At a class reunion, my wife's ex-boyfriend, seemingly intoxicated, boldly approached my wife amidst the crowd, asking, "If you weren't married, would you choose to marry me or him?"

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on us.

Without missing a beat, I casually retorted, "Don't all stare at me like that. How about this, I divorce Angelina right now, give them a chance?"

The clock struck ten that night, and both Angelina Theron and I received calls.

My mother, Kate Winslet, suddenly complained of severe pain and urgently needed to be taken to the hospital.

On the other end, Angelina's ex, Troy Streep, had just gone through a divorce and was sobbing uncontrollably over the phone.

Angelina immediately rushed to comfort him.

Seeing her hurriedly changing clothes, I quickly interjected, "Angelina, my mother is in excruciating pain in her chest, and you..."

"I understand. We'll talk later. Keep in touch."

Angelina waved me off, swiftly changing and heading out to console her ex.

I wasn't sure if she caught my words.

A bitter feeling washed over me.

On one side, my mother was in distress, and on the other, a man was going through a divorce.

It was evident which one was more pressing.

At that moment, I couldn't help but feel that perhaps in her heart, I, her husband of three years, and our family were not as important as her ex-boyfriend.

My father passed away early, leaving Kate to raise me single-handedly. She was my closest, most cherished person.

At the hospital, after examinations and paperwork, Kate was taken into the operating room.

The wait was agonizing, filled with anxiety and solitude.

When I was alone, my mind used to wander, but I couldn't find anyone to offer me any solace.

I couldn't help but dwell on the fact that while Kate was in surgery, Angelina was consoling her ex.

A pang of heartache and fear of loneliness enveloped me, making it hard for me to breathe.

The tumor turned out to be benign, and the surgery was successful.

I was occupied until the early hours, watching Kate peacefully asleep, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.

Suddenly, a message came.

It was Angelina: [How's your mom? Is everything okay?]

Seeing the message, I simply turned off my phone.

At that moment, I felt like I had let go of something.

In the past, I would have immediately replied to her messages, even amidst a busy schedule.

But after the ordeal outside the operating room the night before, I no longer felt the same urgency.

Even after reading her message and powering off my phone, I wouldn't feel guilty.

Later that evening, as I went to fetch water, I encountered Angelina in the corridor.

"Mom was seriously ill last night!

"She had surgery, why didn't you tell me?"

She yelled at me, not reflecting on her actions but rather adopting an accusatory tone.

I retorted, "If I had told you, would you have cared?

"You only care about your ex!"

I slammed the water jug to the ground, unleashing my pent-up anger and engaging in a heated argument with Angelina in the hospital corridor.

Unlike before, where I would have always given in, considered her good points, and made amends after a fight, this time, I couldn't control my emotions.

Many onlookers gathered to witness the heated exchange between Angelina and me.

I wasn't afraid of being ridiculed and didn't yield to Angelina's demands.

"If you had told me about Mom needing surgery, I would have been there!"

Angelina left with tears, hurling those words at me, running off without me even attempting to stop her or chase after her.

A few days later, Kate was recovering well.

I had a pressing project at work, and my boss was pushing for progress, so I couldn't take a long leave.

Instead of asking Angelina to care for Kate, I hired a caregiver.

After a long day at work, I arrived at the hospital late in the evening.

Kate saw me and mentioned that Angelina had visited and cried.

She had a soft spot for Angelina and urged me to make amends with Angelina, suggesting that compromises were key in a relationship.

I assured Kate that I would take care of everything and not to worry.

The next day, I resumed work.

In the evenings, I would be by Kate's side, taking care of her.

For seven consecutive days, I didn't contact Angelina, didn't go home, and felt no urge to return.

In the past, even a short separation would have worried me, leading to self-reflection.

Now, those feelings had faded.

Occasionally, I would recall the kindness Angelina had shown me, but it all hinged on the absence of her ex-boyfriend.

A few days later, Kate was discharged.

I continued to stay with Kate to look after her.

As my mother expressed her concerns about the escalating conflicts between my wife and me, she urged me to prioritize our marriage.

While I was washing her feet, she emphasized, "Son, you should go back. I'm fine.

"Your relationship with your wife is what truly matters.

"You know, during the day when you're at work, it's Angelina who's been taking care of me.

"She's been on leave to look after me, but that girl has a strange temper. She asked me not to tell you."

Witnessing our strained relationship, my mother felt anxious.

This confession touched me deeply.

Reflecting on the past, I remembered how Angelina and I met in college.

Despite many admirers, she chose Troy.

But they broke up soon after, and Troy chose a girl named Julia Roberts.

I seized the opportunity to confess my feelings.

She readily accepted.

