Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 250 Perhaps it was fate

Betty’s call came through immediately, and I had no choice but to turn off my phone.

After ending the call with Betty, I felt completely drained.

Staring out of the car window, it wasn’t long before I saw Betty emerge from the school.

There she was, clutching her high heels in her hands, running barefoot out of the school, tears streaming down her face.

A few scattered individuals were at the school entrance, but Betty’s disheveled appearance still drew many curious glances.

The security guard stood agape, as no one knew why the famously beautiful teacher was in such a state, running out of the school barefoot and clutching her shoes, completely disregarding her image.

Betty ran straight to Michael’s Accord, flung open the passenger door, and dove inside.

Less than a minute later, the car started, made a sharp turn, and ran a red light at the intersection, heading in the direction of my house.

Thinking back, Betty must have kicked off her heels in a rush, as running in them would have been cumbersome.

In the final moments, with everything exposed, she just jumped into Michael’s car and headed for home.

The first instinct in a crisis is to think I was at home.

But then I remembered something I had to do.

I started my van and headed to the office.

My mind was foggy, my limbs numb, and the van swerved erratically on the road, crossing into other lanes several times.

When I arrived at the office, everyone had left for the day.

Even the security guard, who greeted me, went ignored.

I went to my office, opened the safe, and took out the bag containing items Luna had given me, including something that looked like a USB drive and some personal items.

I gathered everything and left the office key on my desk before letting the door lock behind me automatically.

Leaving the office, I realized there was still one thing tying me down—my parents’ memorial tablet was still at home.

The situation was eerily similar to the last time I was beaten up at the bridge, carrying my parents’ memorial tablet.

This time, I couldn’t leave it behind, regardless of whether Betty and Michael were at home or not.

What else was there to care about or fear?

I started the car and headed home again...

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Driving, my mind was a mess.

I didn’t care what might happen when I got home and faced Betty and Michael.

My brain was mush, and my mental state seemed to have collapsed.

As I drove into the neighborhood, I saw the black Accord coming towards me.

The license plate was painfully familiar, and through the front windshield, I could see Michael driving, turning his head to say something to Betty.

Betty, sitting in the passenger seat, was covering her mouth, crying, possibly not even listening to Michael.

Since my van was often used for undercover filming, it had tinted windows that made it impossible to see inside from the outside, but I could see out clearly.

So as our vehicles passed each other, Michael and Betty didn’t notice me.

In that moment of crossing paths, my heart ached with a pang of reluctance.

I knew that might be the last time I was ever that close to Betty.

Yet, she had no idea I was right there.

As we passed, Michael’s Accord even swerved slightly to give way.

It seemed they hadn’t found me at home, so they hurried out again, and through the rearview mirror, I saw them heading towards my office.

Betty probably thought of home first, and when I wasn’t there, the office was the next logical place.

But she got the order wrong.

If she had chosen the office first, she might have found me.

Perhaps it was fate.

I parked the car and slowly climbed the stairs to my apartment.

Opening the door, the familiar scent hit me.

It was all too familiar, only this time, I didn’t walk in on Betty and Michael together.

Turning on the light, I saw several messy footprints on the floor—Betty and Michael’s.

They had even searched the house without taking off their shoes, of course finding nothing.

I went straight to the back balcony and picked up my parents’ memorial tablet.

Then I took one last look around the apartment.

This might really be the last time.

Under the kitchen’s warming cover was the breakfast Betty had made for me that morning.

Looking at the photos around the house, including our wedding picture, my tears finally started to flow.

I really didn’t want to leave.

The last time I left home, it was because I had walked in on Michael and Betty having sex.

That scene had shaken me so deeply that I couldn’t calm down.

Now, with no one to interrupt my solitude at home, all my thoughts flashed through my mind, unleashing a torrent of emotions.

Tears mixed with the bitter taste of sorrow filled my mouth as I sobbed, something I hadn’t done in many years.

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My legs felt like they wouldn’t obey me, rooted to the spot, a deep part of me unwilling to leave this home.

After drying my tears, I took one last look around at the threshold of my home, then closed the door which locked automatically behind me.

Carrying my parents’ memorial tablet, I slowly descended the stairs, unsure how long I had been inside—maybe half an hour, maybe an hour.

Reaching the ground floor, I placed the memorial tablet in my van.

Driving out of the neighborhood, I had just left when I spotted that black Accord again.

This time we were far apart; I had turned a corner and it was behind me, but it turned into the complex.

It seemed Betty and Michael had not found me at the office, so they returned home, thinking it best to wait there in case I showed up.

I drove the van to a gas station and filled it up, then continued driving aimlessly.

Unintentionally, I found myself in a familiar row house area.

It seemed fate had led me here.

A realization hit me—I still had things to sort out.

The house and car were in my name, and all our savings were with me.

I wanted to leave without taking anything.

In the row house area, I found a typing and photocopying shop and drafted a power of attorney.

I also made copies of some documents using my ID.

After handling these matters, I was conflicted.

If I delivered these documents home now, I’d have to face Betty and Michael.

Having already left, I didn’t want to confront them.

Then I remembered the small courtyard.

I had a key, so I drove there.

The gate was locked, but I used my key to enter.

This was my first time entering this courtyard from the front.

Everything inside was familiar, just like in the videos.

Looking at the sofa in the living room, I imagined Betty and Michael’s passionate encounter there just hours ago, possibly still bearing Betty’s warmth and fluids.

Thinking of this, I sniffed the air in the living room.

The doors and windows had been closed, so the scent lingered—a distinct smell of male hormones, a pungent scent unique to semen.

I hadn’t witnessed their final moments together.

At that time, I was alone at the school gate, anxiously hoping Betty would meet me on time.

But she delayed, ignoring my requests, choosing instead to have her final encounter with Michael here.