My Life Was Saved, but My Marriage Ended

At eighteen, Oliver was slender and not particularly tall, yet he had the bravery to drop out of school for a year to earn enough money to send me to high school in the city. He even started a business to support my education, sacrificing his own dreams for mine. On the day he graduated, we obtained our marriage certificate. That night, overwhelmed by emotion, Oliver drank too much, holding me close as he cried. He beat his chest in desperation, as if trying to convey his heart to me. “I truly believe that people who cheat are disgusting, regardless of gender. Lisa, don’t worry; I will never cheat. This is my responsibility to you, and it’s my bottom line.” For ten years, I believed those words—until Anna appeared.

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts as I bit down on the gauze, bracing myself for the final bandage. “Oliver?” In his loose hospital gown, he looked even thinner than before. He approached me, gently touching my nose, a hint of affection in his eyes. “You seem unhappy today. I want to go home and be with you.” Suddenly, confusion and hurt overwhelmed me, leaving me unable to comprehend his words.

We’ve known each other for fifteen years, yet I find it difficult to discern the truth in what he says. “Lisa, look! Hydrangeas!” I’m allergic to pollen, but I adore flowers. When he bought our house, Oliver opened up the balcony and built a glass cabinet just for them. Yet, not long ago, when I asked why there were no flowers on our wedding anniversary, he replied impatiently, “Aren’t you allergic to flowers? Why would I buy them?” I was momentarily speechless, gripping the divorce agreement in my hand. “Oliver, I need to talk to you…”

“Lisa, it’s cold outside. I’m going to take a shower to warm up,” he interrupted, his smile still curving gently, but there was a coldness in it that felt unfamiliar, making my heart race. “Okay,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You go first. I have something to tell you later,” he said, emphasizing, “Very important.”

I nodded, but Oliver seemed stunned for a moment before handing his phone to me. “If there are calls from the company, you’ll have to handle them.” “Then, Lisa, give me some time, okay?” Turning around, I entered my birthday, unlocked the phone, and opened the messaging interface.

The notes Oliver gave me were always just one word long. When we first got married, I lost my temper and asked him to change, but Oliver always pushed back, saying, “My cell phone is full of company messages, so it’s inconvenient.” He added, “Lisa is the best to me and would never make things difficult for me.” I can’t recall if I eventually grew tired of being rejected or if I simply forgot, but I never brought it up again.

Today, “Anna Morgan” is the only name in his favorites in his phone. I clicked on it, and thousands of messages flooded the screen. Sister-in-law, sister, ex-wife, mistress… My title changed as Oliver’s affection for Anna grew. She claimed that the mistress is the one who is not loved. Oliver catered to her, saying, “It’s all time’s fault. We should have met much earlier.” I suppressed my racing heart, my fingertips lingering on the messages from the day of the car accident.

At midnight, Anna urged him, “Oli, when are we going to take our wedding photos?” Oliver replied simply, “Now.” He stayed out all night, and when he didn’t answer my calls or reply to my texts, worry gnawed at me, keeping me awake.

In the early morning, Anna gushed about the clothes again. “Oli, you really have an eye for this,” she said, giggling. “Wearing a suit makes you radiate sexual tension.” She added with a smirk, “There’s something thrilling about sleeping with someone else’s husband.”

Just then, Oliver called me back, saying he was taking me for our wedding photos. He mentioned he’d finished his makeup and was already in his suit. Heart racing with excitement, I slipped into the worn wedding dress from that year and sprinted toward the car.

It was five minutes before the crash. As I rushed, Anna began scrolling through her child’s ultrasound orders. “I’m pregnant,” she announced nonchalantly. “I stuffed the pregnancy test into your clothes. Want to bet when Lisa will find out?” She turned to Oliver, her eyes glinting. “Are you happy about becoming a father?”

The lights dimmed as if orchestrated by fate, plunging everything into darkness except for the bright yellow glow of my phone screen. My heart raced, a chilling dread creeping over me. It had taken an hour for the nearest ambulance to arrive that day, and I felt as if my entire world was crumbling around me.

I knelt on the asphalt, a desperate figure bowing in supplication, pleading for them to take Oliver to the hospital. My worst fears had been realized, yet I struggled to articulate the depths of my anguish. It felt as though my throat was constricted, making it difficult to breathe. My phone buzzed again, a harsh reminder amidst the chaos.

“You have to give me something sweet, Oli.”

“I heard you and the mistress didn’t have a proper wedding.”

“Why is she so worthless?”

…

“I’m not like her. I deserve the best in the world.”

“Oli, marry me. I won’t be able to wear a wedding dress once I’m pregnant.”

The sound of running water abruptly ceased. Oliver picked up his phone and walked back into the bathroom, just as he had countless times before. He even leaned down to plant a light kiss on my forehead, his mind elsewhere. The soundproofing in our home was lacking; the mere three to five meters between us felt like a chasm. Yet, he was Oliver. How could I suspect him of infidelity? Trust is a rare gem, often more precious than love, and I clung to that trust, even as it slipped through my fingers like sand.

It had taken him a decade to earn my unwavering faith, and he knew I would always believe in him. Our eyes locked, and in that fleeting moment, his dark gaze sparkled brighter than the stars above. Time seemed to stretch, each second lingering like an eternity. “Okay,” he murmured, a soothing promise in the chaos. “I promise you. Wife.” His voice, calm and gentle, offered me solace amidst the storm.

Half an hour later, Oliver emerged, his hair still damp from the shower. He noticed my silence and asked why I seemed troubled. “Nothing,” I replied, my heart heavy. “Get a divorce.” I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain tearing at my insides, relentless and suffocating.

Oliver’s expression turned to shock. “What?” My voice trembled as tears streamed down my cheeks. “Oliver, I said… I want a divorce.” In that moment, the years we had shared hung heavy between us, allowing him to grasp the weight of my words without further explanation. His gaze flicked to the open cabinet door, landing on the suit that had shifted position. Tentatively, he reached into the pocket, and with each step he took, despair and fear deepened in his eyes, filling the space between us with unspoken sorrow.

He approached me slowly, kneeling at my feet with palpable remorse. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I’m so sorry.” His voice trembled as he continued, “I... I swear, it only happened this once. I never expected it…"

“Which time?” I asked, my tone steady.

“On our anniversary, I drank too much. I was just so happy, so incredibly happy that we’ve been together for ten years.” He lowered his head, hurriedly defending himself. “I mistook her for you. I truly regret it! I was just too scared to tell you, afraid you’d be angry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve done worse things than this,” I replied, my heart heavy with the weight of our shared history.

Oliver’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

I shook my head, forcing a sincere smile despite the ache in my chest. “I stayed home and chose to trust you.”

In that moment, the gravity of my own words struck me like a painful reminder of the loyalty I had shown him. Trust, once broken, becomes fragile, and I fought to cling to its remnants as I searched his pleading gaze for a glimmer of the man I once loved—the man I believed he could still be.