Rosie got into a car accident. As she lay on the operating table, her mind flashed back to the photo she had seen on her phone just before the crash. In the picture, Ali was holding a woman as if she were a long-lost treasure, his eyes filled with tenderness and care. She had been staring at the photo in shock when the accident happened.
She was Ali's wife, but the woman in the photo was his first love, his white moonlight. They had been married for five years, yet she had never seen that kind of warmth in his eyes before. In that moment, her heart felt like it was being torn apart. His first love had returned—so where did that leave her? Did she even have a place in his heart? A thought suddenly crossed her mind: she wanted to see, once and for all, if he truly cared for her.
She opened her eyes, greeted by the sterile white ceiling above. Her gaze was blank, filled with confusion. “You're awake,” came a cold, detached voice from beside her. Rosie turned her head and saw a man with sharp, chiseled features. His face was expressionless, but his eyes—those captivating, almond-shaped eyes—were devoid of any warmth as they stared at her. Rosie blinked, feigning bewilderment.
“Who are you?” she asked, then glanced around. “
Where am I?”
Ali frowned, his piercing gaze scrutinizing her as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Rosie flinched under his stare, pretending to be frightened. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she stammered. Ali quickly averted his eyes and said flatly, “Nothing. We're just friends.”
Boom. The last shred of hope in her heart shattered. It felt like a gaping hole had been ripped open, raw and bleeding. The pain was unbearable. Five years of marriage, of trying to be the perfect wife he wanted, and all she got in return was, “We're just friends”? All those years of love and effort—wasted.
Just then, the door to the hospital room opened, and in walked a miniature version of Ali. It was her son, Darwin. He didn't even glance at her as he entered, heading straight for Ali. “Dad, we need to go. Auntie Ariel is waiting for us to watch her performance,” he said, looking up at his father. Rosie clenched the bedsheet beneath her, struggling to keep her emotions in check. This was the son she had carried for nine months, the one she had given birth to.
She had just been in a car accident, her body weak, yet he didn't even spare her a glance. Like his father, his heart was entirely devoted to Ariel. They say boys don't empathize with their mothers, and now she understood that all too well. Ali's coldness had rubbed off on Darwin, who never smiled at her at home and avoided being close to her in public. He thought she was just a woman who revolved around her husband and son, someone not worth showing off.
Rosie let out a bitter laugh in her heart. They were truly father and son. Fine, if that's how it was, she'd let them go. The five years of love and effort she had poured into this family—she'd consider it all a waste. When Rosie was discharged from the hospital, it was Ali's assistant, Marina, who handled everything.
She kept up her "amnesia" act, looking straight at the assistant and asking, "And you are?"
Marina paused for a moment before replying, "I'm Mr. Lysander's assistant. I'm here to take you home."
Rosie tilted her head slightly, feigning confusion. "Mr. Lysander? Who's that?"
Marina hesitated, then said, "...That's the man in the hospital room. He's your husband."
