He Made An Exception For Her, But Never For Me

I can see the number of times a person has broken their own rules for someone of the opposite sex. The number hovers above their head. Every time they make an exception, it goes up by one. The number above my father's head had climbed eleven times for his first love. After the eleventh time, he pulled the plug on my mother's ventilator. So I promised myself I would find a man who would never break his rules for another woman. Later, I married Adrian Bosworth. A man whose number stayed a permanent, ice-cold [0]. The most disciplined gentleman on the Upper East Side. A perfect husband who would never make an exception for any other woman. Until the day of our third wedding anniversary, when I got into a car accident. I lay collapsed on the bench of the emergency room, blood streaking down my face, my trembling fingers finally dialing his number. On the other end came the same cold voice I had heard a thousand times. "I'm busy. If there's compensation to be dealt with, call the lawyer." "If you need care, hire a nurse. Don't disrupt my schedule with something this trivial." Half an hour later, I froze in front of the billing window at Manhattan General Hospital. The man who wouldn't even show up when his own wife had been in a car accident. Was kneeling on the floor of the emergency lobby. In his hand was a soft white handkerchief, and he was wiping, inch by inch, the mud from a pair of sneakers belonging to a girl with red-rimmed eyes. "It's alright, Chloe. Don't cry." There was a tenderness in his voice I had never heard before, something almost humbling, and every word landed on my chest like a hammer blow. I could barely breathe. "If the cat is lost, I'll bring every stray from every shelter in the city and let you pick any one you want. Okay?" One of my hands pressed hard against the bleeding wound on my forehead, the other gripped the railing, and I stared, unblinking, at the space above Adrian's head. That [0] that had stayed dead-silent to the entire world. Began to jump wildly the moment the girl let out a single sob. [10]… [100]… [999]… Then the numbers collapsed, melted, and finally froze into a red symbol dripping with blood, so bright it hurt to look at. [∞]. Infinite. Infinite exceptions, for her. Something in my stomach turned violently. So he wasn't heartless after all. I was simply never the one he would break his rules for. ... I made no sound. I just stood there, silent, in place. I don't know how long it was before Adrian finally rose to his feet. His gaze collided with mine without warning. "How did you get hurt like this?" He took an instinctive step toward me, his brows knitting tight. I opened my mouth, wanting to say, I told you half an hour ago on the phone. I was in a car accident. But before a single sound could come out, Chloe Lawson had already caught the hem of his suit jacket behind him. "Adrian!" The girl's face was ghost-white, her breaths coming in ragged gulps. "I'm dizzy, my heart is racing… does Muffin not want me anymore either…" She looked as if she was about to collapse. The foot Adrian had taken toward me stopped where it was. He turned instinctively and caught her in his arms. The [∞] that marked the number of his exceptions. Pulsed in front of my eyes, red and blinding. "Don't be afraid. We'll find her. For now, just rest, okay?" By the time Adrian looked up at me again, the flicker of alarm on his face had been fully suppressed. "Since you were able to walk to the billing window on your own, it means you're not in critical condition." "Get yourself patched up. Bill it to the Bosworth account." I looked at him, disbelief and disappointment written all over my face. "Adrian Bosworth." I said each word slowly. "Do you know who was driving me home today? My brother." "He's still in the trauma bay right now. No one knows if he's going to make it." Adrian froze. Something like shock flickered in his eyes. His lips parted slightly, as if he might set the girl down and come to me. But at that very moment, Chloe began to convulse violently. "Chloe!" Adrian's face changed instantly, and he swept her up into his arms. "She has severe depression and acute stress disorder, a form of PTSD. Losing an emotional anchor like a pet can trigger self-harm at any moment." "Her vitals are unstable right now. I need to get her to her psychiatrist immediately." He looked at the blood covering my face, but his tone was as coolly rational as if he were reading through a contract. "You're a grown adult. You know how to check in and get stitches." "Don't hold your little scratch over her illness like a bargaining chip." That was his decision. He would leave his injured wife to comfort his first love, who had lost a cat. "Okay." I nodded. I turned around alone and walked, step by step, toward the surgical wing. When the doctor asked whether I wanted anesthesia for the stitches, I shook my head. The curved needle pierced my skin. It hurt. But no pain, no matter how sharp, could equal even a fraction of what I had felt watching that [∞] pulse above his head. By the time I returned to the townhouse on the Upper East Side, our marital home, it was already two in the morning. On the dining table, the anniversary cake I had baked by hand had collapsed, its cream melted into a sad, sunken puddle. I didn't smash anything. I didn't cry. I walked into the bathroom and looked at the woman in the mirror, her forehead wrapped in gauze. Three years. For three years, I had believed that if I never argued, never demanded, if I stayed the gentle, obedient wife who never crossed a line… Then one day, that frozen heart of his would beat for me. Just once. But I had been wrong. It wasn't that I hadn't done enough. He had already poured every exception, every fondness, every soft and tender part of himself into another woman long before I ever came along. My phone screen lit up. A text from Adrian. A single short line. 【Chloe can't be left alone tonight. I'm staying with her.】 【If you want compensation, tell Lynch tomorrow to buy whatever you'd like.】 I stared at the words for a long time. I didn't reply. I turned off the phone. And that was when I finally understood. The perfect husband I had believed in had never loved me at all.