In that moment, time seemed to stand still as I stared at the image, my heart sinking with the realization of what it meant. It was a picture of him, smiling warmly alongside her—the woman I had suspected, the mistress he had kept hidden from me. The sight pierced through me like a dagger, unleashing a torrent of emotions—betrayal, disbelief, and a consuming fury that threatened to engulf me.
At the same time, I began to speculate why my mother insisted on picking the wild berries in heavy rain. Tears fell as I looked at the sweet smiles of the two people on the screen. “I will make this pair of adult pay!”
After settling affairs with my mother's remains, I returned home in a daze, holding a flimsy death certificate in my hand.
“Where have you been?” My husband began bombarding me with questions the moment I stepped into the house. “You've been gone for days without a word, not even a call. Have you been out seeing another man?”
What a ridiculous question. I forced myself to suppress the overflowing hatred in my heart and asked him, “I disappeared without a word? I called you over and over, but you didn't pick up. Where were you?”