I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 05

I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 05

The words were barely out of my mouth when my heart clenched in alarm.

Luckily, the light bulb burned out again with a sharp fizz, masking my words just in

time.

It also gave me a perfect excuse.

Guilty and flustered, I rambled awkwardly,

“I hate this light so much. It flickered nonstop last time, scared me half to death the

whole day…”

Elias went to fix the bulb again.

He must not have caught my slip, because he never mentioned it after fixing the light.

We finished our meal in haste, and he headed out to work once more.

He came home extremely late, when night had fully fallen.

This had become his new normal-out earlier each morning, back long after dark.

“I found us a new place. We’re moving tomorrow afternoon,”

Elias said calmly, gazing straight at me,

“It’s spacious, with large windows in both the living room and bedroom.”

Nothing like this dim, damp basement.

We had to keep the lights on even during the day, leaving me constantly on edge,

jumping at every flicker.

The System’s voice brimmed with excitement,

[Here we go, the plot’s kicking in! You’re supposed to throw a huge fit over the hard life, force him to move, even threaten to jump off a building if he refuses, stirring up his

deep humiliation. Wait, why’s he offering to move first? Never mind, the plot progress

counts all the same…]

The System chattered on and on, yet I gave no reply.

It followed my gaze and realized I was staring at Elias’s arm.

“Your wound’s split open again,”

I muttered to myself.

It wasn’t just his arm; fresh bruises bloomed across his shoulders too.

Last time it was hauling cement. This time? Lifting tiles? Hauling bags of drywall mud?

I asked him, “Where did you get the money? What backbreaking work have you been

doing?”

Elias fell silent once more.

He’d stayed quiet before when I never asked, and now he still refused to answer even

when I pressed him.

Just as the plot demanded, I flew into a rage. I tore into him.

I snapped that he was incompetent and worthless, asking why he could only do manual

labor.

I blamed him for his ruin, for trapping us in this run-down basement.

I called him a good-for-nothing, complaining how everyone else got by fine while he kept getting hurt all over.

I ranted until my strength faded, then sank down onto the floor.

Someone knelt down right in front of me.

Elias, who’d endured all my insults without a word, finally reacted.

The old wounds on his hands hadn’t healed. New, raw-looking chilblains marked his

skin.

Only his neat, well-groomed nails still hinted at the privileged life he once led.

He held his palm out toward me, a tissue resting in the center.

Why was he giving me this?

I stared at the tissue for a long moment, then slowly touched my cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly.

I then realized I’d been shedding tears.

I could barely put the look in his eyes into words.

He wiped my tears first with the tissue, then with his fingers, and finally with his only

uninjured palm.

Tears tasted salty, and salt stinging an open wound must have burned terribly.

Yet Elias seemed not to feel it, wiping my tears away with a gentle, endless patience.

After the long silence following our inevitable quarrel, he spoke at last,

“It’s all my fault.”

His tone sounded like a final verdict, and also like a quiet promise.

Once again, my tears soaked his wrist.