Who Knows the Heart?​

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Simon promised me a grand wedding. He said he regretted that we never had a proper ceremony when we first got married. He said I would be the most beautiful bride. Then, on the day of the wedding, he got a text message and bolted. I chased after him in my heavy, cumbersome gown. "Karen," he said, trying to soothe me, "something really important came up at the office. I have to go." His lies were so clumsy, but I no longer had the energy to call him out on them. Because I had cancer. I didn't have much time left. 1 Simon didn't know that I had received the message first. I was sitting at the vanity, the chime of a notification breaking the silence. I opened my phone and saw the words: "Karen Grant, I will never bother you again. Are you satisfied now?" My heart hammered against my ribs. Before I could even process it, I saw Simon glance down at his own phone, and then, with a look of pure panic, he rushed out of the room. He was always so calm, so composed. I had never seen him like that before. I stood up to follow him, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress. I stumbled, my knee slamming into the doorframe with a searing pain. He didn't even look at me. He just slammed the car door shut, leaving me with those words hanging in the air. For this wedding, I had chosen a strapless, mermaid-style gown, even in the cool autumn air. I had hoped, just once, for a beautiful moment in my life. Just one. And he left me there, alone, in front of all our friends and family. For a split second, I wanted to run. I was so tired. I didn't want to clean up the mess he had left for me. He was the one who had promised me a surprise. He was the one who had filled me with hope. And he was the one who abandoned me. But I looked at the expectant faces in the crowd. We weren't a young couple, going through the motions of a wedding. We were a married couple, five years in, who had carefully considered who to invite. These were our closest friends, our family—less than six tables in total. My college roommates were there, friends from work, people who had traveled from far away to be a part of my "silly, romantic dream." My body felt stiff as I turned back. I changed into something simpler and then went from table to table, playing the gracious host. Simon's best friend joked, "You two really know how to keep things interesting! A wedding after five years of marriage. Make sure you invite us to your golden and silver anniversaries too!" I smiled and said of course. But I knew in my heart, there would be no more anniversaries. Even if I lived that long, our marriage wouldn't. My best friend, Zoe, rubbed my hands. "Your hands are freezing! And where's Simon?" I forced a smile. "Oh, you know him. Workaholic. The office called him in for an emergency." She squeezed my hand tightly. We had known each other for over a decade; we could read each other's minds. I met her worried gaze and almost broke down right there. I tried to act normal, but a storm of frustration was raging inside me. Finally, after everyone was settled, I collapsed into a chair, completely drained. Then my mother called. "Do you have a heart?" she screamed into the phone. "Your cousin is dying, and you're throwing a wedding?" I didn't even have the strength to stand. I just listened to her tirade, my body numb. It took me a moment to understand. My cousin, Savannah, had a history of depression. She had tried to kill herself, slitting her wrists on the roof of her university dorm. I finally found my voice. "The groom has already gone to save her, hasn't he? What more do you want from me? Should I kill myself to appease her? Will that cure her illness?" There was one more thing I didn't say. I don't have long to live. You'll all be satisfied soon enough. But I didn't want them to know. I didn't want to see any of them in my final days. "What are you talking about? Even your husband couldn't stand by and do nothing! The cousin you grew up with is dying, and you have no reaction at all? How can you be so cold-blooded?" My mother's voice continued to grate on my ears. She didn't know that just saying those few words had made my throat burn with a raw, searing pain. I held back a cough, hung up the phone, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. When it came to Savannah, I always lost. She had a way of effortlessly taking everything that was mine. Savannah was my uncle's daughter. After my aunt and uncle died in a car crash, she came to live with us. From that day on, I heard the same thing every day: "Savannah has already been through so much! Why do you have to compete with her? Can't you just let her have it?" 2 Simon came home late that night, looking exhausted. I was tending to the gash on my knee. I hadn't wanted to bother, but it looked serious, and even