Chapter 207 The Old Stories Never End
Margaret was about to stash her leather shoes in the shoe cabinet when Raymond's words stopped her cold. Her grip tightened around the shoes, and her eyelashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze, hiding the storm brewing in her eyes.
'Why's he asking me this now?' she wondered. 'Doesn't he know if I have cancer or not?'
Margaret suddenly felt exhausted. She didn't want to play this game with him anymore; it was pointless. She put the shoes away, slipped into her slippers, and ignored Raymond as she headed for the spiral staircase.
As she climbed the stairs, a chill seeped through her slippers, spreading through her body. Just as she was about to enter the dressing room to change, a large, bony hand grabbed her wrist. The grip was strong, making her frown. She looked up at him.
Raymond was dressed in a khaki trench coat over a cotton shirt, with a solid-colored tie. He looked as handsome and cold as ever. He looked just like he used to when she dressed him. But now, everything was different.
No matter how many times she looked, he wasn't the Raymond she remembered. Margaret realized with a pang that maybe she never liked the real Raymond, just the one in her fantasies.
She blinked her dry eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore. Every glance reminded her of how wrong she'd been, how foolish. She lowered her eyes, trying to pull free from his grip.
Raymond noticed her resistance. The old Margaret would have clung to him, wanting to be with him all the time. But now, she was repulsed by him.
Raymond's brows furrowed as he repeated his question, "You still haven't answered me. Do you really have cancer or not?"
Margaret sneered. She'd shown him her medical report, but he didn't believe her. He forced her to try to get pregnant despite her saying she had cancer. Yet he still didn't believe her. Now he was pretending to ask again. How should she answer?
"If you think I have cancer, then I have it. If you think I don't, then I don't," she said, breaking free from his hand and smiling coldly.
Raymond didn't know why, but her smile made him even angrier. He was concerned about her. What did he do wrong? Why was she treating him like this? What did her words mean?
"Can you answer me directly?" Raymond thought of the child in her womb and tried to calm down.
Margaret's phone buzzed with a message. She looked at it, but Raymond snatched the phone from her hand. He held it high, out of her reach.
Raymond's face darkened as he read the message from Daniel. She'd asked Daniel if Raymond had bullied him. Daniel told her not to worry, saying Raymond already knew about her cancer.
The way they cared for each other didn't look like just friends. What kind of friends had such a lack of boundaries?
Raymond coldly deleted Daniel's WhatsApp from her phone and handed it back. "Margaret, we haven't even divorced yet, and you're already cozying up to Daniel? This time, I just deleted him. Next time, if I catch you talking to him, don't blame me for what happens to him."
"I can't even have friends now?" Margaret's fingers tightened around the phone as she glared at him.
Raymond sneered, "Daniel's got bad intentions. Stay away from him."
Margaret shot back, "Do you know what Daniel's thinking?"
"A man knows what another man is thinking. Trust me, I know," Raymond snapped, his anger flaring.
Raymond thought, 'How could she be so naive? No guy would care that much without wanting something. Daniel's just trying to take advantage of our problems and get close to her.'
But his warning fell on deaf ears. Margaret retorted, "You used me to get where you are today. Do you even count as a man?"
Her words cut deep, and Raymond laughed bitterly. He was about to argue back. But Margaret turned and stormed into the dressing room, slamming the door behind her, shutting him out.
Raymond didn't sleep that night. He watered the plants and fed the parrot. The parrot kept squawking, calling him a bastard, saying he had no conscience, and that Margaret hated him.
Raymond was annoyed. He smoked on the couch all night, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't figure out if Margaret really had cancer. His heart felt like a heavy stone, making it hard to breathe.
Every winter, Raymond caught a cold. This time was no different. He smoked and coughed. Margaret heard his coughing and couldn't sleep either.
If it were before, she would've bought him medicine and climbed into his bed to warm it. But now, she sat by the bed, staring out the window, waiting for dawn. She couldn't sleep, partly because his coughing disturbed her, partly because her insomnia was getting worse.
Every night felt endless. Margaret's body was exhausted, her eyes heavy. But lying in bed, her mind was wide awake. Memories of the past haunted her, and her worries wrapped around her heart like a tangled ball of yarn. Every minute, every second, was hard to endure.
Margaret thought, 'It's okay, I won't live much longer. When I die, I can finally rest.' She hadn't suffered enough yet, so God wouldn't let her die easily.
Finally, dawn broke. She numbly opened the drawer of the bedside table, took out a bottle of unlabeled pills, poured a handful into her palm, and swallowed them dry.
Margaret didn't drink water. The bitterness numbed her tongue, numbed her entire mouth. Maybe if her body felt bad, her heart wouldn't hurt as much.
She pushed open the master bedroom door and walked out, seeing a table full of food. Through the frosted glass of the kitchen door, she could see him, wearing an apron, busy in the kitchen.
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