Our courtship was sweet and memorable.

Angelina would buy me breakfast every morning and have it delivered to my dorm.

We'd stroll around the campus, counting the stars together in innocence.

I even stood outside her dorm in the rain, serenading her.

When I fell ill, she disregarded social norms and tended to me in the male dorm, fetching medicine and doing my laundry.

She even saved up her living expenses to buy me my first computer.

Her kindness was etched in my memory.

However, post-marriage, we discovered she couldn't conceive. Despite this, I didn't resent her and fabricated reasons to avoid discussing children with my mother.

What I couldn't accept was Angelina's continued interactions with her ex-boyfriend after our marriage.

The night of Kate's surgery was a moment of profound despair and heartache for me.

"Son, listen to me. Go back and stay there. I can manage on my own. You're not needed here," Kate earnestly advised me.

"Alright, Mom."

I nodded, not wanting to worry her.

Late one night, Angelina messaged me, asking about Kate's health.

It was her first contact in half a month since our argument, a gesture of reconciliation.

I could tell she was trying to give me a way out.

It was the first time she had taken the initiative and also the first time she had softened after a fight.

Despite this olive branch, I remained unfazed and turned off my phone, heading straight to bed.

Early the next morning, Angelina came to visit Kate.

Following Kate's suggestion, I ended up going home with Angelina.

Once back at the house, I sat on the couch watching TV.

Seeing me like that, she sat on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Still mad at me?

"Don't be mad.

"I've reflected on this. It was indeed my fault.

"But that night, when you mentioned Mom had chest pain, I thought it was nothing serious.

"And at that time, Troy had just gone through a divorce, he was so heartbroken..."

Before she could finish, I pushed her away.

She shouldn't have mentioned Troy.

Perhaps she still didn't understand the identity of a married woman.

After being pushed away, Angelina didn't say a word. She went to her room and locked the door.

Even though we were under the same roof, a silent treatment had begun.

We wouldn't exchange a word when we crossed paths.

I knew she was waiting for an apology from me, as she always did.

But this time, it wouldn't happen.

Two days later, a post appeared on her Instagram.

It featured a photo of her and Troy sitting together on a balcony.

The caption read: [Since his divorce, he's been feeling so down. I worry he might do something drastic.]

This post was public to me only.

After seeing this post, I turned off my phone, dove into my work, and focused on completing my projects.

Not long after, I successfully closed a major deal for the company, earning a substantial profit.

This wasn't the first time I had brought in money for the company.

Impressed with my work, the boss promoted me to Vice President, making me the third in line after the two existing VPs.

Colleagues congratulated me.

In the past, I used to avoid social events whenever possible and rushed home right after work. I always thought that since Angelina worked so hard, she must have been exhausted when she got home. I believed I should cook her delicious meals and take care of her every need, creating a warm, comforting home for her.

But this time, things were different.

I threw a grand party and invited almost everyone from the company.

After the feast, I even went to a karaoke bar and sauna with some of the senior managers.

It was a wild night that lasted until 3 a.m.

Returning home in a tipsy state, I accidentally knocked over and shattered a glass object.

My hands were covered in glass shards and blood.

Angelina, awakened by the commotion, came out of the bedroom and turned on the light.

Seeing the scene before her, she didn't rush to ask about my well-being. Instead, she pushed me away in anger.

It was then that I noticed I had inadvertently killed a goldfish.

"You killed it, you killed it!" Angelina exclaimed, holding the dead fish in her hands, visibly upset.

"It's just a fish, what's the big deal?" I retorted, my hands throbbing with pain.

"It's not about the money, you have no idea what it meant to me!"

Angelina cradled the lifeless fish, her heart aching.

Unmoved by her emotions, I simply said, "I can't drive, I've been drinking. Can you take me to the hospital?"

Looking annoyed, Angelina replied, "You, a grown man, making such a fuss over a minor injury?"

Caught off guard, I got up from the floor, staggering on my own to the building's entrance.

As I waited for a taxi in the cool night breeze, I realized that a grown man like me couldn't even compare to an unknown goldfish.

At the hospital, while bored and hooked up to an IV, I mindlessly scrolled through Twitter.

A tweet caught my eye from a girl named "SemiSweetLove", featuring a picture of the deceased goldfish.

Curious, I clicked on it, only to realize it was the very fish I had unintentionally killed.

The caption read: [When he gave me the goldfish, he said, "As long as the goldfish is healthy, I'll be happy." But on the first day the goldfish arrived at my place, it died! What should I do?]

[Should I buy another similar goldfish, then lie to him, saying it's the same one?]

[Logan, you're such a piece of work!]

[You're such a sneaky little man!]

[You must have done it on purpose!]