My husband was rushed to the ER by ambulance in the middle of the night because of a penile injury. When I asked what happened, he said he was trying to imitate the lead actor from a romantic comedy on Netflix and got curious about trying some stretches. I snorted in disbelief. He never watches anything but the news; since when did he start watching rom-coms? In late August, while on a business trip, my husband, David Scott, was rushed to the ER at midnight after intense exercise—he pulled a muscle in his inner thigh. I had been at my parents’ house visiting them overnight and wasn’t home, and our baby had been sent to the Mommy & Me Clinic for a check-up and care. When I turned off “Do Not Disturb” mode in the morning, I saw over thirty missed calls from both David and Dr. Kimberly Jones. Kim, an old friend from school, happened to be on duty that night and treated him. She told me over the phone: “Lily, what’s going on with David? He’s not a young man anymore, and with his herniated disc, he was really pushing it. This situation…” I immediately understood the implication in her unfinished sentence. Furious, I called David right away, demanding to know if he was messing around with someone else. “Lily, what are you talking about? I’m in pain here, and instead of checking on me, you’re accusing me?” He sounded upset, but it wasn’t enough to dispel my suspicion. “I was trying to get in shape for you,” he insisted. “I remembered this workout scene from that rom-com you watch, and I guess I got a little carried away.” Sure, I thought. What kind of irresistible woman had crossed his path that he felt the need to show off to the point of injury? David and I weren’t high school sweethearts who fell in love and lived happily ever after. Our relationship had never been particularly thrilling, and once we got married, we slipped straight into the routine of an old married couple. I had focused all my energy on my studies back then and missed a lot of romantic opportunities. When I got older, my parents pushed me into dating, and I married David because it seemed practical. But after I had our baby, something in me shifted. Maybe it was insecurity about my post-baby body, or maybe I started caring too much about what David was up to outside the house. To maintain my figure, I didn’t breastfeed, but I didn’t want to switch to formula either, so I hired a full-time wet nurse along with a nanny to help out. “Ah, nurse, when is my wife coming?” I heard David’s pitiful groans as I pushed the door open. He was lying on the bed, pale as a sheet, his lips drained of color. The temporary hospital room didn’t have air conditioning, and sweat was beading on his forehead, making him look utterly pathetic. Still, the thought that he might’ve spent a passionate night with someone else erased any sympathy I had for him. “Babe, I didn’t bring any money. Can you go pay the hospital bill for me?” David asked pitifully. I gave him a cold glance, ignored his request, and left the room to find his doctor. When Kim saw me, she pulled me aside, whispering secretively. “The muscle strain is just a cover story. We didn’t want David to feel embarrassed, but…” I raised an eyebrow. “What’s really going on?” “It’s an acute penile injury… you know, something broke down there. If he doesn’t take it easy, it could affect your plans for a second baby,” she said, looking uncomfortable. A second baby? I laughed bitterly. “Who said I wanted another kid with him? Let him go have one with a dog.” Kim’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on her that David had been up to no good—either hiring a prostitute or cheating. Men who don’t respect themselves are like rotten vegetables. Just then, Kim clapped her hands together, startled. “Now that I think of it, the ambulance actually brought in two people last night.” She leaned in closer and whispered that there had been a woman brought in with David. She had a ruptured ovarian cyst, also caused by excessive physical activity. I clenched my fist and couldn’t help but laugh through gritted teeth—David’s got a penile injury, and she’s got a ruptured cyst. How perfect. “Where is she?” Kim motioned toward the room next door. “She’s in that room over there. Came in with him last night, and based on how she was dressed, she didn’t seem like someone with good intentions.” I approached the neighboring room slowly, my heart pounding as I pulled back the curtain, only to find the bed empty.
