The thought of him messing around with some other girl and then trying to be sweet with me made my stomach flip—I started gagging.

Matthew rushed over, his face etched with concern.

The closer he got, the stronger the other woman's perfume that had clung to him permeated the air.

I shoved him back and raced my wheelchair to the bathroom.

Hunched over the toilet, I could not stop heaving. When the waves of nausea eased a bit, I caught sight of a pregnancy test gleaming on the shelf by the sink.

My hands shook as I stood and grabbed it.

Two red lines stared back at me.

I looked at it for what felt like forever; my heart twisted in pain and confusion.

Since my legs stopped working, Matthew and I had not been close for months.

Then, he had not only cheated with his assistant but knocked her up, too.

Matthew came after me, his voice laced with panic. "Wendy, what's wrong? Do you feel sick?"

He clung to me tightly, his face all worried, treating me like I was something precious.

However, his concern seemed like a cruel joke after what he had just done with someone else.

Matthew was such a phony.

I pushed him off and put some space between us.

"Maybe I'm just not feeling great. I've been a bit queasy for days, but it's no big deal," I said, lying.

I did not want to deal with him more than I had to. I tucked the pregnancy test away and spun my wheelchair, ready to bolt, but Matthew looked frantic.

He was such a clean freak.

However, he did not care about the mess from my puking, and he grabbed me in a tight hold once more.

"Sorry, I've been swamped with work lately and haven't had the time to look after you. It's my bad for not being there, especially when getting around is tough for you," he said, gripping my hand with a look of genuine concern.

He guided me back to my room and offered to help me change into fresh clothes. I turned him down, managing to dress myself while seated in my wheelchair. It was a small victory—the first time since we got married—that I did not need his assistance.

Matthew's hand, which had been casually resting by his side, tensed.

I ignored the shift in his mood and settled back into bed as if nothing had happened.

Matthew pulled the covers up to my chin with a gentleness that seemed out of place.

"Wendy, I know I've messed up, not being there for you. Don't be mad, okay? Tomorrow's our anniversary. Why don't I clear my schedule so we can spend the day together?"

Matthew was a force to be reckoned with at work—a man of action. However, around me, he turned into someone else—cautious and considerate. It left a sour taste in my mouth.

'Matthew, do you really love me, or is this just another one of your performances?' I wondered.

Sleep was tugging at my eyelids, and Matthew stayed close by my side as I was about to give in. However, his phone broke the silence with a single ping.

He silenced it quickly, but not before I heard it.

In the dim light, I could feel his eyes on me. I did not give any sign that I had noticed, and after a moment, he picked up the call.

"Matt, you went too far tonight. I'm aching all over. Get me some ointment, will you?"

"I'll be right there," he whispered.

He glanced at me one more time, and seeing no reaction, he stood up and left the room.

I gripped the sheets, fighting back tears. So the assistant was still around? He had kept her upstairs?

Were they so reckless because I could not climb the stairs?

I told myself to hang in there; I would be out of his life for good in just seven days.

The next morning, I woke up to find Matthew already bustling about in the kitchen, fixing my all-time favorite breakfast.

"Wendy, watch out, it's hot. Let me cool it for you," he said, sounding caring and concerned.

However, I could feel the female assistant upstairs seething with jealousy.

Her burning glare was almost tangible, even from upstairs.

As expected, Matthew's phone buzzed. He thought I was clueless, but I saw it clear as day—the text he sent to his assistant.

[Be patient, I'm with Wendy now. I'll make it up to you tonight.]

That seemed to cheer her up, but my grip tightened around the spoon under the table.

I did not let Matthew feed me another bite. Instead, I started spooning up my breakfast, fiercely independent.

Matthew sensed my shift in mood. He figured I was still upset about last night, so after breakfast, he was set on taking me out to have some fun.

He had reserved a restaurant's rooftop for us, throwing a big bash with friends to celebrate our anniversary.

He pushed my wheelchair out of the car with the utmost care, moving at a snail's pace, worried about every little bump. He kept reminiscing about our love story, but I was only going through the motions, my heart heavy with irony.

I had once believed in his promises. I had thought we would be together until we were old and gray.

However, in just six short months, he had fallen for his assistant and tossed our love aside.

They even turned me into a prop for their excitement.

Stepping out of the elevator, I was greeted by a sea of rose petals blanketing the restaurant floor.

I had always been allergic to pollen, but his assistant seemed to love it. I could not help but feel a sting of irony as I caught the look of sheer joy on her face from across the room.

It was pretty obvious who that whole party had really been for.

"Wendy, we got married here. I told the whole world that I love you and will always stand by you," Matthew said, reminiscing with a warmth in his voice that did not quite match up with reality.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it like he meant it.

