I typed slowly. [Lindsay, let's get a divorce.]
After sending the message, I deleted Lindsay from my contacts, preparing to bring my mother back home.
Along the way, nurses looked at me with pity in their eyes. I heard them whispering behind my back, discussing my deceased mother. This hospital was where I often brought my mother for check-ups. Her health was poor, and apart from the time when she was diagnosed with cancer, Lindsay never accompanied me to the hospital.
For every check-up, I was alone with my mother.
Lindsay always said she was busy with work, that her company was just stabilizing and she couldn't spare the time. I didn't blame her. It was my mother, after all.
I tried to be a responsible husband, always telling her, "It's okay, I can manage. You go ahead and focus on your work."
"Lindsay, thanks to you this time," a deep voice said. I looked up and locked eyes with the speaker.
Lindsay was holding a four-year-old child in her arms. Standing next to her was none other than Nick.
They stood together, looking like a family of three.
Lindsay glanced at me, her face flashing with impatience.