When Ethan White, Selena Quinn’s first love, came to visit her on behalf of the school, he smiled softly, “Ms. Quinn’s students are everywhere, thanks in no small part to your support, Mr. Green. But Mr. Green, you need to be more careful from now on. How did you let her catch a cold in the rain?” My gaze shifted to the woman on the bed, whose hair was streaked with gray, but her eyes were locked intensely on Ethan. I couldn’t help but offer a humorless smile, “Wasn’t it you who invited her for that walk in the rain, leading to her getting sick? Or have you conveniently forgotten? Ethan, was it romantic? This is what she traded her health for.” When Ethan arrived for the visit, a group of students trailed behind him. At my words, they stood quietly in the corner of the room, exchanging nervous glances but too scared to say a word. Selena’s expression darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Jacob Green! What kind of nonsense are you spouting!” she yelled. I had married Selena for forty years. She was an esteemed university professor, and I had been the quiet, steady force at home, tending to her needs. For forty years, I watched as Ethan, her first love, would appear with every change of season. He’d seek her out to listen to the rain, admire the first snowfall, mourn the fallen flowers, and walk with her through the lush, green parks. Every moment seemed to drip with romance as if they were characters in a story written by fate. But Selena had pollen allergies. A simple stroll in the garden left her itching and miserable. And who had always been there to care for her after these romantic escapades? Me. Always me. This time, she had gotten caught in the rain as she was recovering from a major illness. All because Ethan had insisted that walking in the rain was the epitome of romance. I had warned her. Your health comes first, I had said. But she brushed me off as she scoffed, “You have no sense of romance at all!” Off she went with Ethan, down the tree-lined avenue. Upon returning, she collapsed with a fever. My heart turned cold at that moment. Ethan was her first love, the one she was supposed to marry before they mysteriously split up. Later, she met me and married me. But then he came back, and it was as if she was pulled back into that old orbit. From that moment on, it was like a storm I couldn’t stop. Seeing the look on my face, Ethan quickly tried to smooth things over, offering an explanation. “Ms. Quinn and I were just discussing work…” he said. I intervened, “I don’t care about your work. Just keep the class schedules to yourself next time. Because I’ve never seen ‘strolling in the rain’ listed as part of any curriculum. Selena, I’ve taken care of you for forty years, and I’m tired. Find someone else to do it.” I put down the water cup, not caring if my words stung, and walked out of the room. The sound of her violent coughing echoed behind me. Ethan’s alarmed voice followed, but I didn’t look back. Outside the hospital, my phone buzzed. It was our daughter, Cecil Green. I answered. “Dad, you’re overreacting! Leaving Mom alone in the hospital like that?” she yelled. “Mr. White was just joking, and you’re taking it so personally! Stop making a fuss and go back to take care of Mom.” As her vibrant voice filtered through the phone, a sense of disconnection clouded my mind. Is this truly my daughter? I pondered. Born of Selena, Cecil lacked any empathy for me. My voice turned icy. “Cecil, you’re an intellectual, too, but I don’t think you care about your mom. Your mom’s been sick for three days, and where have you been? You can’t be bothered to sit by her bedside, yet you have the audacity to question me? Are you such heartless? If Ethan is so great, why don’t you just let him be your dad?” I ended the call, and within moments, my phone buzzed with a message from Cecil. Cecil: [Dad, you’re totally unreasonable!] I shook my head, realizing my doting had perhaps been too generous, leading them to see my dedication as their due. Selena, with her sensitive digestion and allergy-prone constitution, had driven me to master the art of soup-making, cultivating in her a taste for the exquisite. Whenever she came back from one of her romantic outings with Ethan, she would need medication and my care. I was utterly drained. This time, she had returned from a lecturing trip, leaving her grappling with stomach issues due to the unfamiliar environment. She had barely left the hospital. And yet, Ethan, with his poetic notions, called her away for another stroll in the rain. I wanted to know what was inside Selena’s head. In the wake of her romantic whims, I spent the sleepless nights tending to her needs. One sentence from Ethan could erase the tapestry of my dedication. Their romance was woven through four decades of complex ties. Upon returning home, I was greeted by the familiar sights of Selena’s presence. Flowers were her passion, transforming our balcony into a floral gallery. I, a man of simple tastes, longed to cultivate vegetables, even if in a solitary pot. But she scoffed, “Why grow vegetables? This isn’t some rural backwater; it’s just not proper!” Her disapproval was law, so I abandoned the endeavor, though my soul still craved the verdant embrace of vegetable leaves. Now, it was time to move on.
