Chapter 2

But right now, I knew better than anyone that these were sugar-coated words meant to placate me for the moment.

This wasn't the first time Simon had said something like this, and it sure wasn't the first time I'd heard it either.

Before the accident, he promised he'd propose as soon as he finished that project.

After the accident, he said he'd make it up to me by giving me the wedding I always wanted once he was better.

Every single time he said those words, my heart would melt.

I'd remember when we first got together, how he waited outside my office for two hours to bring me a bowl of chicken noodle soup, all because I casually mentioned craving them.

I'd remember the first time he took me to meet his friends. He got tipsy, wrapped his arm around me, and said, "Being with Nancy is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Those memories flickered through my mind like scenes on a reel.

Back then, thinking about them would make me smile without realizing it.

But now, it felt so ironic.

I said, "Sure, I'll wait for you."

*****

Early the next morning, Simon went to the rehab center. When he came back, his face was clouded with worry.

"Nancy," he said, sitting down beside me with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"The doctor said today that my next phase of treatment will need a new plan. The cost might go up."

"How much?"

"Around 7 thousand."

I sneered to myself.

I'd paid for everything since his accident. Almost 13 thousand, all out of my own pocket.

And now he actually had the nerve to ask me for more money under this pretext.

I pretended not to catch his drift and threw up my hands helplessly. "Honestly, I don't have much left either. Maybe you could ask your mom?"

Simon's expression turned uneasy. "You know my mom's situation. She's a small-time farmer barely scraping by out in the country. There's no way she could come up with that kind of money."

"So what now?"

He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "I'll try to figure something out."

So, over the next few days, his supposedly worsening condition started to show.

Every morning, he'd sit on the edge of the bed, staring blankly, and ask who I was.

Even though I knew he was pretending, I still played along and told him my name and who I was. "I'm Nancy, your wife."

"Nancy. I don't know that name. I don't have a wife," he'd say.

Then he'd get up and wander around the living room, like someone who'd lost his way.

After about ten minutes, he suddenly turned to look at me, his eyes red. "Nancy, why are you here? I think I forgot about you again."

I watched him quietly, as if observing a circus monkey.

I gave him a fake smile. "It's fine, you'll get better."

For the next few days, Simon kept pulling the same stunt: forgetting who I was, then suddenly remembering, then forgetting all over again, and acting all sorry every single time.

If I hadn't come across that memo, I might've actually felt sorry enough to cry for him.

After a week of putting up with Simon's performance, I finally had enough and called his mom.

Simon's mom took the train over the next day. As soon as she walked in, she grabbed my hand. "Nancy, you know our situation. Simon's dad passed away early, and I raised him all by myself. We really don't have any savings."

"I understand," I replied.

"The doctor said his treatment can't stop, but we're country folks. Even if we sold everything and pawned what little we have, we still couldn't come up with that kind of money."

She wiped her face, her voice choked with emotion. "If there's really no other way, we might have to bring him home and care for him there."

Just then, the bedroom door swung open.

Simon stood in the doorway, his face ghostly pale. He rushed over and wrapped his arms around me, his voice trembling. "Nancy, please don't let me go. I don't want us to be separated."

"Don't get upset, no one's asking you to leave," I said gently.

"I don't want to go back home. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to be with you."

Tears shimmered in Simon's eyes, and his mom was crying beside him.

I sneered inwardly. Of course, they were family, acting in perfect concert.

"Nancy, why don't we sell the house?" Simon lifted his head from my arms. "Let's get through this rough patch first. When I'm back on my feet and making money again, I'll buy it back for you. I promise."

"That's the house my mom left me." I put on a troubled face, but inside, I wasn't fooled for a second.

"I know, and I'll pay you back, Nancy. Trust me. Once I'm back on my feet, I'll give you everything you want. I swear, I really mean it." Simon fixed me with that grave, swearing gaze, three fingers raised as if taking a sacred oath.