Eleven Years All to the Wrong Man novel Chapter 6

Emma impatiently walked over and yanked the door open, blocking the entrance with her body as she glared at Evan in annoyance. "What the hell do you want?"

"What do I want?"

Evan repeated the question in disbelief, then let out a low laugh. "Weren't you the one begging me to come back yesterday? And now you're asking what I want?"

He looked at her with a mocking expression. "What's this? A new game, Mrs. Cooper? Playing hard to get?"

Emma stared at him coldly, saying nothing.

Evan just smiled nonchalantly. "Fine. If it's a new game, I'll bite. What's next? Are we taking this to the bedroom?"

Shameless bastard. The nerve.

Just as Emma was about to scowl and lash out, a sharp, piercing pain shot through her knee, like countless tiny needles were stabbing her. Her face instantly went pale, and the words on the tip of her tongue died in her throat.

She let go of the doorknob and, forcing herself to endure the discomfort, slowly walked back to the nightstand.

With trembling hands, she fumbled open the pill box, grabbing a handful of colorful prescription pills. She took her glass and swallowed them all in one go with cold water.

By then, Evan had already walked into the room.

He was still a bit annoyed and had intended to keep arguing, but seeing how awful Emma looked and that she had just taken some medicine, he asked, "Are you actually sick?"

"Yeah, caught a cold with the temperature drop."

Having no energy left to fight with him, Emma coolly set down her glass, pulled back the covers, and lay down on the bed.

"Oh. Stay warm, then."

Evan rubbed his nose, then awkwardly walked to the other side of the bed, lifted the covers, and lay down beside her.

After he turned off the last wall lamp, the room plunged into darkness.

Even though he knew she really did have a cold and probably felt unwell, Evan still felt a bit frustrated. But since Emma wasn't picking a fight anymore, he decided to let it go. He lay down obediently beside her, his hand resting lightly on her waist as he closed his eyes.

In the darkness, Emma lay with her eyes wide open, staring motionlessly into the pitch black.

Without warning, tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, slowly soaking into her pillowcase. She wasn't even sure why she was crying—for herself, or for their marriage. Emma couldn't tell anymore.

Maybe it was both. Or maybe neither.

Because of Evan, she had lost her home and her family. Perhaps all the suffering she was enduring now was what she deserved, retribution for the impulsive choices of her youth.

She was dying. She had three months left. Was she really going to spend the rest of her life on a man who no longer loved her?

Emma stared at the ceiling, terrified and helpless.

For the first time, the thought of divorce entered her mind.