The day before my birthday, when I saw Zachary’s message saying he had to go on a business trip tomorrow and couldn’t celebrate with me, I felt only a moment of disappointment. But I wasn’t surprised by his actions at all. Zachary and I had been together for seven years, and we didn’t spend every birthday together. In fact, he had only celebrated with me three times. Once when he first won me over, once when we were in the honeymoon phase, and the last time was after we reconciled from a fight. When our relationship settled into a routine, he rarely paid attention to these so-called rituals. Gifts for holidays never failed to arrive, but his company was always absent. Even during holidays, we would go back to our respective families. I had once suggested bringing him home to meet my parents, but he always found excuses to avoid it. He never brought up the idea of taking me to meet his family either. As time went on, I gradually got used to this lack of surprises in our daily life and stopped obsessing over how to celebrate special occasions. This year, I hadn’t expected him to be with me on my birthday either, so I had agreed to my girlfriends’ invitation. They said they would keep me company for a happy birthday celebration. But just a few days ago, Zachary told me he wanted to celebrate my birthday this year, saying he had already made reservations at a restaurant and everything. When I shared this news with my girlfriends in our group chat, I felt a bit guilty. After all, they had been preparing for my birthday for a while and had cleared their schedules for me. But they all said they understood and even got excited, speculating, “Could Zachary be planning to propose to you?” A string of enthusiastic responses followed. In their eyes, Zachary and I had a great relationship; we were just both very busy. I instinctively denied the possibility. If Zachary were to propose, he would definitely not choose my birthday for it. He once said that choosing significant dates like birthdays or anniversaries for proposals or weddings was just a way to save on gifts during commemorative occasions, purely for convenience. More importantly, Zachary and I had been giving each other the cold shoulder for some time now. Ever since his first love returned from abroad, we hadn’t had a calm conversation. Every time we started talking, it would end up in an argument. I couldn’t even remember the last time we had a sweet, romantic date. Recently, he had been spending less and less time with me. I thought a breakup was probably just around the corner. The messages on my phone kept popping up. After telling me he couldn’t celebrate my birthday with me, Zachary transferred $1000 to my account, telling me to have a good time with my girlfriends. But they had already made other plans after hearing that Zachary was supposed to celebrate with me! I consoled myself, thinking it was just another birthday alone, something that had happened many times over the years. I accepted Zachary’s transfer. It had been a long time since he had given me a gift. For holidays and his birthday, I was always the one choosing gifts, and when the time came, he would simply transfer back a similar amount of money. The next day, my birthday. I woke up early, went about my usual busy routine, and then found myself sitting idly by the window. It was supposed to be my birthday, but it felt no different from any other day. I looked at the address of the restaurant Zachary had booked and decided to treat myself to a nice dinner there tonight, maybe buy myself that cake I’d been craving lately. I got in my car and headed out, but halfway there, I got into an accident. A large truck suddenly changed lanes and crushed the passenger side of my car. My forehead hit the car frame, and my leg was injured. Blood was everywhere. When the ambulance brought me to the hospital, I was a mess – disheveled and covered in blood. I was lying on a stretcher, unable to move, as the nurse wheeled me into the emergency department. At a corner, I ran into my boyfriend who was supposed to be on a business trip yesterday. He was holding some medicine, sitting in a corner talking to someone beside him. I blinked and wiped away the blood on my face to make sure it was really my boyfriend. And the woman leaning on him, getting an IV drip, was Isabella, his first love. Perhaps because I was covered in blood, Zachary didn’t seem to recognize me at first. It wasn’t until I was pushed past them that Zachary finally recognized me, and I saw the panic on his face. He quickly stood up, about to walk towards me, but Isabella just lightly tugged at his hand, and Zachary stopped, nervously turning back to take care of her. Maybe it was because the wounds on my forehead and leg were too painful, but I felt surprisingly numb inside. As I was being wheeled into the emergency room, Zachary finally ran up to me. He looked at my blood-covered body, at a loss for words, and finally just asked, “How did you end up like this?” “Small car accident, not fatal,” I answered casually, only then realizing how hoarse my voice was. Zachary rummaged through his backpack and took out a thermos, about to pour me some water. Then he realized it was prepared for Isabella, so he awkwardly put it down and said to me: “I’ll go buy you some water.” Before he hurried away, I stopped him: “No need. Weren’t you on a business trip with Isabella? Go take care of her.” Zachary had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. As he was about to turn around, I was already being wheeled into the operating room. My injuries seemed quite serious. There was a large gash on my forehead, which the doctor stitched up with five sutures. My body was covered in black and blue bruises, and my leg had countless stitches. The doctor warned me not to walk around carelessly. When the nurse wheeled me out in a wheelchair, I found Zachary still standing at the door waiting for me. He rushed over to the nurse, asking question after question about my condition, whether I needed to be hospitalized, if there were any dietary restrictions. After learning that I didn’t need to be hospitalized but required IV drips and regular medication and dressing changes, he concernedly took the wheelchair from the nurse and pushed me towards the IV room. I didn’t say a word the entire time. As I was getting my IV, the truck driver was also brought to the hospital by the police. He apologized to me profusely and said he would cover my medical expenses. It wasn’t until Zachary spoke with the police that he realized how severe the accident scene had been. When he received photos from the insurance company showing the car that had been crushed by half, genuine anxiety finally appeared on his face. “You call this a small accident?” he exclaimed. I calmly looked at him and said, “This is a hospital. Please keep your voice down.” All around us were other patients getting IVs. The appearance of the police and the driver who caused the accident had already created quite a stir. Now with Zachary shouting, everyone’s attention was focused on us. He looked apologetically at the surrounding patients, then crouched behind me and said softly, “It’s okay now, don’t be scared. I’m here with you.” I found it somewhat amusing. I looked at him, then at Isabella who was standing across from us holding her IV bag, and nodded towards her. “Someone’s waiting for you.” Zachary was about to say something, but after Isabella called out to him, he stood up. His gaze was conflicted, constantly moving between Isabella and me. “Lily… Isabella’s IV is almost done. I’ll keep her company for a bit longer and then come back to you.” But in the end, upon seeing Isabella’s pale and weak appearance, Zachary left me behind and ran over to her. Of course, I didn’t believe he would come back to keep me company. Every time Isabella called him away, there was never any follow-up. I looked up at the medicine dripping down drop by drop, silently finishing two bottles of IV fluids on my own. Then I calmly called the nurse to remove the needle and wheeled myself through the remaining procedures. As I sat in the wheelchair waiting for my Uber, I finally had a moment to re-examine my relationship with Zachary. Seven years ago, when he confessed to me, I was overjoyed to accept, having harbored a crush on him for a long time. But he never brought up the topic of marriage. On the rare occasions when I asked about it, he would only say it was too soon, too early, too busy, not ready, or that we’d talk about it later. I understood him and was considerate, but stepping back from our relationship to think about this issue, I realized that the fundamental reason Zachary never mentioned marriage was that he had never forgotten his first love. I always thought that after being with him for seven years, I should have at least found a place in his heart. But after Isabella came back, I realized how thoroughly mistaken I had been. In the end, I didn’t wait for Zachary, nor did I wait for my Uber. The person who came to pick me up was my best friend, Olivia. Being an athlete, she effortlessly lifted me from the wheelchair into her car, then easily folded the wheelchair and put it in the trunk. She didn’t know that Zachary wasn’t actually on a business trip, so she was worried I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself alone at home and brought me to her place instead. “This must hurt so much,” she said, looking at my injuries with concern. She ordered a lot of takeout, saying she wanted to help me recover. “When you’re better, let’s go to a temple and pray. We need to get rid of this bad luck,” she said, feeling that I was incredibly unlucky to have gotten into a car accident on my birthday. I smiled and agreed, but my next words were interrupted by a sudden phone call. It was Zachary: “Lily, are you still at the hospital?” The delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen made me realize how hungry I was, so my tone carried a hint of irritation: “Is there anything else?” “I’m just worried about you. I’m your boyfriend, can’t I ask where you are?” I watched Olivia bustling about in the kitchen and coldly replied, “Oh, so you’re my boyfriend? I thought you were Isabella’s boyfriend.” Zachary seemed taken aback by my words. As Olivia was busy serving the food, he finally spoke again: “You don’t understand the situation. Isabella had a high fever, and her acute gastroenteritis flared up. She’s all alone here, with no one else to take care of her. I’ve known her for so many years, I can’t just ignore her, can I?” It was the same old excuse. I had heard it countless times over the past two years. Isabella had returned to the country two years ago, and the day after she came back, she called Zachary away using the excuse of not being accustomed to the local environment. “Two years, and she hasn’t made any friends,” I said, my tone somewhat sarcastic. “She’s not like you, she’s more introverted—” Zachary instinctively started to defend Isabella, but I didn’t want to hear him speak anymore. “Alright, then take good care of her,” I interrupted him and hung up the phone immediately after speaking. Olivia, who had brought out the food, overheard my conversation with Zachary. She asked about what happened today, and after I explained, she cursed Zachary vehemently on my behalf. “He’ll probably come looking for you later. Should I tell him you’re not here?” Olivia asked as she ladled some soup for me. I didn’t want to go home, but I knew I couldn’t burden Olivia, so I shook my head: “I should go back. You have work tomorrow.” Olivia bit her chopsticks, calculating how many days of annual leave she had left. I shook my head and smiled, refusing: “Didn’t you say you were saving your annual leave for a trip with your boyfriend? Won’t he be jealous if you use it to take care of me?” She patted her chest righteously, saying she didn’t care. But I was determined not to trouble her any further. After dinner, I packed up my things. Olivia was washing dishes in the kitchen, so I sat in the living room slowly waiting. But Zachary didn’t come to pick me up. I had a pretty good idea where he was, and sure enough, the next second my phone buzzed with a SnapChat message from Isabella. “Lily, I’m so sorry. I was feeling really awful, so I had to call Zachary to take me to the hospital.” “I heard you were in a car accident? I saw you covered in blood today and was so shocked. Are you feeling better now? Should I ask Zachary to make some soup for you?” Look at that, she’s come to show off again. Every time after calling Zachary away from me, Isabella would send me these boastful messages. Sitting in my wheelchair, holding my bag, I slowly typed with one hand: “Is he with you now?” “Yes, I have acute gastroenteritis so I can’t eat much, so Zachary is cooking for me. Do you want to come and join us?” Right after that, she sent a video of Zachary busy in the kitchen. I was used to this by now and didn’t reply. I just took a screenshot and sent it directly to Zachary. After a long while, probably after he finished cooking, Zachary replied: “Isabella has been abroad for a long time, so her way of speaking has changed. Don’t take it personally.” “I really think you two are a good match,” I responded. “What nonsense are you talking about? We’re the couple, she’s just my childhood friend now.” Then, as if to cover something up, he sent another message: “What do you want to eat tomorrow? I’ll cook for you.” I stared at my phone screen, not answering him, sitting alone in the wheelchair with tears in my eyes. In the seven years we’ve been together, Zachary had never cooked for me, not even a bowl of noodles. I’ve always loved to experiment with food, so my cooking is quite good. Since we started living together, I’ve been the one doing all the cooking at home. The excuse was that my food tasted better, so the more capable person should do more. Who knew? Apparently, Zachary was such a good cook. Olivia patted my back, pretending not to notice as she wheeled me off to wash up. Afterwards, she changed the bedding for me and told me to rest well. Lying in the soft bed, I received another call from Zachary. But I didn’t answer, I just turned off my phone. The next day, I was awakened by the aroma coming from the kitchen. Considering my current physical condition, Olivia had prepared many foods suitable for patients. I slowly sat up in the wheelchair, pushing myself out of the room. I heard Olivia in the kitchen, quietly talking on the phone with her boss. I should have left yesterday, but now she couldn’t go to work and had to take a half-day off for me. After she hung up the phone, I wheeled myself over to her and said, “You should go to work. I’ll head home soon.” Olivia looked at me disapprovingly. She looked at the bandage on my forehead with concern, then at my immobilized leg. “What if something happens when you’re alone at home?” After finishing breakfast, I insisted on leaving, not wanting to trouble her further. So I had to call Zachary and ask him to take me home. I called several times, and finally, Isabella picked up. “I’m sorry, Lily. Zachary was up all night taking care of me and just fell asleep. Did you need something from him? Should I wake him up?” The room was quite quiet, and I hadn’t put the call on speaker, but Olivia still heard what Isabella said. Her temper was like a firecracker, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Just as she was about to start cursing, I stopped her. My voice was calm: “Isabella, is this the extent of your tactics? Otherwise, why hasn’t Zachary broken up with me and gotten back together with you in these two years?” There was a pause on the other end of the line, but she still used her sweet voice, pretending not to understand: “Because we’re just childhood friends. He just sees me as family. Don’t think of our relationship that way.” I was disgusted and didn’t continue to play along with her charade. I hung up the phone directly. In the end, it was Olivia who took me back home. Back to the home I shared with Zachary. I struggled through the day alone, and it wasn’t until noon the next day that Zachary returned. At the time, I was in the middle of handing over my work responsibilities. I had taken sick leave, and some of the projects I was handling needed to be transferred to others in advance. Zachary’s face was pale, looking as if he was the one who had fallen ill. Seeing me sitting alone in the wheelchair, busy with work, he quickly ran over to me.
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