Chapter 7

When Cynthia opened her eyes again, she was lying in the familiar comfort of the large bed at home. Oliver's face brightened with joy the moment he saw her awake. "Sweetheart, you're finally awake," he said, his voice tender. He reached out to touch her forehead, but Cynthia instinctively turned away, avoiding his hand. A shadow flickered across his eyes, and his voice dropped with a hint of disappointment. "You're still mad at me, aren't you?" She said nothing, her gaze cast downward as she tugged the blanket higher around herself. Oliver continued, trying to explain, "I only left you on that island because I was too worried about you. I acted on impulse. You have no idea how these past two days—while you're unconscious and burning up with fever—felt like years to me." Felt like years? She nearly laughed aloud. Her cheek still throbbed faintly from his slap. The crushing loneliness and despair on that dark island were burned into her bones. And now he had the guts to say that he was worried? A bitter, mocking smile tugged at Cynthia's lips as she watched Oliver perform his pitiful act of remorse. He wore the expression of a man deeply misunderstood, eyes brimming with supposed devotion. It made Cynthia sick. "You pushed Melissa into the sea," he continued, tone righteous. "That's a crime. I might have saved her, but what if she loses control and presses charges against you? "And then we found that voodoo doll in her room—do you know how terrified she was? She even threatened to post about it online. I had no choice. I punished you to calm her down. Cynthia, why can't you understand me? Every word out of his mouth sounded like he was doing it all for her sake, yet he was piling baseless accusations on her without a shred of trust. The bitterness in Cynthia's smile deepened, the fight draining out of her. What was the point of defending herself? No matter what she said, it would be dismissed as lies. Why should she waste her breath? Sensing her silence, Oliver shifted the subject, trying to lighten the mood. "It's Thanksgiving Day today. Mom asked us to come over for dinner. If you're not feeling up to it, I'll call and make an excuse." "Let's go, then." Cynthia finally spoke. If she refused, who knew what terrible things her mother-in-law, Barbara David, would say about her relatives and friends? Cynthia didn't care what they thought—but she also didn't want the Johnson family's name dragged through the mud. Though her body was still weak from the fever, Cynthia forced herself up. To avoid hearing that she looked "sick", she put on a slightly heavier makeup look to cover her sickly pallor. Even though they hurried, by the time they arrived at the Carter residence, the sky had already darkened. As the door opened, the first thing Cynthia saw was Melissa sitting beside Barbara, sweetly holding her arm. "Cynthia, Oliver, you're finally here! Any later and the food would've gone cold," Melissa chirped with a smile. "Hmph. Late to Thanksgiving dinner—how rude," Barbara snapped. "Melissa, on the other hand, is so thoughtful. She came early to keep me company." Barbara sat proudly on the couch, casting a cold, pointed glance at Cynthia, but Cynthia was used to it by now. It didn't faze her in the slightest. When Barbara asked her to give up her seat next to Oliver for Melissa to sit there instead, Cynthia nodded and stood up without hesitation. … Later, Barbara took the family heirloom pearl bracelet, a symbol of being the Carter family's daughter-in-law, and slipped it onto Melissa's wrist. Cynthia quietly continued eating. When Barbara ridiculed her for being infertile, unfit to be Oliver's wife, she calmly pulled out her latest medical report and laid it on the table. Barbara was left speechless. Cynthia could finally enjoy a quiet meal. Yet, for some reason, Oliver felt a strange panic creeping into his heart as he watched her so composed, so indifferent. It felt like something important was slipping away from him, something he couldn't name. Barbara tried to speak again, but he suddenly stood and slammed his palm on the table. "That's enough, Mom! It's just dinner—why do you always turn it into a show? Cynthia is my wife." With that, he grabbed Cynthia's hand and marched upstairs without a second glance. Barbara was stunned. She had always made things hard for Cynthia, but this was the first time Oliver had openly defied her. "This is outrageous!" she cried out from downstairs. "What kind of sin did I commit to be treated like this by my son? I don't want to live anymore!" Her dramatic wailing echoed up the stairs. Cynthia glanced at the man beside her in surprise. She couldn't help but wonder—what on earth had gotten into him today? Since when did he start defending her? However, she didn't ask. There were only two days left before her departure.