I’ve been married to Selena for forty years. She’s a university professor, earning a comfortable twelve thousand dollars a month with all her allowances, while my retirement pension brought in a mere three thousand dollars. Each month, Selena would hand me three thousand dollars for our living expenses, telling me the rest of her income was being saved away for the future. “It’s all in the bankbook,” she’d say. “It’s in the wardrobe.” But when I took that bankbook to the bank, the truth hit me like a slap in the face. There was only eight thousand dollars in the account. But several large withdrawals had been made to an unfamiliar account. That account belonged to Ethan. All these years, while I had been pinching pennies and playing the dutiful husband, she had been siphoning our joint funds to support Ethan, her so-called “spiritual pillar.” I hadn’t wanted to make a scene. God knows I had tried to keep the peace. But her sheer audacity left me with no choice but to drop the pretense. I printed out the bank statements and marched straight to a law firm. I needed a divorce agreement, and I needed it fast. When I revealed my intent to divorce in my seventies, the lawyer gaped at me in shock. But then he simply nodded. “If you’re unhappy, Sir,” he said, “it’s best to cut your losses in time. No matter the age, if her heart isn’t here, you should make a clean break.” I agreed wholeheartedly. Within hours, the papers were drafted, and I sent the divorce agreement straight to Selena’s hospital room. It didn’t take long for her to call. The moment I answered, her voice erupted. “Jacob, what is the meaning of this? Just because I got a little wet and sick, you want a divorce? Is that it? You don’t want to take care of me anymore? Let me tell you, if you don’t want to take care of me, then never come back!” I indeed wouldn’t be coming back, I said calmly, “Selena, sign the divorce agreement as soon as possible.” I inhaled deeply as I ended the call. Selena likely believed I was just stirring up trouble once more. Throughout the years, Ethan had been the spark for numerous disputes between us. Over the years, she had accused me of being petty, of lacking grace. “Ethan lives alone,” she yelled. “We’ve been friends for years. What’s wrong with looking after him? You’ve been in your ivory tower too long, so you don’t understand the hardships of life.” I had mocked her, “If you care so much, why marry me?” She had gone wild, accusing me of jealousy. I seemed to strike a nerve because, after that argument, she didn’t come home for a week. Later, I found out why. A post on Ethan’s Facebook showed them together in Rainmith, strolling through gardens and listening to the rain. Immersed in their little world of classical beauty, they were carefree and oblivious to the pain they caused. Netizens had commented enviously, saying how lucky Ethan was to have such a “supportive partner.” Some even mistook them for a couple. But Ethan didn’t deny it. When I saw that, I said nothing, but I came home and tore up all of Selena’s manuscripts in a blind rage. I had gone mad, fighting with her until my voice was hoarse. But she met me with cold indifference as if my pain meant nothing. Even our daughter, Cecil, took her side, berating me and calling me hysterical. You’re unworthy of being the husband of my mother, she had yelled. They had forced this role upon me. Who made the rule that a professor’s spouse had to be all polished and genteel? I was a person with my own spectrum of feelings and needs, yet I couldn’t juggle affections like Selena did, with one love indoors and another out. If she couldn’t move on from Ethan, why then did she decide to tie her life with mine? Selena thought I was deliberately making things difficult for her, testing her limits to see if she’d break. But she didn’t expect what came next. After that call, I never visited her in the hospital again, leaving her unattended. However, Ethan was diligent, of course. He visited Selena whenever he could. Still, there was only so much one person could do. He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Before long, Selena couldn’t hold on anymore, so she was compelled to check out of the hospital. When she got home, she found I wasn’t there. My luggage was gone. Seeing that, Selena finally realized I was serious. A week passed before Cecil called me. “Dad,” she said, “Mom’s out of the hospital.” I argued, “If she’s out, then take good care of her. No need to call me.” There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line before Cecil stammered, “Dad, Mom’s not well yet. You’re really not coming to see her? What are you really upset about?”