It made me wonder how deep love must have run for a guy to get all misty-eyed just thinking about the past.

If only I had not caught him cheating.

If I had not seen him with her, maybe I would have been sobbing with him today.

Matthew was good to me once upon a time. He did love me.

However, times changed, and his love had spread thin, shared with the assistant.

I pull my hand back, keeping my face as calm as a serene lake. Matthew looked taken aback, hurt even, but he shook it off fast, turning his gaze away.

There she was, the assistant, decked out in a gown that Matthew had made just for her. One would say that clothes make a person; she was the epitome of grace and elegance. That made me, in my simple clothes and wheelchair, look plain in comparison.

She came over, smiling, and said, "Wendy, happy anniversary."

She thought I did not notice, but after her words, she sneaked a touch on Matthew's hand behind his back.

"Mr. Larson, everything you've asked for is ready. Countdown starts now... Three, two, one!"

Her cue launched a sky full of fireworks, lighting the night in a blaze of glory.

However, I sat in my wheelchair, with Matthew and the assistant cozied up next to me.

They look like the perfect couple, not him and me.

That had hurt more than anything.

Matthew's eyes were locked on his assistant with such warmth; it was clear who the party and the fireworks were really for.

He had not stayed by my side for long, quickly asking the nanny to look after me.

"Wendy, just wait here for me, okay?" he said.

With that, he was off, practically dragging his assistant out the door.

I slipped out unnoticed, trailing behind them.

I caught Matthew in a deep kiss with his assistant in a secluded room just outside the banquet hall.

He spun around, pulling her close.

"Lucky for us, Wendy's not here to see this. Flirting with me right in front of her? Be careful next time," he whispered.

"Why worry? What can she do? With the way she is? She can't even stand, much less leave you," his assistant murmured, tugging at his shirt as their breaths mingled and grew heavy, and things quickly spiraled.

Shaking, I pulled out my phone and hit record.

I listened for as long as they were lost in each other.

Eventually, the assistant, worn out, dozed off on Matthew.

However, he kept going, holding her face and kissing her like she was something precious.

I could not take it anymore. I turned and ran, my heart pounding.

It was not until I was back home that I truly let Matthew go, my heart heavy with loss.

My wedding ring went into the trash. I dug out every reminder of Matthew and me and tossed it away.

Staring into the trash, I sifted through the sweet memories, feeling a calm I had never known.

'Matthew, it's over,' I thought.

I was gathering the last of my things when Matthew came rushing back.

He only relaxed when he saw me.

"Wendy, you can't walk. How on earth did you get back here on your own? Weren't you scared that something might happen to you? You almost gave me a heart attack."

Matthew was a mix of shock and fury.

I kept my cool, smiling lightly, "I couldn't find you, and I didn't want to hang around there too long, so I had the nanny drop me off."

Matthew's face softened as he took my hand and said, "I'm so sorry, Wendy. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left you to deal with things on your own."

After that, Matthew and I had a few quiet days together.

Everything was calm and uneventful.

However, on the seventh day, the day I was set to leave, Matthew suggested we go out for a little stroll.

We barely made it to the foyer when his phone rang. It was his assistant with some urgent company business, so he had to rush off.

I stopped him just in time, coaxing him into signing a document by telling him the hospital required a family member's signature for rehabilitation.

"The doctor said you need to sign this. They need a family member's signature."

Matthew, completely unsuspecting, did not hesitate and scribbled down his name.

"What rehabilitation? Is it for those machines they use on you?" he asked out of habit.

I answered offhandedly. After he signed it, I had hoped to say a proper farewell.

The document had nothing to do with hospital rehabilitation—it was the divorce papers.

However, Matthew was too eager to meet his assistant, and he did not even leave me the chance for that final goodbye.

Well, he did not need it anyway.

I stood up from the wheelchair, watching Matthew's back as he left. "Matthew, it's over between us."

I left the divorce papers and the evidence of his cheating on the coffee table in the living room.

After I took one last look at the place that used to be my home, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without a backward glance.

Matthew raced to the office after his assistant's frantic call about a client getting handsy. However, when he got there, he realized it was a false alarm—no client, no crisis.

He glared at her, disbelief etched on his face. "Cut it out with the lies, okay?"

Spinning on his heel to leave, he bumped into the doctor who had been treating my legs. The doctor stood in his path.

"Mr. Larson, how's Wendy doing? She's fresh out of recovery, so she should be doing follow-ups at the hospital, but she hasn't shown up. Is something wrong?"

Matthew froze, clueless about what the doctor was hinting at.

"Fresh out of recovery? What does that mean?"

"Well, seven days ago, thanks to our team effort, Wendy's legs recovered. She can walk without a wheelchair. We were gonna tell you, but she wanted to climb the stairs and surprise you herself."