1 On our anniversary, my wife—who never cooked—made a feast. With each bite, Lydia took notes, asking detailed questions. She left to take a call. I recognized Mark’s ringtone. Flipping through her notebook, I found: "Green beans undercooked—Mark won’t like them." "Mushrooms too salty—use less for Mark." "Lamb too gamey—try beef for Mark." Lydia returned, furious. "Daniel, you’ve got no manners!" A sudden headache hit. My vision blurred. "Lydia, the beans… I think they’re raw—" She scribbled: "Cook longer for Mark." Then she left. "You’re strong. Take medicine if sick." Collapsing, I called her. "What’s the big deal?" she snapped. "Call me when you’re dead!" I never will. With my last strength, I dialed the ambulance. It turns out, sometimes an ambulance is more reliable than she is. The doctor said I had been poisoned by both the green beans and the mushrooms. I was lucky they brought me in when they did. A few more minutes, and I wouldn’t be lying safely in this hospital bed. As I lay there, an IV drip in my arm, my phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was Lydia. “Daniel, do you think stir-fried beef is better with onions or without?” Her question caught me off guard. I managed a weak, bitter smile. “Lydia, I’m in the hospital.” Her voice was impatient. “Okay, fine. Get them to prescribe you something.” Then, she immediately returned to her original question. “Just tell me, with onions or without?” Before I could answer, I heard a man’s voice in the background. “Lydia, darling, as long as you’re the one making it, I’ll love it either way.” The line went dead. I stared at the blank screen. Two messages popped up. “A last-minute project came up at the office. I have to work late. I’ll be back tomorrow.” “Since you’re at the hospital, just get some extra medicine. If you need money, I’ll transfer you some.” The words on the screen felt like a fist clenching around my heart. A last-minute project? Just get some extra medicine? Could a person be this utterly indifferent? This time, I simply put the phone down. I didn’t reply. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The patient in the next bed was a little girl. Seeing me alone, she toddled over, propped her chin on my bed, and looked at me with wide, curious eyes. “Mister, why are you all by yourself?” “When my daddy was in the hospital, my mommy was always with him. Where’s your wife, mister?” I looked at the innocent little face. “My wife?” I said softly. “I don’t have a wife.” The little girl shot up, planting her hands on her hips, her face puffed up in indignation. “You’re lying! I saw! You have a picture of you and a pretty lady in your phone case! It’s your wedding picture!” “Grown-ups aren’t supposed to lie! Your nose will get super long!” “Mister, your wife is so pretty! Can I see the picture? Please?” Her words made me pause. In all our years together, the only photo Lydia and I had was the one tucked into my phone case. She always said she hated having her picture taken, so that single shot from our civil ceremony was all we had. 2 The little girl’s mother, sensing the awkwardness, quickly pulled her daughter back, offering me an apologetic smile. “Kids, you know how they are. Please don’t mind her.” I waved a hand, saying nothing. I picked up my phone and started scrolling aimlessly. The first thing I saw was a post from Mark, uploaded just a minute ago. It was a screenshot of Lydia’s social media feed, with the caption: “Loving you is the best choice I’ve ever made.” Seeing the post, I froze. My fingers trembling, I clicked on Lydia’s profile. As always, her posts were set to be visible for only three days. There was nothing there. An idea struck me. On a whim, I logged into my secondary, anonymous account and searched for her profile again. And there it was. I saw everything. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. Two pictures. One was a selfie of her and Mark, their faces pressed together. The other was a photo of a table laden with food. It was the exact same meal she had made for me today. The caption read: “Happy Birthday. For you, I’d do anything.” And pinned to the top of her profile was a photo of her and Mark against a plain red background—a formal portrait, like one taken for official documents. It was dated three years ago. I pulled our own wedding photo from my phone case and compared them. The contrast was stark. In her photo with Mark, Lydia was smiling, her face soft and gentle. In ours, her expression was one of sheer annoyance. We had even argued that day. My hand shook as I scrolled through her feed, post after post. She updated it almost daily, sometimes several times a day. I clicked on one photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing under a sky full of fireworks. I remembered that night. It was New Year’s Eve. I had waited for her for hours in the town square, holding a bouquet of flowers, only to get a text saying she had to work late and that I should go to bed. We were in the same square that night. On one side, me, freezing in the cold, clutching flowers. On the other, them, wrapped in a passionate embrace. I clicked on another photo. Lydia and Mark, kissing at the very top of a Ferris wheel. I remembered that day, too. I had a high fever and had called her, begging her to bring me some medicine. It took her forever to