the smallest infection caused me immense pain now. It would trigger a cascade of inflammation throughout my body. I treated it numbly. I've always been afraid of pain, and sleep had become a nightly struggle. Ever since college, I've suffered from severe anxiety. When it flares up, I vomit and can't sleep. I'd throw up until my mouth was filled with the bitter taste of acid. Simon glanced at me. He was heading for the shower but stopped when he saw the raw, bloody wound on my knee. "What happened? How did you manage that? Why weren't you more careful?" I didn't answer, just continued to clean the wound. I didn't have the energy to talk to him anymore. He slowly sat down beside me and reached for the gauze. I looked up, my eyes cold and hard. "Karen, I'm sorry," he pleaded, his gaze full of a practiced sincerity. "Today was an accident. Please don't be angry with me." If I hadn't known the truth, I might have fallen for that look again. "Simon, let's get a divorce. I'm so tired." I looked back down at my knee. I finished wrapping the bandage, and he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. It felt desperate, the panicked gesture of a guilty man. He held me so tightly it hurt my wound. I hissed in pain, and he finally loosened his grip, sinking to his knees in front of me. "Karen, we'll have so many more anniversaries. Please don't say that word. It's so hurtful." "Simon," I said, meeting his gaze directly. "This afternoon was the last shred of dignity I was willing to give you." He froze, his expression crumbling into one of pure panic. "Karen, it's not what you think. It was an emergency, I had to go. I didn't want to tell you the truth because I was afraid you'd misunderstand. I—" For the first time in his life, Simon stammered. "What are you afraid of, Simon?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Am I that terrifying? Or are you all just afraid I'll bully Savannah, and now you're afraid I'll bully you too?" "Karen, you're too emotional right now. I don't want to fight with you." He dodged the question and retreated into the bathroom. I didn't say another word. I went into the study and closed the door. My hands were shaking. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a luxury I could rarely afford, usually managing only three or four hours a night. I should have woken up to the truth a long time ago. Savannah was the vibrant red rose, the permanent mark on Simon's heart. When I met Simon, he and Savannah had already broken up. He never showed me a picture of his ex-girlfriend; I only knew that the relationship had left him heartbroken. I never knew his ex was Savannah. We had an unspoken agreement not to talk about our pasts. It wasn't until after we were legally married, during a New Year's visit to my parents, that Savannah was also there. That day, I saw a flicker of panic in Simon's eyes for the first time. A woman's intuition is a powerful thing. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I wanted to ask him about it, but every time I brought it up, he would shut me down, saying it was in the past and dredging it up would only make us unhappy. And then, after the holidays, Savannah went abroad to study the violin, her lifelong passion. To support her, my parents sold their house and moved back to their hometown. I couldn't describe the feeling then. It was the same as it had always been. Savannah got to take expensive music lessons while I couldn't even afford tutoring. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face when she found out Savannah was continuing her studies. She was beaming with pride, saying she never thought our family would produce a musician. Simon was with me then. He squeezed my hand and whispered, "In my eyes, my wife is the best." He was good to me. He let me look at his phone whenever I wanted, gave me his bank cards to manage. He was the perfect husband, by all online standards. My appetite was poor, so he learned to cook, coming home every night after work to make me dinner. We would go for walks in the evening, holding hands. Life was simple, pure. I thought it would always be like that. Then Savannah came back. She hadn't become a famous musician. She had developed severe depression. Her arms were covered in a latticework of scars from a brow razor. My mother held her and sobbed. She came to me, her face gaunt. "Karen, I regret it. Can you give Simon back to me?" The absurdity of it was staggering. She spoke as if Simon were a dress, a toy, a room, a snack—all the things she had taken from me in the past. She was used to getting what she wanted, simply by asking. I ignored her, treating her like a madwoman. She was the one who told me they had been together. I remember it was New Year's Eve, fireworks exploding in the sky. She was unusually friendly, insisting we go watch them together. Simon was inside, playing