Your Regret, My Revenge

It was late at night.

The hospital was dead silent, even the hallway lights looked weak and pathetic.

I couldn't sleep.

Not because of the hatred in my heart, but because of the pain in my body.

In the late stages of acute leukemia, the bone marrow sends waves of excruciating pain.

It felt like a swarm of ants relentlessly biting at my bones, or someone drilling into my marrow.

I curled up in agony, my forehead slick with cold sweat, my pajamas soaked through.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the call button on the bedside table.

Once, twice, three times.

The red indicator light glowed steadily, yet the corridor remained perfectly silent—no footsteps could be heard.

The night nurse was probably swamped or had dozed off.

The pain was getting worse. I didn't think I could take it anymore.

I needed painkillers. I needed help.

I couldn't wait any more.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up, my body weak as hell.

The second my feet hit the floor, dizziness hit me like a truck. I braced myself against the cold wall to keep from collapsing.

I moved like a newborn learning to walk—one shaky step at a time—toward the door.

My goal was the nurse's station. As long as I got there, I would be saved.

Right now, I was nothing but a helpless patient, my mind fixated on one thing: ending this torture.

I opened the ward door and, supporting myself against the wall, moved forward bit by bit.

The nighttime hospital hallway was eerily empty, making my heart race.

My room was at the end of the hall. Next to it was a VIP private room.

I knew that room was unoccupied because I had seen a nurse disinfecting it during the day.

However, as I dragged my sick body past the door of that private care suite, I heard a sound.

At first, it was just a faint, muffled sound. I assumed it was a groan of pain coming from one of the wards and paid no attention.

But then the sound became clearer.

It was a woman's voice. It was sweetly enticing, tremulous with desire, interwoven with the husky, labored moans of a man, accompanied by the squeaking and creaking of the bed being violently rocked—a mortifyingly suggestive sound.

My steps froze instantly.

This was a hospital and a VIP hospital room. How could this be happening?

Just as I began to think it was my imagination, the woman's voice spilled out, undisguised, through the crack of the tightly shut door.

The voice that followed was draped in lazy satisfaction, yet slurred with heavy discontent.

"Vincent, when the hell are you gonna break up with that dying bitch? I can't wait another day. Look at this place! Is it fit for anyone to stay? Why won't you transfer me to a better private clinic? Why do we have to stay in this dump?"

It was Cathryn.

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

I heard Vincent's voice—rough from sex, but still dripping with affection.

"Baby, don't make a fuss. Listen to me, although the conditions here aren't great, it's still my cousin's territory. It's easier and more discreet for me to use any resources here. Whether it's arranging your checkups or handling the bone marrow matters, no one will find out."

"Convenient? Convenient for you to play the doting husband in front of your sick wife?" Cathryn's voice was dripping with jealousy and discontent.

"I tell you, Vincent, every time I think of you holding that woman's hand during the day, kissing her bald head, I feel sick! Do you still love her? Are you still hung up on her?"

I heard Vincent chuckle softly.

"Don't be ridiculous, my silly girl!" He said, "Don't you know who I love? I love only you, and our future son. As for her... " He paused, "You think I want to touch her? Every time I see her bloodless face and smell the medicine on her, I want to throw up. I'm just acting, baby. I have to make sure she stays meek, obedient, and causes us no trouble until she dies."

A brief silence, then came the more violent sound of the bed rocking, accompanied by Cathryn's triumphant, provocative giggle, dripping with victory.

"Smart move! Now kiss me again to make it up to me... Mmm... your wife isn't even dead yet, right next door... you're so bad... Aren't you afraid she'll hear?"

"Hear? She's probably writhing in pain right now, half-dead. No energy for that." Vincent's voice was thick with desire. "Baby, enough about her! You're ruining the mood. Let's continue. Let me love you properly..."

Boom!

In that very moment, the piercing, bone-deep pain within me miraculously vanished.

It disappeared without a trace, replaced by numbness that seeped into my very marrow, and a cold so profound it could freeze me solid.

My husband, in the very hospital where I lay critically ill, tormented by cancer pain worse than death itself.

In the VIP ward right next door to mine, he was with the mistress carrying his illegitimate child, entangled in their obscene, disgraceful act.

Not only did he intend to steal the bone marrow that was my lifeline, but he also abused his power to turn what should have been a sanctuary for healing into a sordid playground for his own pleasure.

This was the ultimate humiliation.

It was taking the last shreds of my dignity, my final vestige of humanity, and stamping them into the dirt, grinding them to dust.

I felt no rage. I shed no tears. My face was utterly, chillingly blank.

Like a ghost whose soul had been drained, I stood rigidly outside the door that separated two worlds, quietly listening to the sickening, rhythmic thuds and the intertwined, wanton moans of the man and woman inside.