answer. In the end, she brought me a box of antacids. Now I understood. She hadn't bought them for me. She had just grabbed a box for me while buying them for Mark. My eyes blurring, I clicked on another. The two of them, taking Mark’s dog to the vet. I will never forget that day. My grandmother was on her deathbed. With her last breaths, she held my hand and said she wanted to see my wife one last time. I called Lydia again and again. When she finally answered, her voice was sharp with impatience. “I have a work emergency. I’m out of town on business. What do you want me to do? I can’t possibly make it back.” It turned out, when she took that call, she was at the pet hospital right across the street from the human one. As I scrolled through the endless feed, my heart grew colder and colder. All my trust, all my understanding, had been met with nothing but lies. A message from Mark popped up on my phone. “Hey Daniel, sorry, Lydia and I were just having dinner. Just remembered you went to the hospital. Lydia asked me to send you some money for medicine.” “She said if I didn’t, you’d probably throw a tantrum. Here, you should take this.” I stared at the ten-dollar transfer from Mark, a bitter smile twisting my lips. I hit ‘decline.’ “No thanks. You should keep it. Buy yourself a nice birthday present.” “After all, that’s about what you’re worth.” Less than a minute after I sent the message, my phone rang. It was Lydia. The second I answered, she started screaming. “Daniel, what is wrong with you?” 3 “It was Mark’s idea to send you money for medicine! If you’re not going to be grateful, fine, but what’s with the sarcastic attitude?” “I’m putting him on the phone right now, and you are going to apologize. It’s his birthday. Don’t you dare ruin it for him!” Listening to her accusations, I managed a weak laugh. “Lydia, why should I apologize?” “You think you’re in the right, Daniel?” “What has gotten into you? You know Mark grew up poor! How could you use money to mock him like that?” “Daniel, you are going to apologize to Mark. Right now!” When I remained silent, her voice grew hysterical. “Fine! You won’t apologize, is that it?” “Then you can forget about ever using a penny of my money again! You think you’re too good for the money Mark sent you?” “When you’ve decided to apologize to Mark, then I’ll consider forgiving you! You can just sit there and think about what you’ve done!” Before I could say another word, she hung up. Less than ten minutes later, I received notifications that all of my bank cards had been frozen by Lydia. I lay in the hospital bed, staring out the window, a bitter taste in my mouth. The little girl from the next bed looked at me, blinking her big eyes. “Mister, did you have a fight with the pretty lady?” she asked sympathetically. “Mister, what did you do wrong? Why is she so mean?” I smiled faintly. “Sometimes, a person can do nothing wrong, and in someone else’s eyes, they are still wrong.” The little girl looked at me, completely baffled. “I don’t get it.” “All I know is, my mommy says being happy and free is the most important thing!” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her, stunned. Yes. Being happy and free is the most important thing. I turned my head to look out the window again, my eyes filled with a profound loneliness. I must have been exhausted, because I drifted off to sleep. I was woken by a nurse telling me I needed to pay for my continued stay. I handed her my bank card, then remembered they had all been frozen. I forced a smile. “It’s alright. I’ll be checking out today.” “Hey, mister, you’re leaving already?” The little girl from the next bed bounced in, holding a small robot that looked strangely familiar. “Little one, where did you get that robot?” “This? Oh, a nice lady’s husband is in the hospital. She gave one to all of us kids so we would be quiet and not bother him.” “Do you like it, mister? If you really like it, you can have it!” “Hey, that’s weird. That nice lady looks a lot like the lady in your phone case…” With every word she spoke, my heart grew colder. When she said the last sentence, I felt my legs give way. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the bed, my face pale. I knew that robot all too well. After Lydia and I got together, we had dedicated ourselves to developing a highly sensitive, specialized medical robot. It had been our shared dream for years. The project was born out of a terrible fear: I might carry a rare, genetic disease that ran in my family. Lydia, her eyes red with tears, had told me, “I have the company, you have the technical skill. Together, we’ll build a robot that can detect genetic diseases with perfect accuracy. You’re going to live a long, long life.” For years, I had poured everything I had into it. A year ago, I finally succeeded. The thing about this highly sensitive robot was that once it was activated, it could never be reset to its initial state. I had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to test the prototypes. There were only a handful of them. And now, Lydia had given them all away. Snapping back to reality, I grabbed my phone with a shaking hand and called her. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice impatient. “What? You’ve thought it over? Are you calling to apologize?”
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