Beauty with Thorns

1 Outside the ward, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeped through the paper cup, scorching my fingertips. An hour earlier, my wife, Susan Darwin, had mentioned that she was craving hot chocolate from the uptown café. Their drinks were famous in the area, always bustling with customers, and they didn't offer delivery. When she said she wanted it, I knew it meant I'd have to go get it myself, a trip that would take some time. But after seeing the pain Susan went through during childbirth, my heart ached for her. If all she wanted was a cup of hot chocolate, how could I, as her husband, refuse? So, I immediately headed out, waited in line for half an hour. Fearing the hot chocolate might cool down, I sped back to the hospital. I didn't expect to stumble upon what I did. Since the moment our child was born, my heart had been ablaze with warmth. But when I overheard her say, "It's your flesh and blood, of course, it looks like you," that warmth plunged into an icy abyss. She then urged, "Alright, now that you've seen the baby, you can relax. William should be back soon, so you better leave before he catches you." Hearing that, I instinctively hid in a nearby supply closet, just down the hall from her room. I cautiously peeked out. Then I saw a tall, slender man leaving Susan's room. He walked a few steps and then turned back to glance at the door. That face—one I could never forget in this lifetime. He was Harley Charles, my once closest friend. After what happened last year, he vanished from our city without a trace, severing all ties with us. Susan and I both avoided mentioning his name in front of each other. But now, after disappearing for over a year, here he was, standing before my wife right after the birth of my child. And Susan, who used to react with severe anxiety at the mere mention of his name, was now laughing and chatting with him, showing no sign of resistance. I stood there, frozen. The hot chocolate Susan specifically requested had gone cold in my hands. And then she called and complained with a playful voice: "William, what took you so long to get that hot chocolate? Aren't you back yet?" I swallowed the bitterness in my chest and acted like nothing happened: "Oh, the line was long. I had to wait forever, and then the owner said they'd sold out." "Oh, is that so? It's fine, don't worry about it. Just come back, my dear, you've tried hard. I don't really need it." Susan, ever understanding, assured me it was alright. After hanging up, I threw the now-cold hot chocolate into the trash with a bitter smile. She didn't really want it. It was just an excuse to get me out of the way, to create an opportunity for Harley and her to meet. 2 I headed to the hospital rooftop to smoke. Dusk was falling. The streetlights outside the hospital gradually flickered on. I finished my last cigarette. The evening breeze, carrying a hint of summer's lingering warmth, blew away the smoke and also cleared my chaotic mind. A year and a half ago, I married Susan, my girlfriend who I had dated for two years. Harley, being my best friend, naturally took on the duty of helping me toast the guests. After making the rounds, his steps were unsteady, and his eyes were unfocused—he was clearly very drunk. My house was big enough, and the reception was in the yard of my villa. There were guest rooms on the second floor. So I told Harley to go rest for a while. After a while, Susan came to me, saying that her dress had gotten stained with some wine and that she needed to go back to the room to change. But she left for half an hour, and she still didn't returned. Her bridesmaid was still drinking on her behalf. So I decided to go check on her in the bridal suite. When I got to the third floor and opened the door to our new room, what I saw froze me in place. There, pinning Susan down, was my best friend, Harley. The moment Susan saw me, she screamed, "William, help me!" My mind went blank. I don't even remember how I pulled Susan free or how I beat Harley up. The next thing I recall is Harley apologizing before me, his face already bruised and swollen. He must have sobered up from the beating because the realization of what he had done left him terrified. He kept slapping himself, apologizing profusely, saying he was drunk and had mistakenly entered the wrong room. Susan was crying beside me, her voice choked as she explained that she had gone in to change clothes, not expecting anyone to be in the bed. She had only realized there was someone else in the room when she was halfway through undressing, just as the man's primal instincts took over and he pinned her down. She screamed and struggled, but since the third floor was our private suite, everyone knew not to come up, so no one heard her cries for help. I stood there, breathing heavily. My hands were shaking as I reached for my phone to call the police. But Susan threw herself into my arms, begging: "William, please, don't make this public. If this gets out, I'm ruined. I just married you, and something like this happens—I'll never be able to show my face again." But this was r**e, a crime! My lips trembled as I looked at Susan, her eyes swollen from crying. