Jeremiah’s face darkened with impatience before he turned to me.

"When can I be discharged?"

When Jeremiah found out he’d spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, he tore through the hospital room in a blind rage.

This time, I didn’t stop him. I simply stood in a safe corner, silently watching him destroy everything.

In the end, he had to pay the hospital a hefty compensation, nearly draining all his savings.

Back home, he trashed everything again.

My son locked himself in his room, sending messages to Savannah.

"Aunt Savannah, Dad’s really scary right now. Can you come and keep him company?"

I pretended nothing had happened and quietly served four dishes and a soup on the table.

Jeremiah slammed his hand down.

"Your man’s a cripple for life now, and you still have the nerve to sit there and eat? Did a dog eat your conscience?"

I didn’t even glance at him. I looked straight at my son. "Eat."

He threw down his utensils, more furious than Jeremiah.

"If Dad’s not eating, I’m not eating either! He’s right, you’re heartless. Aunt Savannah is way better than you."

"If she were here, she’d be comforting Dad, not just shoveling food into her mouth like you!"

I said nothing, only nodded, and calmly picked a bit of each dish for myself.

If I didn’t eat now, I might not get another chance later.

The moment he mentioned Savannah again, Jeremiah snapped.

He swept the plates and bowls off the table in one violent motion and, in the chaos, lost his balance and toppled from his wheelchair.

In my past life, I had always worried that he couldn’t take the blow, constantly giving in, only to be repaid with endless insults and abuse.

Now I understood. If I meant nothing to him, then why should I care whether he lived or died?

"Dad!"

My son rushed over, but with his small frame, he couldn’t do a thing.

"How can you still be eating?! Don’t you see Dad fell?! Why aren’t you helping?!"

I continued chewing slowly and deliberately, my full attention on the meal before me.

"Diana!"

Jeremiah roared, eyes bloodshot. "Get over here and help me up, or you’ll regret it!"

I calmly set my bowl down and pointed to the scattered food on the floor.

"This is your meal. If you don’t finish it, there won’t be a next one."