Part 3My Husband Gave The Sole Antidote To His First Love

The operating theater doors slowly swung open. I stopped at the entrance for one final check.

The doctor looked at me. He seemed hesitant to say something.

“Ms. Oakley, the anesthesiologist is ready.

“But…”

“But what?”

“Your blood test report shows that the venom has already caused severe clotting problems and kidney damage. This is a high-risk surgery, and you’ll need dialysis for an extended period afterward.

“If we can’t get the infection under control, you may also need a second debridement.”

I nodded calmly.

“I understand.”

The doctor looked surprised.

“Would you like to wait a little longer for your family?”

“No.”

I took the pen and signed my name on the surgical consent form.

The nurse pushed my bed farther inside.

The operating room doors slowly closed behind me.

Just before the anesthesia took effect, I vaguely heard my phone vibrating.

The nurse brought it over to me.

It was a message from Tommy.

[The helicopter has taken off. It should be there in about forty minutes.]

[Diana, don’t be afraid. I’m here.]

I stared at those few lines for a long time.

All along, the people who would rush over to me when I needed them most had always been right there.

It was just that five years ago, I pushed them all away for Gary.

The anesthesia slowly entered my bloodstream.

Just before my consciousness slipped away, I remembered our wedding day.

Gary had held my hand and sworn in front of all our family and friends, “Diana, you’ll be my only wife for the rest of my life.

“Through poverty and wealth, in sickness and in health, I’ll stay by your side for the rest of our lives.”

My father sat at the head table with an indifferent expression. He did not offer a single word of congratulations.

Tommy did not show up at all.

After the wedding, I asked Gary, “Do you think you’ll ever regret marrying me someday?”

He lowered his head and kissed my forehead.

“The only thing I’ll ever regret is not meeting you sooner.”

Back then, I believed him without a doubt.

When Cindy returned to the country, I kept convincing myself that she was just someone from his past while I was his wife.

Apparently, even a wife could be deemed replaceable someday.

The surgery lasted six hours.

When I woke up, it was already late at night.

A sharp pain shot through the place where my right leg had been, as if countless knives were twisting through the bone.

I instinctively tried to lift my leg, only to find an empty stretch of blankets beneath my hand.

At that moment, I finally understood with absolute clarity that my right leg was gone.

The hospital room was silent.

Gary did not come.

A bouquet of white lilies sat on the bedside table. There was only one sentence on the card.

[Get some rest and don’t overthink things.]

Gary had written that.

As I stared at the card, I found the whole thing absurd.

I lost a leg, but he did not stay outside the operating theater.

I barely escaped death, but all he did was have someone deliver a bouquet of flowers.

Meanwhile, Cindy had only suffered a snake bite. Yet she received the antidote, the stretcher, the satellite phone, and Gary’s company overnight.

When the nurse came in to change my dressing, she could not help whispering, “Ms. Oakley, Mr. Sapien really cares about Ms. Pepper.

“I heard she isn’t feeling well again because of her heart condition. Mr. Sapien has been by her side the whole time. He hasn’t even eaten yet.

“Are you two having problems?”

Partway through saying that, she realized she had said too much. Then, she awkwardly kept quiet.

I said calmly, “No. We won’t be husband and wife for much longer.”

The nurse was puzzled for a moment. She did not dare to ask anything else.

I picked up my phone and sent Tommy one last message.

[Is the divorce agreement ready?]

Tommy replied almost instantly.

[It’s ready. I’ve frozen all of Sapien Hospital’s shares and investment funds.]

[I’ll come to the hospital to pick you up tomorrow.]

I stared at the word [tomorrow] on the screen before slowly closing my eyes.