He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Nash's father called me.
His voice sounded aged and exhausted.
"Lila, I know I shouldn't be bothering you. But Nash... he's not going to make it."
My heart skipped a beat.
"What happened to him?"
"He ate a lot of seafood for you, had an allergic reaction and fell... he's still in the ER. The doctors say it's not looking good. Before he lost consciousness, he kept calling your name..."
"Could you... could you please come see him?"
I fell silent.
Honestly, I didn't want to go.
Nash and I had nothing to do with each other anymore.
But the pleading in the old man's voice made it impossible for me to be completely heartless.
At least during our marriage, he had treated me very well.
In the end, I went to the hospital.
Nash lay in the hospital bed, pale as paper.
He was so thin I barely recognized him.
I stood by the bed looking at him, feeling completely calm.
Like I was looking at an... irrelevant stranger.
His father was wiping away tears nearby.
"It's all our fault, his mother's and mine—we spoiled him... Child, we're so sorry..."
I shook my head: "It's all in the past."
I stayed in the room for ten minutes, then prepared to leave.
As I turned around, Nash's fingers on the bed suddenly twitched.
He slowly opened his eyes, his clouded gaze settling on me.
"Li... la..."
His voice was barely a whisper.
I stopped.
He looked at me, tears sliding down from the corners of his eyes.
"You... came..."
"Yeah, I came to see you," I said.
He managed a painful smile.
"I thought... you'd never... see me again..."
"Yes, this is the last time."
His smile froze, the light in his eyes dimming bit by bit.
"I'm sorry... really... sorry..."
I didn't answer again.
Outside, the sunshine was brilliant, making my eyes water slightly.
I took a deep breath. The air tasted like freedom.
The story of Nash and me was truly over now.
Epilogue—Nash's Perspective
I used to think Lila was the most stable backdrop of my life.
She was quiet, gentle, always behind me, so I felt free to chase those bright, dazzling neon lights ahead.
And Sofia—was the brightest of those neon signs.
She was young, bold, like a flame that easily ignited the passion my mundane marriage had long since extinguished.
I enjoyed her undisguised admiration, the vanity of spending lavishly on her.
I took her to the seaside, watched her run on the beach like a child, and in that moment, I felt young again too.
When Lila detected the fishy smell on me, I just felt annoyed.
Why was she always so sensitive?
Why couldn't she trust everything about me unconditionally like before?
I built walls with lies and impatience, thinking I could keep two worlds separate.
I naively believed that as long as I didn't admit it, my fortress was impregnable.
I forgot her birthday but celebrated Sofia's instead.
Because Sofia would make a fuss, would act cute—her happiness required effort from me to earn, which gave me a satisfying sense of being needed.
But Lila's love was too quiet, quiet like air, making me often forget it existed.
Even when she threw those divorce papers in my face, as I signed my name, I was still thinking that in a few days, she'd come back crying and begging.
After all, she loved me so much, she couldn't live without me.
But I was wrong.
I'd forgotten she was someone who knew how to let go.
She could abandon jobs that made her uncomfortable, could throw away expensive fruit that had gone bad.
And I had gone bad too, made her uncomfortable too.
So she threw me away too.
She really left, taking all the warmth from this house with her.
Sofia moved in.
But she only brought endless fights and demands.
She'd fly into rages over my unconsciously keeping a mug Lila had used, would storm out when I couldn't immediately satisfy her material desires.
Only then did I realize I'd driven away an ocean while trying to fill the void with a well.
When news of the company's bankruptcy broke, Sofia disappeared faster than anyone.
Those fair-weather friends all became busy signals on the phone.
Betrayed and abandoned, with nothing left, I found myself alone guarding this empty "tomb."
I started going crazy, obsessively believing that the root of everything was that seafood dinner.
I had given another woman the favoritism Lila most craved, in the very area that most troubled her.
I had to prove I was willing to endure that pain for her, even death.
I sat in that seafood restaurant, swallowing those things that would make me suffocate just by touching them, one bite at a time.
The burning in my throat and the welts on my skin became proof of my sacrifice.
I wanted her to see my repentance, wanted to trade my self-destruction for one look back.
I didn't die, but I broke the rest of my life.
Lying in that hospital bed, I became the laughingstock others whispered about—the man who fell from grace.
Paralyzed, bankrupt, homeless.
I was like a puddle of mud, without even the strength to lift my head.
Finally, she came.
She was still so beautiful, calm as an autumn lake, reflecting none of my wretchedness.
Like a drowning man grasping the last piece of driftwood, I hoarsely told her I'd eaten seafood for her, I'd almost died.
She just looked at me, no ripples in her eyes, and said softly: "Nash, that's meaningless."
Meaningless.
The word was more devastating than a death sentence.
So all my desperate, seemingly tragic attempts at redemption were just a farce that had nothing to do with her.
She left.
This time, I didn't even have the right to chase after her.
I lay on that cold hospital bed, day after day, staring at the white ceiling.
Memories crashed over me like waves, drowning me repeatedly.
I remembered how in college, she fell in the snow trying to bring me a warm meal, her knees bruised purple, but she protected that lunch box perfectly.
I remembered when we were newlyweds and my startup failed, she gave me all her savings and held me, saying: "Don't be afraid, we'll start over."
It turned out she had never really left me before.
It was me who pushed her away.
Again and again...
My body grew weaker each day, life slowly ebbing from this useless shell.
In the final moment before consciousness faded, what appeared before my eyes wasn't Sofia's young face, nor the wealth I'd once been so proud of.
Instead, it was an afternoon many years ago—
Lila had fallen asleep at a library table, sunlight falling across her long lashes, casting a peaceful silhouette.
I watched her then, feeling an unprecedented sense of peace in my heart.
I should have known in that moment—
That was everything I'd ever pursue in life.