Infidelity and regret
When I was in college, I was a cute girl with big eyes. After graduating, I was assigned to work at a bank. Through an introduction, I met my current husband, and naturally became a beautiful young wife. The first time my future husband saw me, his face turned red, and when he served me tea, he burned his hand. Even though it blistered, he was still smiling. I was touched by his smile.
My husband treats me very well, not in the way of giving me a bouquet of roses on Valentine’s Day, but by almost taking care of all the household chores every day. Years have passed, and life has been uneventful, which leaves me with a slight sense of regret. He is like a cup of lukewarm water, never able to provide the warmth I longed for.
The first time I went to the “Dynamic Zone Bar” with my colleagues, I wore a trendy crop top. The lights were flashing, and at the large and old bar counter, Mr. He, the lead dancer, fixed his slender eyes on me. I thought it might be my imagination.
When the dance was over, Mr. He came down and naturally took my hand. I should have refused, but my hand uncontrollably heated up. Mr. He later told me, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, why did you only appear today?”
Passion was ignited by a glance, a touch. I began lying to my husband, making excuses to go out, to the “Dynamic Zone Bar” to watch Mr. He dance. Mr. He gave me a purple rose that night, something my husband had never done. I felt a mix of emotions, both touched and passionate. Mr. He took me up to the second floor, and we kissed deeply in a dark corner. That kind of passionate kiss was intoxicating and made me tremble. I completely forgot that there was someone waiting for me to come home. My heart, enchanted by the long-desired passion, lost all sense of time and place.
Mr. He told me, “I love you, truly.” His eyes burned like fire, causing my heart to tremble. Every day, Mr. He repeated the same words on his phone. The foundation of my family began to shake, constantly trembling on nights when my husband turned his back on me. There was unburned gunpowder at the foundation. I finally didn’t go home that day, calling my husband to say it was a girlfriend’s birthday and that I would stay up all night playing cards with her.
Early the next morning, I woke up, nestled in that man’s arms and said, “Dear, wait for me for a week, and I’ll marry you.”
Mr. He laughed lightly and said, “I thought you were a mature woman.”
It turned out that Mr. He did not belong to marriage; he only had countless women who loved him and women he once loved. He had attempted suicide in college for a girl, but after winning her over, he began seeking new lovers. He was used to pursuing and conquering, accustomed to unrestrained passion without any responsibility, used to saying “I love you,” but never meaning it forever.
I heard the sound of something shattering: like a glass finally meeting the boiling water it longed for, only to break instantly. The shards pierced into my heart. In the misty steam, there were only tears of regret, with no trace of love.
When I returned home, my husband had already gone to work. On the table was a small note: “You’ve been having trouble sleeping and stayed up late. I bought milk and bread with meat floss; eat and get some rest.” Simple words, yet they made me cry like rain. I spent the whole day soaking in the bathroom, but I knew the blemish couldn’t be washed away.
Perhaps, true love is just an ordinary glass, unable to withstand scorching passion but suited to moderate, gentle, clear lukewarm water, requiring a lasting temperature and protection. Unless you choose to break or destroy it.
I still silently enjoy the old movie “Waterloo Bridge,” where love spreads like war. I still keep the book “The Bridges of Madison County” by my bedside. From a glance to the heart, it takes just a second for an encounter to become a passion, like fireworks in the dark night, suddenly blooming beautifully, but that is just a legend. I finally understand that the love I need is just a cup of ordinary, tolerant lukewarm water.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
