Staring at my phone, I debated whether to call Betty to gauge her mood.
It had been a while since Betty and I last spoke, especially after her encounter with Michael, whether it was consensual or not, we hadn’t exchanged a word.
If I called her now, what would she say?
Would she open up like before, pouring out her heart, confessing her feelings?
Could she possibly admit to what happened with Michael on her own?
Even a hint would be something.
Could I really let go of Betty without trying?
I decided to let a phone call determine it all.
I would gauge everything based on Betty’s tone over the phone.
I picked up the phone, scrolled to Betty’s number, but my fingers hesitated to dial.
My mind replayed the scene of their climax, Betty in control, lost in the throes of passion.
Even as she knew she wasn’t using any birth control, she deliberately moved to have Michael fully inside her at the moment he climaxed, ensuring his semen went deep inside her.
Was it a momentary loss in the heat of climax, or did she not care about the consequences after the first time?
Every time I thought of Betty taking the initiative, it tore at my heart...
"Beep..." In the moment I pressed the call button, it felt like my body wasn’t under my control.
What was the point anymore?
The phone rang, and it was already 7 PM.
Watching the surveillance footage had blurred the lines between day and night for me, and I hadn’t kept track of how long I’d been watching.
Was Betty now in Michael’s arms?
Did she have time to answer this long-lost call?
"Hello... honey..." Just as the call was about to disconnect automatically, it finally went through, and I heard my beloved wife’s voice after so long.
For some reason, hearing her voice made me want to cry.
Was it because I was about to lose her to another, a younger man?
"Honey, are you there? Can you hear me?"
I was suppressing a whirlwind of emotions, and it took me a while to respond.
Betty’s voice came through, anxious and filled with concern.
During my business trip, I had been in danger, and she couldn’t be sure if it was really me on the phone.
What if someone was using my phone to deliver bad news?
"I’m here..." I finally managed to push down my emotions and squeezed out those words.
My voice was hoarse from days of silence in the hotel, under constant stress.
"Honey, what’s wrong with your voice? Did something happen?"
My voice sounded so different, and Betty could tell.
She probably thought I was hurt, which made her voice even more anxious, even tearful.
Betty still loved me, worried about me.
Hearing her voice now made all those surveillance images seem unreal, like they were just illusions.
I wished all that surveillance was just a fantasy, that I would suddenly wake up and realize it was all just a nightmare...
"Nothing’s wrong, just very tired..."
My voice sounded robotic, devoid of emotion, perhaps because I felt utterly disillusioned.
Betty’s voice sounded normal.
I had imagined she might be trying to suppress her rapid breathing, fantasizing that she might be making love to Michael while talking to me, Michael’s penis inside her.
Listening to Betty’s voice, aside from a faint fear, there was nothing unusual in it.
As a writer with a keen sense, I could confirm this.
"Honey, when are you coming back? Please come back soon, I’m really worried..."
Betty finally broke down crying on the phone.
I couldn’t tell if it was genuine concern for me or guilt towards me.
Do you really care about me?
If I return home early, would I be interrupting your ’honeymoon’ with Michael?
"Honey, how much longer will you be? Can you hear me?"
Betty stopped crying and asked, sniffling.
"I’ll need a few more days, I should be back within a week..."
I didn’t want to tell Betty that I was already back.
Her tone on the phone this time was hard to read.
Was I wrong about everything?
Was I just hallucinating due to stress?
Were those surveillance tapes even real?
"Hmm... when you get back, I’ll take good care of you... I’ve missed you so much... I have so much to tell you when you return..."
Betty’s tone started off strange but became cheerful as she heard I’d be back soon.
However, her voice dipped into melancholy when she mentioned having a lot to say.
Was she preparing to confront me when I returned?
"How’s Michael doing?"
I had to bring up the name I dreaded, my adopted son and romantic rival, the one who took my beloved wife’s innocence.
"Ah... he’s... he’s fine."
Betty seemed caught off guard by my sudden mention of Michael, a name just as sensitive for her, and initially, her voice faltered.
"What’s wrong? Your tone changed just at the mention of Michael."
I noticed the anomaly and pressed further.
"It’s nothing, I just didn’t expect you to bring him up. We should be exchanging sweet nothings on such a rare call... hehe..."
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Betty quickly shifted gears, using a somewhat forced but plausible excuse.
"Why shouldn’t I mention him? After all, he’s our son, right?"
I forced a smile as I spoke to Betty, the only smile I had mustered in days, and it was so reluctant.
"Uh... yes... right..."
Betty’s tone shifted again.
I had deliberately emphasized that Michael was our son, touching a nerve since she had crossed a line with our supposed son.
"By the way, honey, do you know what tomorrow is?"
Just as I was pondering what topic to broach next to probe further, Betty changed the subject, sparking my curiosity.
What day is tomorrow?
"Tomorrow? What’s the date?"
I genuinely couldn’t remember, not even the day of the week, as the past few days had been a blur and the stress had severely impacted my cognitive functions.
Once sharp, my mind now felt sluggish.
It wasn’t Betty’s birthday, nor mine, as both our birthdays are in the winter, and it didn’t seem like anyone else in the family had a birthday coming up soon.