Just as I was wondering what was going on, my phone rang. It was the nanny, Emma Ryan, calling amidst the sound of a crying baby. “Hey, the baby’s back from the clinic, and she just spit up. What should I do?” she asked, her voice filled with panic. I was already in a bad mood, so I snapped, “Can’t you handle something this simple? Didn’t I tell you to follow the instructions I gave you? What am I paying you for?” “I’m sorry, I’ll try burping her again,” she said, sounding timid. Emma wasn’t a professional baby nurse, and honestly, with our financial situation, I could’ve hired someone better trained and certified. But when we went to the nanny agency, David saw her standing there, shyly waiting all day for a cleaning job, and felt sorry for her. He suggested we hire her. Emma wasn’t exactly skinny, and her babyish face was pretty in a soft, fresh way. With makeup, she’d be striking, but without it, she had a sweet, girl-next-door charm. She told us she was nineteen, from a small town in Kentucky, with a high school diploma and some vocational training in caregiving. “And what’s your advantage?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, not thrilled about hiring her. “Well, I’m still breastfeeding, so you’d get two jobs for the price of one. I can be both a wet nurse and a nanny, and I have a health certificate,” she said shyly, brushing back her hair from her chest. I finally noticed her slightly swollen chest, and the damp spots on her shirt. I was surprised—so young, and she’d already had a child? Emma explained quietly that she’d made a mistake, gotten pregnant while working in a factory, and that her boyfriend had run off. His family took the baby, and her own family refused to take her back, so she moved to the city to find work. I felt a twinge of sympathy. Since I didn’t want to breastfeed myself, hiring a healthy, young wet nurse and nanny for the price of one seemed like a good deal, so I nodded and gave her a small room in the house to stay in. David had to stay in the hospital for another week. When I returned home and heard I hadn’t eaten dinner, Emma was quick to offer help, making me some protein powder. “You don’t look well. Where’ve you been?” I asked, noticing her usually neat hair was a little messy. “Where could I have gone? I’ve been home all day, taking care of the baby,” she replied, looking surprised, her pale lips chapped. “Make sure you’re drinking enough water. You spend a lot of time with the baby, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too.” As she handed me the protein powder, I couldn’t help but notice the hickeys on her neck and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone. What’s that all about?” “Mosquito bites,” she stammered, quickly covering her neck. “I’ll put some baby lotion on it.” Ever since we first met, Emma had always been quiet and cautious. She never spoke out of turn, never ate the fruit we left on the table, and always ate her meals alone in her room. But now, a flash of doubt crossed my mind. Could David be cheating with her? A homewrecker under our own roof? No, that couldn’t be it. David was in a different city on a business trip when he booked the hotel. Plus, that other woman was in the hospital, in real pain from her ruptured cyst. Still, the thought gnawed at me—was Emma guilty and rushing to pick up the baby to cover up something? Since giving birth, I’d become more emotional, to the point where David would tell me I was being paranoid. After days of stewing in my suspicions, I confronted him once he was discharged. “Tell me the truth. Did you cheat on me? Who were you with that night?” David looked confused, insisting he had just been imitating the workout scene from that rom-com. “You’re always watching sports or the news,” I said, frustrated. “You’ve always made fun of me for watching rom-coms, calling them a waste of time.” David sighed and rubbed my head gently. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you the truth. I was trying to understand your interests. Ever since you finished your postpartum care, you’ve seemed distant, so I thought if I watched what you liked, we’d have more to talk about.” He even showed me his video history. “You love Lee Min-ho, right? That’s whose show I was watching.” I was stunned into silence, unsure of how to respond. It all seemed so logical. “What about the woman who was brought into the hospital with you that night?” I asked. David cut me off, “The ambulance picked her up on the way. She was sitting on the toilet too long and had stomach pains. That’s when they found out she had a ruptured ovarian cyst. I don’t know her.” I stared at him, bewildered. Later, I asked Kim about the woman, but she said they were in different departments and she didn’t have access to her records. The day David was discharged, Emma had prepared a big dinner for us. After she served the food, she quietly retreated to her room. As I was about to start eating, David stopped her and actually invited her to sit and eat with us. My mood immediately darkened, and I let my chopsticks fall onto my bowl with a loud clatter. Emma hesitated, glancing at me nervously. “It’s okay, I can eat the leftovers from lunch. There’s plenty left.” “When did I ever say you had to eat leftovers? Since David asked, sit down and eat with us,” I said coolly. I barely touched my food that night. Later, before bed, Emma brought us both glasses of warm milk. I suddenly got a strange feeling and wondered if she was treating us differently. I grabbed David’s glass and went to take a sip. That’s when I noticed an odd, fishy smell, not at all like milk. Emma looked panicked. “You’ve got OCD, right? That’s David’s glass…” “I know. We’re married. Why can’t I drink from his cup?” I replied, my voice firm. She bowed her head, too scared to say anything. I took a sip. It tasted off—not sweet, just weird. I asked if the milk had gone bad. David seemed unbothered. “You’re making a fuss. It’s fine. I’ve been drinking it like this for a while.” To my surprise, he took the glass from my hand and drank the rest in one gulp. I cautiously drank from my own glass, which tasted like normal milk. “I’m sorry, maybe that carton of milk had been open too long. Yours was from a new one,” Emma explained in a soft voice. I went back to the bedroom, where our three-month-old daughter was fast asleep in her crib. David stayed up later than me, and just as I was drifting off, half-asleep, I suddenly heard the door being pushed open heavily. Startled, I sat up and snapped, “What are you doing barging in like that? Ever heard of knocking?” Emma stood there, looking surprised, a hint of hurt crossing her face. “Lily, the baby needs to be fed,” she said softly. My daughter, frightened by my outburst, started crying in her crib. Right. Feeding time. This was the usual routine every night, and yet, my mind felt hazy as I rubbed my temples. But what caught me completely off guard was what happened next—Emma crouched down, lifted her shirt, and prepared to nurse the baby right there in front of us. David, not fazed at all, turned his back and started scrolling through his phone, not even glancing her way. “Easy there, baby. Not too rough,” Emma whispered in that soft, delicate voice of hers. Snapping out of my daze, I quickly told her, “Go to the living room if you’re going to do that. Not in the bedroom.” She nodded, but since it was difficult for her to get up while holding the baby in a nursing position, she struggled for a moment, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Years of being married had honed my instincts, and I sensed something off with David. “What’s going on with you?” I asked. He fumbled with his phone, lowering it awkwardly in front of him as he got up, coughing lightly. “I’m just going to watch the game. Messi’s about to play.”
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