Chapter 2

Christopher carried Cynthia and strode away. Bumping into Melody as he passed the exit, he sent her stumbling against the doorframe. The pain in her feet and calves made her grip the frame tightly. Everyone in the private room turned to stare, their gazes filled with disdain and mockery. Melody, however, was beyond caring. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the door, using the wall for support.

At the outpatient department, the nurse gasped at the sight of Melody's injuries. Blisters covered her feet; the largest was the size of a bun, with smaller ones scattered around. It was a horrifying sight.

"Oh, my God! How did you get burned like this?" the nurse exclaimed, shocked.

Melody, gritting her teeth in pain, could barely speak; her face was stiff with the effort. The nurse treated her wound, sighing as she worked. "Someone with burns came in just now," she said. "Her boyfriend carried her in anxiously and insisted on seeing a top doctor. It was just a few red dots; they'll heal quickly."

A wave of sorrow and bitterness washed over Melody. The woman with the minor burns—it had to be Cynthia—and her anxious boyfriend, Christopher. He’d been so worried, so attentive; even the nurse thought they were a couple.

"If that woman were injured as badly as you," the nurse remarked, "I wonder how he'd feel."

As badly as her?

Melody stared at the large, clear blister on her foot. If Cynthia had suffered such a serious injury, Christopher would likely summon the city's top specialists. Yet, Melody had been left to fend for herself, met with no sympathy whatsoever. The disparity was stark.

Her phone buzzed. It was Christopher. Wasn't he with Cynthia? Why was he calling her? Melody ignored the call, flipping her phone face down.

The nurse prepared to lance the largest blister, but the fluid was too abundant to absorb easily. Just then, Christopher arrived. Seeing Melody on the bed, he asked, "Why didn't you answer my call?"

Melody looked up, startled. She didn't want to argue, merely replying, "I put my phone on silent."

Christopher saw the overturned phone and his anger subsided slightly. The nurse turned, curious about the woman he'd carried in earlier.

"And you are...?" she asked.

Before Christopher could answer, Cynthia's voice called out, "Christopher, how's Mel?"

Christopher turned, the word "husband" catching in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Sensing his hesitation, Melody sneered, "We have nothing to do with each other."

Christopher's anger flared at her nonchalant response, though he didn't understand why. "She's my wife," he stated, fixing Melody with a stare. "Weren't you the one who wanted to marry me? Now you refuse to admit it?"

Melody frowned, puzzled by his irony. Hadn't he been the one refusing to acknowledge her? She'd only answered for him, seeing his struggle.

Cynthia looked stunned and hurt. Instantly, a malicious glint entered her eyes, and she dug her nails into her palm.

The nurse, having gleaned their dynamic, lost her patience. "Irrelevant people, please leave so I can do my job," she snapped.

Christopher started to speak, but the nurse's words, coupled with the sight of Melody's horrifically blistered foot, stopped him short. His heart clenched. He instinctively stopped Cynthia from entering, moving to allow more light into the room. Instead of leaving, he stood silently against the wall, gazing at Melody's injured foot. The redness, the numerous blisters of varying sizes...

The nurse lanced the blister, and Melody’s leg trembled as the fluid was absorbed. She was his wife in name only; he’d barely acknowledged her efforts to force him into marriage. Now, seeing her fragility, he finally registered her vulnerability.

"Keep your shoes off, and don't move around too much. Apply the medicine three times a day," the nurse instructed after draining the blister.

Melody nodded, but the pain made her shiver as she tried to stand. Christopher immediately stepped forward and lifted her. Melody, instinctively reaching for support, quickly withdrew, requesting, "Let me down."

"Hold tight. Don't blame me if you fall," he responded, carrying her with one arm while retrieving her slippers and phone with the other.

Melody stared at his profile, her lips pursed. She stopped struggling. She knew his gesture wasn't born of love, only sympathy, perhaps spurred by fear of Daniel's potential retribution.

He carried her out. Cynthia, waiting outside, smiled concernedly. "Mel, are you okay?"

Melody's gaze was cold; she wouldn't play along. Christopher took the initiative, "Cynthia, her legs are injured. She can't walk."

Cynthia smiled, "You don't need to explain. Mel is your wife. It's natural."