Dying to Watch Them Fall

My husband, Max Cornwell, and I, Vicky Cornwell, have been together since our school days, growing from wearing school uniforms together to walking down the aisle. All our friends envy me for finding true love. Despite my parents' objections, I married him without any fanfare, and those first two years were really tough. But we made it through. He then started his own company and his business grew. By the third year of our marriage, our lives had gradually become more comfortable. I stood by his side through it all, but eventually, I stepped back and let him take the lead. My husband said, "Honey, you've suffered with me all these years. From now on, you'll be my beloved wife, my support. I'll take care of making money while you stay beautiful and carefree." Those sweet words still echoed in my ears, but his heart had already changed. Adding to my misery was the stomach cancer diagnosis in front of me. My head pounded, and nausea churned in my gut. It turned out we were only able to endure hardship together, but we couldn't share prosperity. I stared numbly at the screen, my face gaunt and worn. Time had stripped me of my youth and beauty. Meanwhile, he, now in his prime and thriving in his career, turned around and got involved with the new secretary he'd just hired. I had met that little secretary. She looked innocent and sweet. Once, Max came home drunk, and I quickly brought him some hangover soup. He muttered, "Darling, I think Krista Parsons is quite similar to you." Now that I thought about it, I felt a lump in my throat. Krista was younger than me, she could pretend, and she had a scheming mind. Want to pick up a ready-made bargain? No way! Anyway, I was counting my days, the worst was to fight with them. I was in a daze, the pain and hatred intertwined and I fell asleep. I was woken up by a phone call. It was the hospital. "Ms. Cornwell, I'm so sorry. Our hospital's machine malfunctioned last week, and your medical diagnosis may have been wrong." "If you are free, please come over for a re-examination as soon as possible." I was shocked. I had already planned to wait for death, but I didn't expect hope to be rekindled. "You mean I might not have stomach cancer?" "Yes. Last week, one of our machines malfunctioned, and we're afraid your diagnosis might have been incorrect. Could you come in for another test at your earliest convenience?" I cheered up in seconds. "It's a great thing that the machine is broken, I will go for a follow-up visit as soon as possible." I glanced at the time, it was 6 o'clock, and Max had not returned yet. In the past, no matter how late he came back, I would wait for him on the sofa, but I would never wait for him foolishly again. But if we really wanted to break it, apart from years of relationship, there were intertwined interests that have been painstakingly managed. I decided to give him one last chance. If he came to his senses and fired the little secretary, I would pretend that nothing happened. But the human heart was the most fragile when put to the test. A man's heart changes fast. One second he can hold you in the palm of his hand, the next second he can abandon you like worn out shoes. I deliberately left that incorrect diagnosis report on the floor by his study door, making it seem like it had accidentally fallen. Then, I went to bed without waiting for him. At about 11 o'clock, Max got into bed, his body smelled of alcohol and perfume. I continued to pretend to be asleep, suppressing my nausea. The next morning, I got up to make breakfast as usual. I kept an eye on Max's movements in the kitchen, and after seeing him go to the bathroom, he went straight to the study. I waited outside the study. As soon as he came out and bumped into me, a look of shock flashed across his face, fleeting, but I caught it.