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

Sally had a certain objective beauty—slim waist, long legs, and a striking yet innocent appearance.

In casual clothes, she could easily pass for a college student.

Today, she was dressed casually, and as soon as she got out of the car, a group of students swarmed around her.

I followed behind them, watching as they chatted animatedly.

Somewhere along the way, trailing behind her had become my habit.

And Jason had become the one standing by her side.

Just like now, they naturally sat together, side by side.

With limited seating, I became the odd one out, standing awkwardly while everyone else found their place.

...

"Mrs. Maxwell, is this your new student? Are we getting a new junior in the group?" one of her students finally noticed and added a chair for me.

...

I sat down, finally part of the group.

"This is your professor's husband. Don't mix him up with someone else," the dean said, and his words brought the table to silence.

...

A girl whispered, "Oh, I thought Mr. Warren was… After all, the hotel only had one room left, and they stayed together."

...

In the sudden quiet, her words were clearly heard by everyone, including me.

Sally, sitting across from me, looked panic-stricken, her face full of worry.

She was probably afraid I'd make a scene right then and there.

If this had been before, I might have caused a scene.

After all, it was an obvious betrayal.

But now, I couldn't bring myself to care anymore.

I kept my head down, focusing on my food, pretending I hadn't heard anything.

Sally tried to explain, "At the time, the conference hotel had one less room booked, so I chatted with Jason for a while."

"After that, I went to stay somewhere else," she added, looking directly at me as she spoke.

...

I smiled indifferently and turned the table to continue eating, as if I wasn't talking about myself.

"I didn't know the place well, so that's why I stayed with Jason," she continued.

Those present, watching Sally continuously explaining, probably felt embarrassed for her.

"William, did you hear me?" she asked.

"I know you're angry, but…"

I cut her off before she could finish.

"I'm not angry. I get it—being in an unfamiliar place and all," I said, even offering an explanation on her behalf.

...

"Don't you want to ask me anything?" she pressed, almost as if she wouldn't be satisfied until I showed some sign of anger.

...

I shook my head.

Why is she pushing this in front of everyone? I thought.

"Let's just eat," the dean interjected, trying to ease the tension.

...

The conversation quickly shifted to topics I didn't understand, so I just sat there quietly, eating.

...

Across from me, Jason kept putting food on Sally's plate, but she didn't seem to have much of an appetite and barely touched anything.

I thought the evening would end there, but then the dean unexpectedly brought up my mother.

"William, it's such a pity about your mom. Don't think I'm out of line, but Sally should have come back, even if she was abroad at the time."

I nodded, acknowledging his words.

Since my mom passed, I'd gradually grown accustomed to the pain, burying it deep within me, layer by layer.

...

"What do you mean, Dean? What happened to my professor?"

Sally, who had been holding her fork mid-air, suddenly stopped.

Her question brought the room to a standstill once again.

"That's strange. You didn't know? Your professor had a sudden stroke and passed away," the dean replied, clearly surprised.