Chapter 4: The Confrontation

Four

My focus shifted. Wendy sat down across from me.

I rehearsed my lines, but now, staring at Wendy’s gentle face, my words felt petty and small. She smiled warmly, looking at me with bright eyes:

"You’re Attorney Hartman’s wife, aren’t you?"

I put down my spoon and met her gaze.

"So you recognize me."

She smiled. "I have a good memory. I saw you once on Derek’s phone, so I recognized you."

I frowned, remembering.

Derek’s old phone wallpaper was a photo of me and our son. He’d only switched to a landscape photo six months ago.

She looked down, silent for a few seconds, then spoke gently.

"I know why you’re here. You probably think I’m having an affair with Derek, right?"

I stayed silent. The wind rustled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. It felt like we were the only people in the world.

She slowly looked up, her expression sincere.

"Look, I promise—there’s nothing going on between me and Derek. We’re completely innocent. Our only contact is that he stops by for a bowl of soup after his run."

At this, a trace of worry crossed her face.

"Later, I saw he seemed down while drinking soup, barely spoke, looked stressed, so I tried to comfort him. I didn’t expect—sigh—he probably misunderstood."

"He started saying strange things, but I just thought it was funny. He’s a married man, and even if he weren’t, how could someone at his level be interested in someone like me?"

"I told him it was just a passing impulse, but he wouldn’t listen. He got more and more intense, sometimes calling me and saying things I couldn’t make sense of."

"Actually, even if you hadn’t come, I was planning to talk to you. Derek must be under a lot of pressure to act so irrationally. As his wife, maybe you can help him more."

I looked at the ring of white fat forming on the rim of my bowl.

"So you’re saying all this was just Derek’s wishful thinking, and you’ve actually been turning him down the whole time?"

Wendy sighed and nodded slowly. She glanced at the sky, as if searching for some reassurance in the blue.

I looked up and asked quietly:

"And the camera in my bedroom, for you to monitor—was that also his impulsive idea against your wishes?"

Wendy stiffened, then said, "I already scolded him for that. It’s completely ridiculous!"

I pressed on:

"What about when you went hiking together? When he fell carrying you after you said your feet hurt—was that also him forcing you to go?"

Wendy’s pupils widened. She shot to her feet.

"Hiking? I don’t know what you’re talking about."

I stared at her coldly.

"Didn’t you say you have a good memory? I called to thank you that time. Did you forget so soon?"

Just then, a customer called out, "Large order to go!"

Wendy pressed her lips together, hurried back to the stand, and stiffly picked up the ladle.

Clang—

The big pot of soup tipped over, hot broth and meat spilling everywhere. The smell of lamb filled the air, sharp and overwhelming.

Scalding broth splashed on her. Wendy cried out, her eyes instantly red. Her hands jerked back, and she stumbled, looking lost and small beneath the flickering lights.

The customer cursed, dodged away, and stormed off.

I looked at the mess, not wanting to get splashed, grabbed my bag, and turned to leave. I shoved past a couple of teenagers in hoodies, ignoring their stares. The guilt hit me halfway to the sidewalk, but I kept moving. Survival instinct, I told myself.

She called out, eyes red.

"I’m sorry!"

I stopped and frowned at her.

She stood there, hair disheveled, quietly crying.

"I’m sorry, I did hide it from you. That day, I was upset because my stepson got into a fight. He happened to come by and suggested hiking to cheer me up, so I went. After he fell, I was terrified, called 911, and didn’t dare meet you—just afraid you’d overthink."

Her eyes were red, tears falling nonstop. Her palms were blistered from the soup, looking miserable. I caught a whiff of burned skin and broth, and for a moment, I hated all of us.

"Rachel, what are you doing!"

An angry shout came from behind me.

I turned to see Derek running over, face full of fury.

For a moment, I was stunned. I hadn’t seen him show this much emotion in a long time. He was wearing the blue suit he reserved for formal negotiations, meaning he’d rushed here straight from work.

And once, even when I’d been in a car accident and called him, he’d insisted on finishing his meeting before coming to the hospital.

Derek looked at the mess on the ground, then at the sobbing Wendy, then pressed his lips together and walked over to her.

He lowered his head, quietly looked at the helpless woman in front of him, and suddenly pulled her into his arms.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

Wendy buried her face in his chest and broke down, sobbing with pure grief. The sight was so intimate, it felt like a slap. My face burned. I wanted to vanish, or at least smash something. Derek closed his eyes, his voice gentle:

"Hey, it’s over. You don’t have to cry anymore, okay? Nobody’s worth your tears."

From beginning to end,

Derek didn’t look at me once.