The Wife's Evidence

At eleven o'clock at night, a message from Dave Johnson's colleague appeared on my phone, stating Dave had a car accident on the way home from working overtime. I stared at the words on the screen: "Sent to City No. 1 Hospital for emergency treatment," my fingers turned icy cold. Having changed clothes, I dashed out of the house; the motion-activated lights of the hallway illuminated one by one in response to my footsteps and then dimmed again. Outside the hospital's emergency department, cars were densely parked, with red and blue police lights casting flickering reflections on the glass doors. As I reached the operating room entrance, I was met with the heart-wrenching cries of my mother-in-law, Lola Zamora. She lunged at me, grasping my arm with nails nearly piercing my skin, repeatedly whispering, "If anything happens to Dave, I will have no reason to live." Relatives gathered around to comfort her; some handed her tissues, while others gently patted her back. I gazed at the tightly closed door of the operating room, my heart utterly unperturbed; instead, I retrieved my phone and proceeded to the staircase. The moment the call connected, the lawyer's gentle voice came through: "Ms. Coolidge, regarding the divorce consultation you made earlier, do you need to submit any additional documents?" I lowered my voice: "Dave is currently undergoing surgery in the hospital. I wish to initiate the divorce process as soon as possible. What must I prepare?" The lawyer paused, then asked: "Are you certain you want to bring this up at such a time? It may be detrimental to your standing in public opinion." "I am certain." Clutching my phone tightly, the wind from the stairwell slipped through the window crack, sending a chill down my spine. After hanging up and turning around, Lola Zamora stood at the stairwell landing, her eyes bloodshot and hair disheveled. She had clearly heard my words, rushed over, and raised her hand to strike me. With a sharp smack, the crisp sound echoed through the stairwell. "Jennifer, you heartless woman! My son's life hangs in the balance inside, and yet you dare to contemplate divorce!" she screamed, raising her hand again to strike. I raised my hand to block her arm and forcefully pushed her away. The onlookers gathered around at the sound, whispering and pointing fingers. "This woman is far too cold-hearted; her husband is in surgery, yet she is already demanding a divorce." "She appears so composed; how can her heart be so unyielding?" Their murmurs stabbed at my ears like needles. At that moment, my father arrived. Seeing the chaotic scene, he swiftly pulled me behind him. "Lola, let us speak calmly. Do not resort to violence." My father's voice trembled with anxiety. Lola Zamora pointed at me and yelled at my father, "Look at the daughter you raised! My son is fighting for his life, and she only wants a divorce!" My father turned to look at me, his eyes brimming with shock and disappointment: "Jennifer, what on earth is happening? How can you bring up divorce at a time like this?" I opened my mouth, but uttered not a word. Some matters are not yet fit to be spoken. The next morning, upon arriving at school for work, I was immediately summoned to the principal's office. The principal handed me his phone; the screen displayed a post on the local forum, its headline glaringly read: "Jennifer Coolidge, female teacher at City No. 1 High School, while her husband undergoes surgery following a car accident, is busily consulting about divorce." The comments below have exploded into an uproar, all filled with accusatory remarks against me. "How can she be fit to be a teacher? Her Professional Ethics are completely compromised!" "She must have planned the divorce long ago, hastening to break free when her husband met with misfortune—how utterly repugnant." The principal sighed, "Jennifer, public opinion online has turned overwhelmingly against you. The school has thus resolved to suspend your teaching responsibilities temporarily until this matter has been settled." I nodded and stepped out of the principal's office. Upon returning home, my phone incessantly vibrated, flooded with abusive messages from unknown numbers. Opening my social media accounts, my inbox was overwhelmed with insults, with some even exposing my photographs and home address. I set my phone to silent, tossed it on the sofa, and gazed at the empty living room, feeling utterly exhausted for the first time.