I slowly opened my heavy eyelids, and the first thing I saw was white. The doctors must’ve already operated on me, but my leg still felt like countless steel needles were stabbing into it. To make things worse, I desperately needed to use the bathroom.

I turned my head slightly toward the guy in the next bed. His wife was hovering over him with genuine worry, asking him how he felt after surgery. Their daughter was leaning against the bedside, whispering words of comfort. They looked like a happy family.

A wave of envy washed over me. I really didn’t want to disturb their peaceful moment, so I decided to hold it in until the doctor came for rounds. However, as I continued to struggle and felt my limits quickly approaching, one of my co-workers rushed into the room holding my admission papers.

His face was full of panic. “Jeremy, how’re you holding up? The doctor said you broke your right leg. You’ll need to stay in bed for two months.”

I opened my mouth, but not a word came out. I honestly couldn’t even tell what hurt more anymore—my leg or my bladder. The pain blurred everything in my head.

So, I just reached out a trembling hand and forced out two words, “Bathroom… please…”

My co-worker understood instantly and hurried out to get a wheelchair from the nurse before carefully lifting me into it.

After taking care of the most urgent problem in life, I sat in the wheelchair while my co-worker slowly pushed me back toward my room.

Right then, I saw Bailey pulling a doctor aside, her face full of panic as she asked, “Doctor, how’s my husband?”

My heart twisted. Had she finally realized that the man she caused to fall and break his leg was her own husband? Was that guilt and regret? Was she here to see me?

A faint, conflicted hope rose in my chest. However, the next exchange shattered that hope instantly.

The doctor looked at her with confusion. “Your husband? You mean the man who was just brought in, Derek Crane?”

Bailey nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s him. The wind was really strong today. He was laughing hard when he opened the window and then suddenly had an asthma attack.”

The doctor frowned at her excuse, clearly irritated. “Patients with asthma should avoid emotional triggers and anything that could cause an attack. You didn’t know that?”

Bailey lowered her head, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t have asthma myself, so I didn’t know. I’ll definitely take better care of my husband from now on.”

My mind went blank. She didn’t have asthma. She never did. Yet, ever since we got married, she’d been constantly asking me for money to buy expensive imported asthma medication. As it turned out, all my hard-earned wages were for her ex-boyfriend?

A stabbing pain ripped through my chest. It felt like my heart had been pierced straight through.

She’d never once met any of my co-workers—not even after we married—because she thought my job was embarrassing. Naturally, my co-worker assumed she was a loving wife deeply worried about her husband. He pushed me right past Derek’s room.

I tried my best to stare straight ahead, telling myself not to look, think, or feel. However, in the end, I couldn’t stop myself. I turned my head and peeked inside. That one glance made my heart sink all over again.

Bailey was gently holding a cup for Derek, helping him with some water. She looked so caring and tender, a side she had never shown me before

When he accidentally choked, she immediately patted his back with gentle strokes and whispered, “Slow down. Careful.”

Worry was genuine in her voice, but every word was like a knife slicing into my chest.

My eyes flooded with tears before I even realized it, blurring everything in front of me.

My co-worker noticed something was wrong and asked with concern, “Are you okay, Jeremy? Are you feeling sick or something?”

I forced back my tears, shook my head, and said, “I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little homesick.”

Then, I added, “Do me a favor. Go to my place and grab a few changes of clothes. And bring me the small box by the entryway.”

Due to the dirty nature of my job, I never mixed my clothes with Bailey’s. The few sets I owned were all kept in a small cabinet by the door, and that little box in the entryway contained all the medical records Bailey had shown me whenever she needed money for her asthma treatments.

I always thought that if her asthma ever acted up, I could rush those records to the hospital right away. As long as I had them, I could consult a respiratory specialist and figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

When the doctor looked over her records, he studied them for a moment before frowning.

“This looks right,” he said slowly. “But this hospital requires all medical reports to have the attending physician’s handwritten signature. And here, the signature is missing. This is clearly forged.”

Hearing that, an inexplicable bitterness rose inside me.

Bailey worked as a triage nurse in this very hospital. She knew exactly what a real medical record looked like. However, because I trusted her so much, I never once questioned why none of her records had a doctor’s signature. I never even questioned why she never brought home her full medical reports, always saying the doctor had reviewed them and nothing was wrong.

I had been blindly trusting her, thinking she just didn’t want me to worry. I never imagined it to be all a lie.

Before we got married, she had looked at me with a serious expression and said, “There are three things I hope you’ll think carefully about before accepting me. The first thing is that my family was strongly against my staying with my seriously ill ex-boyfriend. That’s why I agreed to go on a blind date with you. But after we get married, I promise to let go of my past.”

I looked at her beautiful face, filled with love, and answered without hesitation, “Bailey, I trust you. I can accept that.”

She continued, “Second, I have asthma, and I need expensive medication regularly.”

I took her hand and replied gently, “It’s okay. I’ll work hard and make sure you have the best medicine.”

It was because of that promise that I worked day and night, taking on dangerous high-altitude jobs no one else wanted.

“Third,” she said, “because I work at the hospital, I’ll often need to work overtime or switch shifts. During those times, I hope you won’t bother me.”

I had laughed foolishly and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll support my wife’s job. I won’t bother you.”

Back then, because I loved her so much, I agreed to everything without a second thought. The irony was that it was all fake.

She never let go of her ex, Derek. She married me only to secure financial support for his medical care. All those nights she said she was working overtime or switching shifts? She was with him.

Just then, my phone kept ringing, refusing to stop. When I finally picked up, the first thing she said was, “Honey, I’m feeling really unwell today. Can you wire me two thousand dollars? I need to get more asthma medication.”

Hearing her voice, a scoff surfaced in my heart. She had no idea I had uncovered her lies. She still thought I was the same gullible fool she could push around. If I sent her the money now, she would definitely use it to refill Derek’s medication.

With that thought, I replied coldly, “I’m in the hospital. I don’t have money to send you.”