I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 13

I Played A Mean Wife But Cried In Secret Chapter 13: Epilogue – Elias’s Perspective

That night, Mia snuck in again to dress my wounds.

She was clumsy, her nails brushing my cuts. But her touch was feather-light.

Each time she grazed a wound, she’d startle and blow on it, soft.

Like a child who thinks breath can magic the pain away.

After a while, quiet sobs echoed in the room.

I felt a dampness seep into my skin-Mia’s tears.

I wanted to open my eyes and tell her it didn’t hurt, but I was afraid of startling her.

A soft cheek pressed gently against my palm,

not minding the rough new calluses on my knuckles, until my wrist was soaked with her tears.

Does a broken-down stray, hurt, ever get pitied?

The wound tingled.

So did my heart.

So many nights,

I’d fallen asleep to the sound of her quiet breathing and silent tears.

I once asked a buddy at the construction site, “Why do girls cry?”

He took a drag of his cigarette and looked at me knowingly,

“Fought with your wife?”

I thought about it-no, it wasn’t really a fight.

Mia had snapped at me before, but I’d never fired back.

He gave me advice.

“Making a girl happy is easy. Get her what she wants. Buy her gifts. My wife’s into cameras now, so

I’m saving this month’s check to get her an iPhone.”

That’s why I felt so happy when Mia said she wanted a coat.

If she had a wish, I could make it come true. I could make her happy.

But I’d messed it up again, it seemed.

Mia was still crying. I could never seem to make her truly happy.

Yet years ago, when we first met,

a simple McDonald’s meal had made her smile so brightly.

She asked where I got the money, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.

Hanging off the roof of a 26th-floor building, being stared at and photographed by residents—I

didn’t care about any of that.

After losing everything, I’d do any dirty, tiring job to earn money.

But I never wanted Mia to see how desperate I was.

So I knelt, wiped her tears, and said, “My fault.”

Even her simplest wish felt like an impossible struggle.

Later, I turned to underground fighting.

I was desperate to make money, to escape this helplessness.

The fight club owner’s daughter gave new clothes to all the fighters.

I declined, staring at the logo and asking if I could take cash instead.

Everyone around laughed, teasing me for being money-hungry.

A guy asked a favor-could I try the coat on?

Said his brother was my height, he was saving it for him.

I didn’t have time to take it off before I saw Mia at the door.

That New Year’s Eve didn’t go as planned. We ended up getting divorced.

I was listless for weeks, unable to find motivation for anything-

until I noticed Mia secretly watching me.

She was so cautious, hiding at a nearby bus stop.

The moment I looked up, she’d dart into a corner.

But I always spotted her.

My heart would race uncontrollably the second she appeared.

Then I saw her hair.

I cried, a messy, ugly cry.

I didn’t dare look up.

Afraid she’d see the look in my eyes-too intense, too much.

Luckily, we remarried later.

One day, she suddenly asked me,

“When did you start liking me?”

I thought about it-when exactly?

I’d recognized Mia the first time I saw her.

She’d changed so much, but her eyes were still as bright and clear as ever.

Every time she said those cruel things about me, her gaze was filled with sorrow.

I knew she didn’t mean a word of it.

Maybe it was those nights she’d bandage my wounds and cry for me,

that my heart slowly fell for her.

“What a shame,” Mia said with a laugh, “we got married right away. We never confessed or dated properly-nothing like normal couples.”

Then she smiled again, “But this is perfect too.”

“I did confess,” I said.

I pressed my lips together under her confused gaze.

“I once gave you a bouquet of flowers.”

The day after I’d confirmed my feelings, I spent every last penny I had on those flowers.

I read online that love starts with a bouquet of flowers.

“We can start over,” I told her, “from the confession.”

Mia stared at me for a long time before her eyes suddenly turned red.

i panicked instantly.

She wiped her tears, ran to get a book, and came back,

“I didn’t throw it away. I snuck back to pick it up.”

A beautiful white jasmine flower lay gently between the pages,

a perfect bookmark.

I kissed away her tears. This time, I didn’t say “I’m sorry.”

Instead, I said,

“Thank you.”

For meeting you,

I’ve begun to thank fate.