Blind to the Treasure

In the fifth year of my blindness, Theodore Trent still read the newspaper to me every day. His voice was gentle, like the wind that brushed past my ears five years ago when I shielded him from that car accident. That day, the truck lost control and hurtled toward us—I threw myself to push him away, but shards of glass pierced my eyes, leaving my world engulfed in darkness from then on. He held me tight, weeping, promising to care for me for a lifetime, saying I was his everything. In these five years, he truly was impeccable in everything he did. Every morning, he helped me dress, carefully cutting my breakfast into small pieces and feeding me. At night, he would soak my feet and tell me amusing stories from work, only leaving after I fell asleep. I believed we would remain together like this forever. Until last week, when I was diagnosed with advanced stomach cancer. The doctor said I had at most one month left to live. I didn't tell Theodore, wanting to savor his tenderness once more in my final days. But that day, I came home early from the hospital. Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice coming from the living room. "Theodore, are you really planning to spend your whole life with Tiffany?" It was the voice of his childhood friend, Jack. "Spend my whole life?" Theodore chuckled coldly, his tone thick with impatience: "I'm already tired of her. If she hadn't blinded herself for me, I would have divorced her long ago." "Then why are you still so good to her?" "It's all an act. I can't just let people say I'm ungrateful." Theodore's voice turned cold: "Besides, she still has some use. The Fey family's resources haven't fully come into my hands yet." My heart sank abruptly, as if drenched in ice water. Then, I heard the woman's coquettish laughter and the soft rustling of clothes. "Theodore, you're so naughty, still talking behind her back." The woman's voice was seductively enchanting to the core. "Honey, compared to that blind woman, you are truly the apple of my eye." Theodore's voice held a tenderness I had never heard before. I groped forward and pushed the door open; the sounds in the living room stopped abruptly. "Tiffany? Why are you home so soon?" Theodore's tone was noticeably flustered. I turned toward the source of the voice; though I could not see, I sensed the unfamiliar scent of perfume lingering in the air. "Who is she?" My voice trembled, but I struggled to keep it steady. "No one, just Jack's friend, stopping by." Theodore quickly explained. "Is that so?" I sneered, "Then what are these clothes on the floor? Do friends take off their clothes when they come over?" I heard his footsteps approach, then he took my hand and said, "Tiffany, don't overthink it. I asked Jack to help bring something, and it accidentally fell on the floor." His hand was still so warm, yet to me, it felt unbearably cold. "I'm tired." I pulled my hand away and groped my way to the bedroom. "I want to rest." He didn't stop me; he only whispered behind me, "Alright, I'll have the kitchen make the porridge you love." The moment the door closed, I could no longer hold back; tears silently streamed down my cheeks. Five years of deep love, five years of steadfast devotion—all had been nothing but a carefully crafted lie.