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to say the words. I knew how traumatic something like this could be for a woman. Some victims might never fully recover from such an ordeal. But could we really just let this go? Even if Susan wanted to move on, how could I? 3 Harley must have sensed what I was thinking. He immediately crawled over to my feet and gripped my thigh tightly. "William, I was really out of it—I didn't mean it! I thought I was in a guest room, and when I saw a woman undressing next to me…" Susan screamed again: "Shut up! Just shut up! William, make him stop talking!" Her breakdown was tearing me apart. I closed my eyes and told Harley to get the hell out. Susan cried in my arms for what felt like an eternity before she finally calmed down. In the end, she croaked out one more plea: "William, can we just pretend this never happened? Can we just move on?" On what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, she had carefully prepared her look, chosen the perfect dress, but now her makeup was ruined, and her beautiful outfit was a mess. The pain I felt for her was beyond words, and I couldn't even begin to imagine how she, as the victim, could ever overcome the trauma. So, I agreed, promising her that I wouldn't mention it again. Susan was in no condition to continue at the wedding reception, so I comforted her, told her to rest in our room. She was terrified that anyone might find out what had happened. I swore to her that I wouldn't let anyone know a single detail. Then I quickly fixed myself up and went downstairs to handle the reception. Harley must have realized he couldn't bear the shame to stick around, so he disappeared without a trace. When I finally came downstairs, the groomsmen who had been helping me with the drinks gave me knowing looks: "In a hurry, huh? Couldn't wait until dark to wear out the bride?" I froze for a second. That's when it hit me—they had all gotten the wrong idea. A flood of emotions rushed over me, like a thick wad of cotton stuck in my throat—too dry to swallow, too thick to spit out. I forced a smile. I don't want to recall how I managed to get through the rest of that wedding without giving anything away. After what happened on our wedding day, there was no wedding night for Susan and me. After the wedding, she became distant, barely speaking for a long time. Whenever she had the chance, she would take a shower. She started having nightmares, silently crying by herself in the middle of the night. It broke my heart, but I didn't know how to comfort her. All I could do was hold her close and tell her that it was all in the past. No one would ever know. Sometimes, Susan would break down, asking me if I would resent her. How could I ever? I only hated Harley for what he did in his drunken state. But I hated myself even more. Harley had been my best friend; I was the one who made him the best man. It was all my fault. I reassured Susan again and again that I would never resent her. I even swore to love her for the rest of my life. It was only then that she slowly began to emerge from the shadow of that nightmare. After that, we silently agreed to never mention Harley again. We also rarely talked about what had happened on our wedding day. We gradually started having s*x again, and the days passed. It was as if those horrifying memories had finally faded away. When our baby was born, I was overjoyed. I finally breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the dark clouds of the past had finally cleared. Life had returned to normal at last. But if I hadn't accidentally caught Harley meeting Susan again, I might never have revisited the shameful memory of that wedding. 4 When I got back to the ward, Susan's mom was there too. Seeing me come in so late, she frowned: "Susan just had a baby, and you, her husband, are nowhere to be found. How is that responsible?" Susan wasn't too pleased either: "Why did it take you so long to get back? The baby was crying, and I couldn't move because of the C-section. There was no one around to help, so the nurse had to change his diaper." I wiped my face, trying to mask all the emotions and doubts swirling inside me. "I went to the coffee shop in Uptown to get you that hot chocolate. They were out, and then on the way back, I accidentally scraped another car, which took a bit of time to sort out." Susan's mom complained: "Why did you have to go all the way to Uptown for hot chocolate? There are plenty of shops near the hospital." Susan's expression shifted slightly, and she quickly cut off her mom's complaints: "I wanted the one from Uptown. They make it just right—not too sweet, not too bland." Her mom grumbled a bit more under her breath but didn't push the issue. I walked over to the bed and picked up our baby. But as I looked down at my son's innocent face, I couldn't muster any of the affection I should have felt. Susan's words to Harley kept replaying in my mind, an endless loop. Maybe it was my silent staring at the baby that made Susan feel a pang of guilt. She quickly spoke up: "William, you should put the baby down. He just fell asleep, and if he wakes up, he'll start crying again." When I placed the baby back in his crib, I noticed the faint sigh of relief Susan let out. A moment later, she was already urging me to head home. "William, you've been by my side all day. You must be exhausted. Why don't you go home and get some rest? You've got work to do. Mom can stay with me tonight." Susan's mother immediately frowned. Clearly, Susan hadn't mentioned anything about wanting her mom to stay the night. Before her mother could say anything, I refused: "You just gave birth, Susan. You've been through so much. How could I leave you alone and take it easy? I took a few days off from work, so I'll take care of you. You mother's not getting any younger, and she shouldn't have to wear herself out. I'll stay with you tonight, and she can go home to rest." Her mother's expression softened a bit. "Someone needs to keep an eye on your father at home too. Since you're off work, it's only right that you take care of her. A husband should be by his wife's side." Susan couldn't argue with that. Maybe she realized that in her guilty state, she was prone to making mistakes. She steadied herself and started chatting with me about the baby, trying to keep her tone casual. Little did she know, my initial joy over the baby's birth had completely vanished. The more she talked, the bigger the knot in my stomach grew. Susan, likely exhausted from childbirth, eventually fell asleep mid-conversation. Her mother didn't stay much longer. Once she saw Susan was asleep, she quietly gave me a few parting instructions before leaving the hospital. I walked over to the bed, gazing down at the two sleeping faces of the mother and son. After making sure Susan was in a deep sleep, I carefully pulled a cotton swab from our toiletry bag. I gently swabbed the baby's mouth, collecting a sample. No matter what, I needed to know if the child was truly mine.