The Accident Happened on the Ninth Wedding Anniversary

During the period when Harris used the excuse of being busy with work and indulged in the world of being promiscuous in sex relations, I was diagnosed with early-stage uterine cancer.

On the day I received the diagnosis report, feeling lost and helpless, I made countless phone calls to him.

At first, I managed to reach him a few times, but later he probably found me annoying and simply turned off his phone until the next noon when he impatiently replied with a short text message.

He informed me that he was on a business trip and we could talk when he got back home.

Not long after, someone with ill intentions sent me photos of him having fun at Disneyland with that young college girl.

Looking at the picture of him laughing heartily, I thought it was time to let go.

In the spacious living room, Harris turned his back to me, rubbing his temples with one hand and pacing in front of me.

It was a sign that he was getting angry.

Sure enough, not long after, he suddenly turned towards me, his handsome face contorted with anger, and he interrogated me.

"You didn't inform me about such a crucial matter until after the surgery, Sarah Jones, what do you take me for?"

I wanted to give him the exact same sentence back.

But I was tired.

At this point, no matter how much I said to him, it would be meaningless.

I simply told him, "Please lower your voice and don't wake momo."

"Sarah, don't change the subject. I'm asking you why you didn't notify me about the surgery."

Facing his burning gaze, I smiled lightly and said.

"Because you're not deserving."

As I watched him follow me upstairs and return to the room.

He clenched his teeth in anger.

Before long, the rumbling sound of a sports car could be heard outside the window.

Harris chose to give me another silent treatment.

Since our marriage, every silent treatment ended with me softening and begging him to come home to see the child.

Unfortunately, he didn't see the packed luggage in the bedroom every time.

This time, I was too exhausted to play the childish game of on-and-off with him.

In retrospect.

I met Harris in high school.

True to his name, he was the most difficult student to manage in the entire school.

He skipped classes and smoked, always surrounded by a group of shady friends.

I was the quiet one who focused on studying, the top student in the class with the least presence.

We spent three years in the same class without ever exchanging a single word.

Until one day, the class monitor reported him for stealing a classmate's phone.

When they looked in his bag, they found several expensive phones.

Everyone accused him, even the teachers were frustrated and ready to report him to the police.

But I stepped forward and told them that I had seen Harris repairing phones during class time, hunched over the desk.

These phones were not stolen.

Later, the police arrived.

They proved that I was right, that Harris had never stolen anything from anyone.

Despite that, the people in the class still looked at him with skeptical eyes, unwilling to believe.

Some even thought I was meddling in other people's business and marginalized me. From then on, I became a loner, just like Harris.

I can't remember how many times I was walking home alone when I got fed up and turned around.

I scolded the sloppy young man for being a creepy stalker.

I called him a pervert stalker.

And I said I detested scumbags like him the most.

"Get lost! Don't be an eyesore."

Harris stood still, and for the first time, I saw a trace of helplessness on his arrogant and handsome face.

He apologized to me.

He ran away for a short distance, but then suddenly turned around and came back, looking fierce and menacing.

I thought he was going to attack me, and I trembled in fear. But instead, he opened his palm towards me.

Inside, there was a strawberry-shaped hairpin.