Chapter 5
1064 Words
On the third day after the divorce report was submitted, David was called in for a talk by the political department leadership.
When he came back, his face was ashen. He looked at Linda, who was sitting expressionlessly on the living room sofa, his eyes complex—shock, anger, and perhaps a hint of something obscure she couldn't read.
"Linda, what do you mean by this?" he asked in a low voice, suppressing his anger. "Divorce? Just because of the lost child? That was an accident! I know you're hurting. We can have another—"
"It's not because of the child." Linda cut him off, her voice calm without a ripple. Her gaze met his directly, but it was as if she was looking right through him into empty space. "David, we both know why. 'Irreconcilable differences' on the report is exactly what it says. Stop acting. It's exhausting."
David seemed choked. He stared at her intently, as if seeing this woman who had shared his bed for years for the first time.
The deadness and finality in her eyes stopped every prepared word in his throat.
He realized he could no longer use "duty," "compensation," or "for your own good" to persuade her. He couldn't even reach her real emotions anymore—an ice wall had been erected there.
"Is it... did Lucy say something to you?" he asked with difficulty, clinging to a last shred of hope.
Linda twitched the corner of her mouth faintly, full of sarcasm. "Does she need to say anything? Haven't you two already arranged everything perfectly?"
David's face drained of all color. His tall frame swayed almost imperceptibly.
The living room fell into a suffocating silence.
In the following days, David tried to communicate with Linda, but she refused to engage.
She moved into the guest room and barely left it except for basic needs.
The home became a silent grave, burying her ridiculous five years of life.
Lucy came twice, bringing nutritional supplements and fruit, her face full of worry and guilt.
"Linda, don't be like this. Your health is important... You and David must have some misunderstanding. He's just not good with words, but he really cares about you in his heart..."
She spoke words of reconciliation, but her eyes kept drifting toward David, carrying a hesitating dependence.
Linda just coldly asked her to leave, lacking even the energy to be perfunctory.
Watching her perform, she only felt nauseous.
On the weekend, perhaps following the political department's mediation advice, or perhaps because he himself felt the situation couldn't continue, David suggested taking Linda out for a walk to clear her mind.
"Let's go to that new oatmeal place in town. You said you wanted to try it before."
His tone carried a rare, almost pleading softness.
Lucy was there too and immediately chimed in, "Yes, Linda, staying cooped up at home isn't good. That place has good reviews. The food is light, good for your recovery now. I'll come with you. Having more people will make it livelier."
She acted like a caring friend trying to help a couple reconcile.
Linda didn't want to go, but looking at the two of them—one seeming remorseful and compromising, the other diligently playing the kind friend—she suddenly felt that maybe going out, in broad daylight, would help her remember all this more clearly.
So she nodded. She didn't speak.
The three of them went together. The atmosphere was strange.
David drove. Lucy sat in the passenger seat. Linda sat alone in the back.
On the road, Lucy occasionally found topics to talk about. David responded briefly. Linda remained silent, watching the moving street scenes outside the window.
The oatmeal shop was near a busy commercial district.
It was a weekend afternoon. Traffic and pedestrians were heavy.
David locked the car and walked over. He instinctively reached out to help Linda by the arm. Linda sidestepped away.
His hand froze in mid-air, then he silently withdrew it.
The three of them walked to the median island in the middle of the road, waiting for the traffic on the other side to pass.
Linda stood slightly behind, her gaze vacant, uninterested in everything around her.
She looked at David's back, at the distance between him and Lucy—less than half an arm's length, yet seemingly without any barrier.
Just then, a screeching, piercing tire sound suddenly erupted!
Accompanied by a roaring engine, a silver sedan seemed to lose control, swerving sharply out of a side road at high speed, heading straight toward the median island!
The crowd screamed and scattered.
Everything happened too fast. In the blink of an eye.
Linda only saw the menacing car charging toward her.
Her mind went blank. Her body was stiff, unable to react at all.
In that same instant, she saw David, standing diagonally in front of her, suddenly move!
His reaction was shockingly fast. But his target was not Linda, who was closer to him and seemed frozen in fear.
Without a moment's hesitation, he turned sideways, opened his arms, and in a fully protective gesture, lunged and wrapped himself around Lucy, who was standing outside him and also facing the direction of the oncoming car, rolling with her toward the safer inner part of the median island.
Linda was left completely behind, exposed in the path of the out-of-control sedan.
The screech of brakes, the sound of impact, and people's screams mixed together.
Linda felt a huge force hit her from the side. It wasn't the car—it was another panicked pedestrian who collided with her.
She staggered and fell backward. The back of her head struck the cold, hard edge of the median island curb with a heavy thud. Explosive pain erupted.
At the same time, the sedan yanked its direction at the last moment, grazing the edge of the median island and roaring past. The blast of wind it created stung her cheeks.
The world spun. The noisy sounds became distant.
In the second before she sank into darkness, in her blurred vision, the final image she saw was several meters away—David holding Lucy tightly, the two of them sitting on the ground. David was anxiously looking down to check on Lucy's condition, his face full of lingering fear and obvious concern.
He didn't even immediately look in her direction.
- Writer
