Exiled in Ashes

Today marks the third anniversary of my marriage to Norton Olsen. I left work three hours early, pushing through the pain in my old right-hand injury, and prepared all his favorite dishes. At seven in the evening, Norton finally came home. But he wasn't alone. By his side was Trista Sewell, the first love he cherished most. Trista wore a long white dress, her makeup flawless, linking arms with Norton as she smiled warmly walking in. Norton's gaze swept over the dining table, then he led Trista to sit on the sofa. "Norton, so this is your home? It's really cozy." Trista's voice was soft, like feathers gently brushing the heart. "If you like it, stay a few more days." Norton's voice was a tenderness I'd never heard before. He lifted his hand to smooth the stray hairs on Trista's forehead. I stood by the dining table, still holding the cloth I'd just used to wipe it, looking like the family's hired maid. "Norton, I made your favorite dishes. Do you want to eat while they're still hot..." I asked cautiously. "No need." Norton cut me off coldly. "Trista and I have already eaten." Trista's eyes landed on the photo frame I'd placed on the sideboard, and they brightened. That's the photo from when I won the outstanding doctor award last year. The photo frame was a gift from Norton back then. She walked over, picked up the photo frame, and asked with feigned curiosity, "Is this Eileen's photo? She looks really impressive." Before I could respond, I saw her hand relax. With a sharp crack, the photo frame shattered on the ground, glass shards flying everywhere. My heart clenched painfully. What was worse, Trista lifted her foot and lightly pressed down on my face in the photo, a mocking smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "Oh gosh, I'm really sorry, my hand just slipped." There wasn't an ounce of apology in her tone. "Trista!" I couldn't help but raise my voice. But Norton abruptly stood up, stepped in front of me, and glared fiercely: "Eileen, what are you yelling for? Trista didn't mean to do it." "She did it on purpose!" I pointed at the photo crushed on the floor, my voice trembling. "So what if she did?" Norton's words cut through me like a sharp knife: "It's just a photo frame and a picture. What's the big deal?" He then turned to Trista, his tone instantly softening: "Trista, don't worry. I've already told the servants to clean it up." Trista blinked, her eyes filled with hurt: "Norton, it's all my fault. I didn't mean to make Eileen angry." "It's nothing to do with you." Norton comforted her, then turned back to glare at me. "Eileen, apologize to Trista." Apologize? Looking at this pair of scoundrels before me, I felt nothing but bitter irony. A dull ache pulsed through my right hand, a cruel reminder of all I had once sacrificed. Three years ago, during the earthquake, Norton was trapped beneath the rubble. I charged in recklessly to save him. In pushing away the fallen beam, my right hand was injured, leaving a permanent disability—I can no longer hold a scalpel as deftly as before. And what about Norton? "I'm not apologizing." I straightened my back and met Norton's eyes. "The one who should apologize is her." Norton's gaze turned icy cold: "Eileen, don't be so ungrateful." "Trista's hands are meant for playing the piano—so precious. If you had scratched them just now, could you even afford to pay for that?" He actually forgot my sacrifice, instead thinking that Trista's piano-playing hands were more precious. It turns out, in his heart, my dignity and sacrifices didn't compare to Trista's hands. I looked at him, a dull pain thrumming in my chest, sharp enough to almost stop my breath.