The Road He Didn't Take

On the heavy traffic road rushing my father to the hospital due to a cerebral hemorrhage, we ran into my husband, who was directing traffic as a police officer.

My mother was about to wind the window down and beg him for help, but I immediately stopped her and decisively turned the steering wheel, taking a narrow side road instead.

In my previous life, at this exact situation, after a brief moment of hesitation, my husband had chosen to clear a path for us and personally escorted my father to the hospital.

That very night, his childhood sweetheart, out of spite because he hadn't answered her calls, turned on the gas and killed herself.

He seemed utterly unaffected by her death. He even organized a welcome-home party for my father when he was discharged from the hospital.

But on the day of the party, he poisoned every dish on the table.

"It's because of you and your damn father! If it weren't for you, Rosalin wouldn't have killed herself! You're the ones who drove her to death! You should pay for her life!"

When I opened my eyes once more, I had returned to the day my father collapsed.

This time, my husband answered the phone. Without a second thought, he ran to his childhood sweetheart.

Yet, why had he still come to regret it?

The endless blaring of car horns from rush hour rang in my ears.

My father, Michael Stern, was already unconscious, laying in the lap of my mother, Edith Christian.

We were stuck at an intersection.

Outside the car window, my husband's colleague, Francis Light, in a police uniform, was looking at me icily.

He said, "Everyone is stuck here. If I were to clear a path just for you, others would call it a misuse of power. Daphne, are you just trying to get me in trouble?"

My mother was so anxious that she began sweating profusely. She yelled, "This is a matter of life and death! Is this how you police officers do your job?"

Half an hour ago, I returned to the day my father collapsed.

Still stuck in traffic, I did not ask my husband, Jonathan Reed, who was conducting the traffic, for help. Instead, I forced my way through the stream of cars and turned sharply into a side road with fewer vehicles.

I did not even have the time to step on the gas pedal when Francis appeared, blocking my car.

"What life and death? I don't see anything. Your father is just asleep in the car. What do you mean cerebral hemorrhage? Daphne, if you continue causing trouble by putting on this fake act, I'll have no choice but to have you arrested."

Francis smiled at me maliciously, his eyes gleaming with clear condescension.

When the other cars saw me leaving, they honked at me with dissatisfaction.

"Can't you abide by the rules? If we can wait, why can't you?!"

"That's right! You even asked a police officer to