Cecil was practically the spitting image of Selena. “Why would I come back?” I replied coldly. “She’s been doing just fine without me these days, hasn’t she? Tell her to sign the divorce agreement quickly, so we can part ways on good terms!” Cecil yelled, “Dad, you’re at this age and still talking about divorce? It’s embarrassing! Mom is at least a university professor…” “Are you done?” I interrupted. “If so, hang up. Don’t bother me unless it’s necessary!” I ended the call before she could say another word and looked around my little piece of heaven. I had bought this small farmhouse nearby with a large yard in the back. I planted sunflowers in the front. In the back, I was preparing to grow vegetables. For the first time in years, I was doing what I loved. The sunflowers, wild and untamed, burst with vitality. Once the seeds were sown, they reached for the light, flourishing with the wild abandon of weeds. The sight of the yard teeming with life brought a spontaneous smile to my face. “Selena,” I murmured, “without you, I can live the life I want. Without you, I can indulge myself without restraint.” For three consecutive days, Cecil and Selena kept sending messages and calling, but I ignored them all. Unexpectedly, they showed up at my door. The moment their car pulled up outside, I raised my eyebrows at the sight of Selena stepping out. Her expression was as cold and displeased as I had imagined. “Jacob,” she said, her voice dripping with disapproval, “you’ve had your time to cool off outside. I was in the hospital for so long, and here you are, living comfortably!” I smirked and replied, “Thanks to you, I’m doing quite well. So, what brings you here?” I turned back to my vegetable seeds, deliberately ignoring her. Her annoyance was palpable as she shouted, “Stop this nonsense. During my hospital stay, Ethan took care of me. You ran off in anger, but you’ve had your fun. Now, come back with me! And while you’re at it, let’s invite Ethan for dinner to thank him for his care.” Anger surged within me. I grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in her direction. “Thank him? He got you sick; taking care of you was the least he could do! When have you ever thanked me for staying by your side in the hospital? For forty years, I was the one there, not him. Now, you want me to thank him? Bullshit! Selena, get out!” Her face turned pale and flushed red as she looked down at the dirt on her clothes. She screamed, “Jacob, enough! We’re family. What’s this talk of thanks?” “So, my efforts are taken for granted, but his occasional visits make you grateful?” I retorted. “Selena, you’re really something!” Selena was speechless as anger flashed in her eyes. Cecil quickly stepped in, ever the peacemaker. “Dad, stop this! Mr. White has it hard enough on his own. Besides, at your age, making a scene is laughable. How can Mr. White face his students at school? When I went there today, his students were looking at him funny!” I sneered, “Isn’t that because he feels guilty? If he didn’t do those things, would anyone look down on him? Cecil, stay out of your mom and my business.” She bristled at my words and growled, “Dad! All these years, Mom has been the breadwinner, dealing with workplace competition and you. With your bad temper, she shouldn’t have to cater to you anymore!” “Cater to me?” I echoed and sneered. “Is that how you see it, Selena? You and Ethan’s affairs are beyond my control. Either sign the agreement, or I’ll sue. A man who has affairs with a married woman has no place teaching!” Selena frowned, her expression one of annoyance. “What are you going on about? Ethan and I are completely innocent!” “You know the truth better than anyone. Ethan’s logs detail everything. Do you want me to show them to you, or should I take this up with your university’s leadership?” Selena, ever mindful of her image, certainly wouldn’t risk it. Seething with anger, Cecil intervened, “Dad, you’re being outrageous! Mom, divorce him. Let’s see how he enjoys his freedom without you propping him up!”
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