cards with the elders. Savannah led me on a long, winding walk. 3 We ended up at a park bench, far from the house. She sat down and started reminiscing. "Karen, it's hard to believe the little girl I knew is married now." I didn't know what to say. Then her tone shifted. "Karen, you've always hated me, haven't you?" "Say something!" I was still at a loss for words. "You hate me so much that you married Simon, just because he was my boyfriend." As she spoke, she burst into tears. The fireworks bloomed in the sky at that exact moment, illuminating the tears streaming down her face. I had never seen Savannah cry like that before. A chill ran through me. Simon was her ex-boyfriend. We had been married for less than a month. God as my witness, if I had known they were together, I would have stayed as far away as possible. But I didn't know! Simon had burst into my life, telling me how much he liked me, helping me through the toughest of times. "I didn't know you were together," I finally managed to say. She glanced at me, then turned and walked away without another word. A few days later, she left to pursue her musical dreams. Before she left, she sent me a text: "You've let me have my way so many times. This time, I'll let you have him." I showed the text to Simon, furious. What did she mean, "let me have him"? If he couldn't get over her, he should just get back together with her. I would admit I'd made a mistake. Simon threw his hands up in the air, claiming he was an innocent victim. He showed me his phone. "Karen, you can't do this to me. I don't even have her on WeChat. I didn't know about your relationship." "And if you had known?" "I would have gotten together with you sooner, and I would have run in the opposite direction every time I saw her. I would have closed my eyes and pretended she didn't exist." He squeezed his eyes shut as he said it. He made me laugh, and he immediately pulled me into a tight hug. For the next few years, Savannah really did disappear from our lives. I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Until she came back, her studies finished, her body and spirit broken. She was like a wilting rose, even more pitiful and heart-wrenching. It was winter when she returned, and she was always cold. My mother was so worried she developed gray hairs. I even gave her the numbers of a few doctors I knew. Then I saw the way Simon looked at her. I couldn't fool myself. You can't hide the look of pity in your eyes. A steel needle seemed to pierce my heart, making it hard to breathe. I confronted him. For the first time, he got angry. "Enough! Karen, she's already in this state. What more do you want?" Tears streamed down my face. He quickly tried to comfort me. "I'm sorry, Karen. I didn't mean to snap at you. We've been together for so long. Don't you trust me?" I tried to push the incident out of my mind. The years of love and companionship we had shared became a comforting dream I clung to. Later, he went on a business trip to Tibet. He came back right on New Year's Day, and we went to my parents' house with gifts. Without my knowledge, he pulled out a bag of saffron and handed it to Savannah. "The locals say this helps with the cold." Then, under her surprised and grateful gaze, he took out a protective amulet. "They also say this can keep you safe." I was silent, in a daze. It was like being a child again, watching my parents come home with piles of gifts for Savannah while I could only watch, a pathetic dog begging for scraps. On the way home, Simon tried to take my hand. I pulled away, and that's when I noticed a large gemstone ring on my ring finger. I was stunned. He pinched my cheek. "Are you a little jealous? Your mother asked me to buy the saffron. The amulet was just something I picked up. They think your cousin might be cursed." "But the ring," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "I spent a long time choosing this for you. As long as I'm with you, you'll always be safe." He was always so good with words. I stared at the pigeon-egg-sized ruby, mesmerized. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. "Karen, let's have a wedding. I've always felt bad about not giving you one." Our eyes met. In that moment, I truly believed that everything before had been a misunderstanding. He loved me. Tears welled in my eyes. He panicked, wiping them away, asking me what was wrong, looking like a guilty child. In that moment, I wanted so badly to tell him. While he was away, my insomnia had gotten worse. I was throwing up constantly. At first, I thought I might be pregnant. I went to the hospital, overjoyed. But the doctor, seeing how sick I was, recommended a full check-up. When I got the diagnosis, I couldn't believe it. How could this be happening? I was so young. I went to several other hospitals. The result was the same. I wanted to call him, to tell him, but