My Mother is Critically ill, But My Wife is Busy Meeting Her First Love

I went to my mother's house to help pack up her belongings.

There weren't many personal items, so I finished quickly.

But her entire study, filled with research materials, was a challenge.

She had fallen ill so suddenly that she hadn't had time to transfer many of her ongoing projects.

I realized I didn't have many of her students' contacts in my WhatsApp.

Sally had always been the one handling those connections.

She was my mother's star student, staying on at New York University after earning her PhD.

My mother had given her many projects and resources, which is why, despite her young age, Sally's projects outshined even those of more senior professors.

...

The academic conference Sally was attending even had my mother's name attached to it.

Given the circumstances, Sally was the best person to handle the transfer of these projects.

After much consideration, I decided to call her.

She didn't answer.

After seven or eight attempts, I gave up.

"The number you're trying to reach is currently on another call. Please try again later…"

I knew that automated voice too well.

The phone calls didn't go through, but unlike before, I wasn't angry anymore.

I was just tired.

I contacted a colleague to help sort through my mother's research materials.

It was only then that I learned from them that the project Sally had traveled abroad for was a collaboration with the neighboring technical university.

The lead on that project was none other than Jason, who had also gone abroad for the conference.

I froze for a moment, then everything made sense.

No wonder it was Jason who had answered my call.

His voice had been full of arrogance when he said, "Sally's busy, she left her phone with me. If you need anything, just tell me."

"Sally's busy," he said. "She left her phone with me. If you need anything, just tell me."

"My mom's in the ICU. Could you please pass the message to her and ask her to come back right away..."

"Got it. She's about to give a speech," he cut me off before I could finish.

...

"Anything else?"

His impatience was palpable.

"No, nothing else. Just a divorce. We'll talk when she's back."

The next time I saw Sally was a week later, at school.

I had just left the dean's office when I ran into her.

The dean had specifically called me in.

He told me that, according to university policy, I could take up a position at the school if I wanted to.

He smiled warmly, encouraging me to think it over, and then walked me to the door.

And there she was, standing at the entrance.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Dean," she said, bypassing me to greet him directly.

...

"Hi, Sally, if I remember correctly, you two are married, right? Why don't you also discuss the job offer with your husband?"

She nodded and followed the dean into his office.

I politely said goodbye to the dean and avoided her gaze.

But just as I was about to leave, she suddenly called out to me, "Wait for me. We'll go home together."

...

I was stunned.

To me, it felt like an eternity since I had last seen her, even though it had only been a week.

But she was exactly the same as before, even her tone hadn't changed.

Her words were meant to be caring, but they felt cold and distant.

"Okay."

...

Plus, I still needed to talk to her about the divorce.

I waited in the office for half an hour.

Growing weary of waiting, I finally told her I'd head home on my own.

I never expected it to start pouring outside.

As I stood at the entrance, debating whether to go back, Sally and the dean walked up to me.

"William, you're waiting for Sally to go home together, right? There's a group dinner tonight. Mind if I join you?" the dean asked.

I shook my head. Since I wasn't planning on going, I didn't mind at all.

Sally saw the dean to his car, then jogged back over to me.

"William, I'm sorry I didn't reply to your messages earlier. I was tied up. The dean will be at the dinner later. It wouldn't look good if you didn't come," she said.

...

I realized she was more concerned about how the dean might perceive her, which was why she insisted I join.

Seeing her so anxious, I didn't want to make things harder for her.

"Alright, I'll go," I agreed once more.

...

I wasn't doing it for any other reason than to end things amicably.

She cared about her job, and I didn't want to cause her any embarrassment.

When we got to the car, I was surprised to see Jason behind the wheel.

Sally turned to explain, "There's a project we're working on, and Jason has been a big help, so he's joining us today."

...

Seeing me waiting by the car, Sally clearly began to feel troubled.

"Jason, maybe William should drive instead?"

"Hey, I'm sorry about this, but I'm used to driving Sally around. How about I get out and let you take over?"

Jason offered, though he made no move to actually switch.

Before the situation could drag on, I quietly slid into the back seat.

I shook my head, gently reminding Sally that if we didn't leave soon, we'd miss the dean's car.

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

On a previous occasion, I had insisted on driving, which led to a fight.

When we got home, Sally had scolded me for making a scene over something as trivial as driving, saying it wasn't worth it.

...

Looking back, she was right—it wasn't worth it.

I sat silently in the back, watching the heavy rain outside, my thoughts drifting.

I wondered whether I should take the job at New York University.

The dean mentioned that I could choose between an administrative or teaching position, though he recommended the administrative role, noting that the teaching position had more stringent requirements.

...

I understood the dean's underlying message clearly: getting an administrative position would be easy, but a teaching role would require real talent and knowledge.

...

Asking Sally for advice about the school would have been the obvious choice, but sitting in the backseat with Jason and Sally in front, I didn't even want to open my mouth.

...

Jason, in the driver's seat, was trying hard to keep the conversation going, but for once, Sally wasn't engaging.

Instead, she kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror, trying to bring the conversation around to me.

But this time, I didn't feel like responding.