As expected, my phone buzzed again with messages from that woman. They were kissing in front of the volcano, getting intimate by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the forest.
[Mrs. Hemsworth, why can't you keep your man?]
[Are you too boring? Nick always leaves me exhausted.]
[Next time, I'll let you listen to it live so you can hear how wild your husband is with me.]
Even though I told myself not to care, my heart still ached as if pierced by a thousand needles.
When my phone rang, I was momentarily distracted and failed to avoid a nearby out-of-control truck. My car collided with the guardrail.
It wasn't a major accident. By the time Nick arrived, I had just regained consciousness after anesthesia.
He came in such a rush that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly, revealing faint lipstick marks on his chest.
"Helen, are you okay? How did you end up in an accident?" He looked at my bandaged wounds with distress and guilt.
He said, "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone."
Just then, his phone rang again and again. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression darkening. Thoughtfully, I asked, "Is it something from work?"