A few minutes later, I heard a man’s startled voice coming from downstairs. I got off the hospital bed and looked out the second-floor window. It seemed Isla had twisted her ankle.
The same sign language interpreter from that day, dressed in a trench coat, was crouched beside her, gently massaging her exposed ankle.
So that was it, her so-called allergy only existed for those she didn’t care about.
It felt as though countless blades cut through my chest, leaving me unable to breathe.
Without another word, I picked up my phone and called my lawyer.
“Please prepare a divorce agreement for me. Yes, I want a divorce.”
When I got home, my phone buzzed with a message from Isla.
“Because of your behavior, you affected the client’s emotions. I’ll be hosting a banquet. Make sure to come and apologize properly.”
But what exactly had I done wrong?
Was it because I tried to save her when I should have let her fall from that cliff? Or was it because of that ridiculous ‘allergy to men’?
Even so, I agreed.
On the day of the banquet, I arrived almost at the same time as Isla.