The Cheating Wife

The wind that day was cold, as if it sought to seep into my very bones. The hospital corridor stretched endlessly, the glare of the incandescent lights stark and piercing. A nurse pushed a wheelchair past me; the wheels grinding against the floor sounded like a dull blade slicing through my nerves. The attending physician stood before me, his face wearing a rehearsed expression of regret. "Ms. Lynn, I am sorry. We have done everything possible, but your mother... did not survive." I stood motionless, a ringing filled my ears, and I could hear nothing clearly. Mother was gone—the woman who had protected and loved me since childhood had departed forever. Before I could even begin to recover from the sudden agony, another piece of news arrived in swift succession. "Ms. Lynn, there has been an accident involving your wife as well. She fell down the stairs, and the child... could not be saved." The child. The child Quincy and I were carrying— a tiny life little more than three months old. In that moment, it was as if the skies had fallen and the earth had shattered beneath me. I stumbled into the hospital room; Quincy lay on the bed, her face as pale as a sheet of paper. When she saw me, her eyes immediately reddened, and she struggled to raise herself. "Kevin, I'm sorry, I couldn't save our child..." Her voice was frail and laced with guilt; the sorrow in her eyes was plain to see. I stepped forward and took her cold hand in mine, my throat constricted so tightly that no words could be spoken. Grief crashed over me like a relentless tide; the loss of my mother and the miscarriage pressed down on me like two towering mountains, leaving me gasping for breath. In the days that followed, I busied myself with my mother's arrangements, feeling as though my very soul had been hollowed out. Quincy stayed steadfast at my side, bringing tea and water, comforting the relatives and friends who came to pay their respects. She was gentler and more attentive than usual, always thoughtful in her care for me. In my heart, I thought, fortunately, I still have Quincy. However, on the first night of the wake, I felt something strange. The house was filled with Mother's portraits and white flowers, the air heavy with the scent of incense and sorrow. I sat before the mourning hall, sleepless through the night. Quincy said she was unwell and had gone to her room to rest early. But when I rose at dawn to drink water, I found her room completely empty. By the entrance, a pair of shoes was missing—the beige high heels she loved most. A sudden pang struck my heart; an inexplicable unease surged within me. Where had she gone? So late, and her health still not restored—how could she have suddenly gone out? I took out my phone and called her. The phone rang for a long time before being answered; the voice on the other end was somewhat indistinct. "Kevin, what's wrong?"Quincy's voice carried a faint, barely perceptible panic. "Where are you?"I tried to keep my voice calm. "I... I'm at the hospital," she paused. "I just felt some discomfort in my abdomen, so I came here by myself, afraid of waking you." "Which hospital? I will come right away." "No, no," she quickly refused, "It's just a minor issue. The doctor said I need to rest for a while. I'll wait until dawn and then go home. You don't need to come; stay with Mom and look after her well." After saying this, she abruptly ended the call. I held the phone in my hand, standing motionless as an increasing sense of unease grew within me. Her words were fraught with contradictions. If she had truly gone to the hospital, why didn't she tell me its name? Why did panic lurk in her voice? In the days that followed, Quincy's behavior grew increasingly strange. She said she needed to rest quietly at home, yet she always found some excuse to go out. At times, she claimed she was buying medicinal herbs for her health; at others, she said she was visiting former colleagues.