I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 04

I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 04

I soon figured out where the money had come from.

Someone had posted a photo online. The guy in the picture was ridiculously good-looking, and it had started making the rounds locally.

[Our building maintenance hired him to clean the windows. Isn’t he gorgeous?]

[Wow, I want a handsome cleaner at my place too… Ahem, why doesn’t our building offer window cleaning service? Total rip-off!]

[I’m in this complex too. The upstairs neighbors are the worst. They left a flowerpot on the ledge, it fell and hit the guy. Huge gash, blood everywhere. So scary.]

[Seriously, he’s way too nice. He only asked for private compensation. I’d have exposed those rude neighbors online for everyone to see.]

That night, I snuck quietly into Elias’s space.

It wasn’t really a room. Just a folding cot tucked behind a curtain in the corner of the living area.

It was all my fault. I’d claimed the real bedroom for myself and barred him from coming in.

I pushed up his sleeve. Sure enough, there it was—a hideous gash, nearly four inches long.

Suspended outside a twenty-sixth-story window. Clinging to the glass. Held by a single rope. Working his way down, floor by floor, window by window, under the stares of strangers.

Elias, did you already decide back then to buy that coat from the mall?

“You got hurt and never said a word.”

His wound had only been roughly patched up, yet he acted as if nothing was wrong.

At dinner, Elias handed me an apple. He didn’t peel it like he usually did, and he said,

“You eat Christmas apples with the skin on. Only then can your wish for peace be whole.”

It wasn’t that he refused to peel it—his left hand was injured.

He couldn’t hold a peeler, so he made up a clumsy lie.

And that lie fooled no one but foolish, cruel me.

As I dabbed medicine on the new wound, my fingers gently traced the old scars on his wrist.

This one from when I was sick and needed a doctor. He took day labor at a site and sliced his hand on a tool he didn’t know how to use.

This one was left by an iron rod, when I’d pressured him into buying a gold necklace and he’d gotten into a fight to earn quick cash.

There were more scars, one after another.

I tried to hold back my tears, but the harder I fought it, the more I cried.

The System tried to comfort me,

[Stop crying. Honestly you’re the unlucky one. If you’d married him a year ago, you’d be a wealthy socialite already. The dowry alone could’ve bought you multiple mansions. Now you get nothing but a damp basement. Spending a little of his money is the least you deserve.]

I was the one who should resent Elias. Resent his fall, his poverty, his inability to give me a good life.

But what about him? He’d fallen overnight from a privileged heir into the dirt,

mocked, humiliated, stared at with judgmental eyes while slaving away under the scorching sun.

And when he came home, all he got from me, his spoiled wife, was endless harsh criticism.

“You useless, worthless man. Can’t even afford a bit of jewelry for me. If I were you, I’d have thrown myself off a bridge by now.”

In the dead of quiet night, Elias, as you stare up at the shabby damp ceiling,

do you ever miss the confident, promising man you were a year ago?

Chilly wind howled outside, while his lashes trembled softly in the dim room.

I pressed my cheek against his palm, my tears soaking slowly down his wrist.

“System, when will Elias ask for a divorce?”

I no longer wanted to act cruel or bully him.

Christmas Eve felt dim and gloomy, and the festive apple tasted bitter on my tongue.

If he could divorce me,

would he stop pushing himself to earn money nonstop,

stop working three jobs a day,

and never get hurt again?

I kept dwelling on this question over breakfast the next morning.

The System gave a vague answer, only saying the plot hadn’t reached that point yet.

It was always like this—

sharp and quick to scold me, but silent and evasive whenever I asked something important.

I stirred my oatmeal absently, lost in thought.

The coat, lipstick, hat, hairband…

Elias had given me so many gifts. I wanted to give him something too.

What should I get? What excuse could I use to give it to him?

We were bound to divorce soon. I ought to give him a gift before that.

It would feel awkward to send presents after splitting up.

And really, when would the divorce finally happen?

Elias walked over without me noticing,

“What are you daydreaming about? Your porridge’s gone cold.”

Still lost in thought, I answered without thinking, the words slipping out:

“I was wondering when you’ll divorce me…”