I couldn't. I couldn't even face it myself. I didn't know who to tell, how to say it. The doctor asked me why I hadn't come in sooner. I told him I'd been like this since college, throwing up whenever I was anxious. He sighed. "Young people are under too much pressure these days." In college, my mother, who was paying for Savannah's expensive education, couldn't afford to give me much. She paid my tuition and then bombarded me with messages and calls, telling me to work hard, to remember our family's financial situation. Sometimes, at six or seven in the morning, I'd wake up to a text from her, asking if I'd found a part-time job, if I was earning any money, if I was going to get a scholarship. She said she was anxious, that the family could never save any money. What would they do when they got old? I asked her why she was still paying for Savannah's expensive music lessons. She flew into a rage. "Why are you always so petty? Why can't you just let it go? Savannah finally has a dream. Shouldn't I support her?" "What about me?" "What more do you want? I'm already putting you through college! Are you trying to kill me?" She was determined to give Savannah the life she wanted, at the expense of my own survival. But she never saw it as a problem. She would just say, "I gave birth to you, I raised you. What more do you want?" I worried constantly about living expenses, about how to earn money, how to make my resume look better, how to find a better-paying job. That's when I met Simon. He comforted me, understood me. Later, when he started his own business, I was by his side, traveling all over the country. To save money, we would buy standing-room-only tickets for twenty-hour train rides. He would buy two small stools, and we would huddle together, him shielding me from the crowds. He would whisper in my ear, "I will give you a good life." But now, I had no life left. 4 Simon didn't know that on the way home from the "wedding," we passed by a jewelry store, and the name sounded familiar. On a whim, I went inside and asked the salesperson about the ruby ring on my finger. She was a young girl, and she blushed as she told me, "Oh, this ring? Just last Sunday night, right before we closed, a gentleman who had just gotten off a plane rushed in to buy it for his wife." "He must love her very much, to be in such a hurry." "Or maybe he did something wrong?" I whispered, to no one in particular. The girl stared at me, embarrassed. I turned and left. So that's why he had suddenly bought me a ring. He had bought gifts for everyone on his trip, but had forgotten about me. To assuage his guilt, he had bought me an expensive ring. My gratitude now seemed so ridiculous. All those nights, I had been so scared, wanting to tell him about my illness, wanting to grasp at some non-existent warmth. It was all just my own wishful thinking. I lay in bed, numbly crying. The door suddenly opened. Simon pinned me down, kissing away my tears. "Karen, what do I have to do to make you stop overthinking things?" A wave of nausea rose in my throat. With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I pushed him off me and ran to the bathroom, retching violently. He looked humiliated. "Karen Grant! What are you doing? I can't even touch you anymore? How could you do this to me?" I ignored him, slumping to the floor. When I finally found the strength to stand, I splashed cold water on my face. "Let's get a divorce. I'm serious." He threw a towel at me and turned away. "In your dreams!" I watched his retreating back. You will, I thought. 5 I went to the hospital for a painkiller shot. I couldn't even swallow pills anymore. Then I went directly to Savannah's hospital room. I just sat there. She became incredibly agitated, yanking the IV needle from her arm. Blood spurted everywhere. "Karen Grant, what do you want? Can't you just leave me alone?" I didn't say anything, just quietly peeled an orange. When I was done, I realized I couldn't eat it. I was on a liquid diet now. There were so many things I wanted to taste, but I couldn't even do that. I held out the orange to her. "Want an orange? It should be sweet." I wanted so badly to taste it, even if it was sour. But Savannah only became more agitated. She slapped the orange out of my hand and burst into tears. My mother rushed in, carrying a container of food for Savannah. The dishes looked familiar, but I didn't have time to think about it. She slapped me across the face. "What did Savannah ever do to you? Why can't you just leave her alone?" The slap made my nose bleed. I stared at the blood on the floor, then turned and left the room. My mother followed me out, wanting to say something. Finally, she grabbed my arm. "Karen, what's wrong with you? Do you have a fever? You've lost so much weight recently." "What's it to you?" "I'm your mother!" she shrieked. "Really? I don't believe you." I smiled at her, and then the tears came. She cried even louder than I did. "I'm your mother! What do you want me to do? Can't you try to understand me?" "I named you Karen, which means understanding. You were such a considerate child. How did you become like this?" I couldn't listen anymore. Maybe it was because I hadn't eaten, but my head was spinning. I ran away. But as long as Simon refused to sign the divorce papers, I would keep coming back. We would all suffer together. 