Belated Honesty

The figure in the mirror bore a faint redness at the corners of their eyes. I pressed my fingertip against my eyelid, striving to quell the sharp sting of emotion. From the foyer came the sound of a key turning in the lock. As I turned, Simon Jones was propped against the wall, changing his shoes. His left prosthetic limb struck the floor with a heavy, dull thud. "You're back." I took the briefcase from his hand. A low sound emerged from his throat as his gaze swept over the dining table. "No cooking?" "A little tired," I replied. I lowered my eyes. "I ordered takeout—from your favorite place." He said no more, making his way directly to the living room. The sofa sank in one spot, accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric. Three days ago, I found a movie ticket stub in the pocket of his suit jacket. The seats were the couples' seats, and the date was last Wednesday. That day, he had said he was working late at the office. Suddenly, the cell phone screen lit up with a multimedia message from an unknown number. In the photo, Simon Jones was bending down to tie a woman's shoelace. Sunlight filtered through the cafe's glass window, casting a gentle curve upon his profile. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the cell phone. When the doorbell rang, I thought it was the food delivery. When I opened the door, the woman from the photograph stood before me. She wore a white dress and held a thermos, smiling warmly at me. "Who are you?" I leaned against the doorframe. "My name is Bella Miller." She shook the thermos gently. "Simon Jones said he wasn't feeling well, so I brought him some porridge." My gaze rested on her overly elaborate makeup. "He's inside. Please come in." As Bella stepped into the living room, Simon suddenly sprang up from the sofa; his prosthetic limb slipped against the floor, producing a sharp, grating sound. "Why have you come?" His voice bore a barely perceptible tremor of unease. Bella Miller set the thermos on the tea table, affectionately linking her arm with his. "I was afraid you might be hungry." She turned to look at me, her gaze suddenly sharp. "So this is Ms. Shaw, yes? Simon often speaks of you." I fixed my eyes on Simon Jones. "Who is she?" Simon Jones pushed Bella Miller's hand away. "Bella is... a friend's younger sister." "A friend's younger sister?" Bella Miller chuckled softly, drawing a velvet box from her bag. "Simon, these are the cufflinks you left at my place yesterday." Those platinum cufflinks were a gift I gave him last year for his birthday. Simon's face instantly darkened. Suddenly, I found it all bitterly laughable. For three years, I had stood by him through rehabilitation, rubbed his body, and cradled him through countless nights of insomnia wrought by phantom pain. All along, it had been nothing but a cruel joke. "Simon," My voice remained calm. "Let us divorce." He snatched his head up, his eyes bloodshot. "Nora, don't be ridiculous." "I am not being ridiculous." I turned toward the study to retrieve the divorce papers. They had been printed in the dead of night three days ago, when I found the movie ticket stub. Bella suddenly gave a sharp scream. I turned and saw her fall to the floor, clutching her ankle, her face pale as death. "Why did you push her?" Simon rushed forward and shoved me aside. I staggered back against the doorframe, a dull pain radiating through my back. "I did not." "If not you, then who?" Simon lifted Bella into his arms, his eyes as cold as ice. "Nora Shaw, when did you become so cruel?" Cruel? I studied him carefully, suddenly recalling that rainy night three years ago. He dragged me from the wrecked car, only to have falling steel bars strike his leg and face. At that moment, he was drenched in blood, yet he smiled at me and said, "Nora, don't be afraid; I'm here." It seemed that no matter how profound the gratitude, no matter how intense the love, neither could withstand the ravages of time and betrayal. Bella Miller wept in his embrace. "Simon, I don't blame Ms. Shaw; she only... she simply loves you too deeply." "Shut up!" Simon Jones shouted, then immediately softened his tone, "Does it hurt? I'll take you to the hospital." He carried Bella Miller toward the doorway, pausing as he passed beside me. "Nora Shaw, you will regret this." I watched them disappear beyond the door, then slowly knelt down, burying my face in my knees. The rain began to fall outside, as heavily as it had that night three years before. Amid the sound of rain, it seemed I could still hear him say, "Nora, when I'm better, I will marry you."