The day I received my wife’s diagnosis, she suddenly installed a camera in our bedroom. That night, I saw her swear on the phone: “I won’t let him touch me again. I’ve sent you the account and password. You can log in and check anytime.” “I’ve decided to stay chaste for love.” Watching her flushed, impassioned face, I silently put the diagnosis report into the shredder. Stay chaste for love… Well, let’s make it a lifetime then. When I saw the letters “ALS” on Arianna’s diagnosis report, I nearly lost my balance. Three months ago, Arianna was injured in a hiking accident. During her hospital stay, I had the doctors do a comprehensive checkup, hoping for peace of mind. I never expected such a result. “ALS currently has no cure. We can only use medication to slow its progression, but the final outcome is irreversible,” the doctor said, looking at me sympathetically. Arianna was the quintessential career woman. Beautiful features, but not delicate. Her every move exuded a composed and elegant feminine charm. As a renowned divorce lawyer, she was brilliant and rational despite being a woman – a steel magnolia in her colleagues’ eyes. In private life, she was disciplined and routine-oriented, enjoying fitness and hiking, extremely particular about quality of life. I couldn’t bear to imagine someone like her becoming a helpless ALS patient in the future. Sitting on a street corner, watching the endless stream of people, I slowly stood up after a long while. I had made up my mind. As husband and wife, we should face everything together. No matter what she becomes in the future, I will face it with our son by her side. It was dark when I got home. Our son Ethan was quietly playing chess in his room. At seven years old, he had reached the level of chess master and had been interviewed on TV as a “child prodigy”. “Have you eaten?” I asked him gently, adjusting my mood. “Yes, the nanny made pork rib soup today,” he replied without looking up, focused on the chessboard. “Where’s Mom?” “She went for a run.” Ethan was quiet by nature, speaking concisely and clearly. Just like us. Two hours later, as I was lying in bed debating whether to tell Arianna about her condition, she came back. Wearing a hoodie and yoga pants, her whole figure looked graceful and spirited. I became anxious, “It’s only a few degrees outside, why are you dressed so lightly?” One of the precautions the doctor had mentioned today was that ALS patients produce less heat due to muscle atrophy and shouldn’t get cold, as it would accelerate the disease progression. Arianna’s face was expressionless as she said flatly: “This is how I always dress for running.” She opened the box in her hand and took out a camera, setting it up on the dresser opposite the bed. Pointing right at the bed. I was a bit confused. “Why are you suddenly installing a camera?” “There have been some burglaries in the neighborhood. Having surveillance is safer.” “Aren’t you worried about privacy?” I asked hesitantly, knowing Arianna was extremely concerned about personal privacy. She glanced at me and scoffed: “Privacy? Who’s interested in your privacy?” Various emotions swirled in my heart, but I didn’t want to argue with her. Before bed, she lay down with her back to me, far away, clearly too exhausted to talk. I sighed inwardly. She had just finished a high-profile celebrity divorce case. Let her relax for now that the pressure was off. In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly, my mind unsettled. The bed beside me was empty. Arianna wasn’t there. I felt a surge of panic and got up to look for her. On the balcony, she was making a phone call in the night breeze, wearing only a thin nightgown. I hurried over with a coat. “I won’t let him touch me again…” Her soft voice reached me, and I paused. “I’ve sent you the password and account. You can log in and check anytime.” “I’ve decided to stay chaste for love.” Through the glass, I stared blankly at Arianna. This usually elegant and proud woman was now overflowing with intense emotion. Watching her flushed, impassioned face, I slowly processed the logic of her words. For a moment, I felt like I didn’t know her at all.
Arianna was quite uninhibited in the bedroom. Elegant and proper during the day, demanding at night. In recent years, as her stress increased dramatically, she had to be meticulous and airtight in her words and actions as a famous female divorce lawyer. As a result, she increasingly lived in a closed-off mode. Only in the intimate moments of the night, when she was panting with desire in my ear, could I find traces of that shy girl who used to blush at the sight of me. We were classmates in a graduate seminar. She pursued me. The proud and vivacious girl only had affectionate, shy glances for me. I fell for her quickly. Later, I stayed at the university as a psychology professor. She started as a salaried lawyer and worked her way up to partner, becoming a nationally renowned female divorce lawyer earning millions a year. We had many similarities in personality: Emotionally stable, rational and pragmatic, objective and calm, particular about quality of life, willing to work hard for our ideals. I had a stable and respectable job that allowed me to take care of the child and family. She was successful in her career, soaring in her professional field. Married for eight years, we respected each other and achieved together, living in a million-dollar apartment with an easy-to-raise “genius” son. You could say we were an enviable family. But half a year ago, she suddenly changed. She had a habit of night running. She used to leave at 8 pm and return at 9 pm, then shower and spend half an hour of family time. Like clockwork. But six months ago, she suddenly started leaving at 7 pm and not returning until 10 pm. When she came back, she seemed exhausted and went straight to bed after showering. Family time was naturally cancelled. I asked her why her night runs had become so long. She said flatly, “The case is at a dead end. Staying out longer helps clear my head.” Mental labor can sometimes be more tiring than physical labor. I understood. Later, she seemed to suddenly lose interest in intimacy. Not only did she no longer initiate, but she repeatedly rejected me, citing being “too tired”. I thought it was because of her stress and was very worried. That’s why after she was hospitalized for the hiking injury, I strongly urged her to take a break from work and recuperate for a while, and had the doctors do a full checkup. But now it seems the situation was not as I had imagined… I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark with wide eyes. Her words earlier made her seem like a stranger, and the expression on her face felt even more unreal. So much so that after suffering two major blows today, intense curiosity overrode what should have been feelings of heartbreak and anger. I was really curious. What kind of man was on the other end of that call, to make Arianna, who had become utterly rational in recent years, behave like that? I’ve always been direct in my actions. The next night, I slipped sleeping pills into her milk.
As she slept heavily, I used her finger to unlock her phone. I found yesterday’s late night call number and looked at it for a while until something clicked. I had seen this number before. Three months ago, after Arianna was hospitalized for her hiking injury, I asked the police for the contact information of the first person who found her and called for help, wanting to express my gratitude. This was the number the police gave me. I have an excellent memory, especially for numbers. I couldn’t be wrong. I called the number in front of the police officer, and a man answered. His voice was steady, his manner gentle. He said there was no need to meet, and thanks were unnecessary. He said this was what any normal person would do. After hanging up, the police officer smiled and told me that while others might ask for a reward, he definitely wouldn’t. I asked why. The officer said he recognized the man during questioning – he had been in the news as the “Most Devoted Husband”. “He’s had a hard life too. His wife became completely paralyzed from a sudden illness at their wedding, leaving behind a 7-year-old son from her previous marriage. He didn’t abandon her, taking care of her day and night for thirteen years, while also raising that child alone. His wife passed away last year, and he finally got through it. Now he runs a small food stall selling lamb soup at the entrance of the suburban park.” “How could someone with that kind of moral character accept your reward money!” I nodded in admiration at the time, “My wife was lucky to have met him.” Now, in the dead of night, I held the phone for a long while, then opened the photo gallery. I don’t know if Arianna was confident in herself or trusting of me, but she had hardly hidden anything. What greeted my eyes was a screen full of photos of a man. The same man. A small stall lit by warm lamps under the starry night sky. The man had handsome features and a warm smile. He was either cutting ingredients, ladling soup, or chatting with customers. Every scene exuded warmth and an air of peaceful contentment. In the hundreds of photos, the man’s clothing changed from short sleeves to thick cotton jackets. The time span was half a year. The third day, I went to the suburban park and sat down at the small stall with a sign that read “Zack’s Lamb Soup”. I watched Zack from a short distance away. He was crouched in front of a flower bed, speaking softly to a stray kitten. Two women stood in front of his stall, joking: “Zack only has eyes for these cats and dogs. He’s not even trying to make money anymore.” Zack hurriedly stood up, explaining apologetically in a gentle voice: “I’m sorry, I just felt bad for them and got too absorbed. I didn’t see you there.” One of the women waved her hand, “You’re doing a good deed. These strays treat this place like home. They know you’re soft-hearted and all come to you for food. It’s a heartwarming scene – we enjoy watching it too.” After the two women left, I walked over. “One bowl of lamb soup, please.” Zack responded with an “Ah” and smiled as he ladled the soup for me. Across the rising steam, I quietly observed him. About 35 or 36, tall and well-built, with handsome features. Dressed simply but neatly, with gentle eyes and a friendly smile. His whole being exuded the warm and steady charm of a mature man. “It’s your first time here, friend. I’ll add some extra lamb lung for you to try.” I sat at the small table, slowly savoring the flavor. My mind kept wrestling with one question. Would someone like Zack, with his background and character… Would he do something like interfere in someone else’s marriage? Would he?
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