6 Simon rushed home. I was staring at a bowl of mushy porridge, trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, but I threw it all up. I managed to choke down some sugar water. "Karen, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and tight, trying to control his anger. "Can you make me a bowl of noodles?" Simon was an excellent cook, and his noodles were especially delicious. But he hadn't cooked in a long time. I couldn't remember if it was because of work or something else. I had been on a liquid diet for so long, sucking my meals through a straw. I suddenly craved noodles, the kind Simon made. I had been to so many restaurants, but I could never find anything like them. I knew I couldn't swallow them, but just smelling them would be enough. "She's already in such a bad state. Please, just leave her alone," he begged. His words were like a knife, twisting in my heart. I remembered a time when we were madly in love, and I had told him he was the person I was closest to in the world. I had meant it then. But the intimacy had been so fleeting. "Then divorce me. If you divorce me, I'll leave her alone," I said stubbornly. "You're being irrational!" He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Simon had once promised that he would never make me regret marrying him. But I did. I didn't understand why I wanted a divorce so badly. I only had a few days left. But when I thought about those days, the pain was unbearable. Do people change? How could it happen so suddenly? How could he do this to me? Why did I offer up my heart to be trampled on? They all liked to trample on me. All I wanted now was to get away, but even that wasn't allowed. I went to see Savannah every day. Anyone who didn't know would have thought we were the closest of sisters. And then I finally understood who had been cooking her meals. Savannah saw me looking at her food and said, mockingly, "Want some? Simon made it. It's the only thing I can eat right now." For the first time, I almost broke down in front of her. I hadn't even left the hospital when Simon called, his voice full of frustration. "Karen, can you just stop? Savannah is sick." "Then divorce me! If you divorce me, I'll stop," I repeated. I stood at a crosswalk, wanting to step out into traffic. But then I thought, it wouldn't be fair to the driver. Everyone has their own struggles. I couldn't add to someone else's by dying. I stepped back, watching the endless stream of people and cars. All I could think about was Simon, cooking for Savannah. The irony was suffocating. He always looked so tired, and I, trying to be considerate, had been learning to cook his favorite dishes, waiting for him to come home, even though I couldn't eat a thing myself. I was trying to be considerate of his hard work, but he was spending his energy cooking nutritious meals for Savannah. Simon, how could you? If I had the time, I would have taken him to court, fought him, torn him apart. But I only had a few days left. Maybe God heard my prayers, or maybe Savannah just couldn't take it anymore. That day, I went to see her as usual. We were arguing on the stairs. I envied her, that she could yell and still have enough breath and energy. My mother had called Simon. Savannah was crying, her face streaked with tears. "I don't want to see you! Just die!" I was silent. She grabbed my arm, shaking me violently. "What do you want?" I looked at Simon. The message was clear. Savannah was hysterical. She was pulling at me, lost her footing, and almost fell. And then I saw Simon rush over, grabbing her to steady her. I tumbled down the stairs. There were some glass panels at the landing. I put my arms up to protect myself. CRASH! The glass shattered. My arm, in its white sweater, was embedded with shards of glass. My face was cut too. I must have looked a mess, so ugly. It had been so long since I had looked beautiful. I couldn't even stand to look in the mirror anymore. I was so ugly. Simon rushed down, his voice panicked. "What happened? How did it get this bad?" Blood stained my sweater red. He tried to pick me up, but I pushed against his chest, fighting back tears. "Divorce me. Please? If you divorce me, I won't come back." "I promise I won't bother you." "Please, just divorce me."

? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394434", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel