The Rescue Team Leader's Conspiracy

Now, I'm left with only half a life. More precisely, only half my body remains. My right leg feels hollow and empty; the wind blows through the pant leg like a soulless bag, flapping against the wheelchair's armrest. All this was caused by that sudden earthquake. And by my husband, Felix Carter. When the earthquake struck, I was in the kitchen, preparing vegetables. The tiled floor suddenly shook violently, my vegetable basket crashed to the ground, and greens scattered everywhere. I instinctively ran toward the door but was knocked to the ground. The load-bearing wall groaned under the unbearable strain, dust pouring from the ceiling like a waterfall. I screamed Felix Carter's name, my voice swallowed by the roar around me. Felix Carter was the team leader of the city emergency rescue team; that day, he was supposed to be resting at home. I saw him rush out of the bedroom, swaying, his figure unsteady. His eyes flicked over me, pausing for barely a second. Then, he spun and bolted to the hallway, grabbing his jacket and rescue kit. "Felix Carter! Help me!" I screamed with everything I had. His footsteps faltered for a moment, but he didn't look back. He slammed the security door shut with a loud bang. At that moment, I didn't even have time to feel despair creeping in. The prefab ceiling panel crashed down with a thunderous crash; I felt a searing pain shoot through my right leg, then everything went dark. When I woke again, I was lying inside a makeshift rescue tent. My right leg was wrapped in thick bandages, but I had no sensation at all. The nurse told me that to save my life, they had to amputate my right leg. I nodded without shedding a single tear. It felt like my tears had dried up the moment I was trapped beneath the rubble. Outside the tent, the noise was alive with waves of cheers rising and falling. I turned my head and saw Felix Carter surrounded by a crowd as he walked inside. He wore a rescue uniform dusted with grime, his face weary, but his eyes strikingly bright. "Leader Carter, you're incredible! You saved three more people!" "No wonder he's the team leader—this entire rescue depended on him!" Praise surged toward him like a tidal wave; he smiled and waved, looking both humble and determined. It wasn't until he reached my hospital bed that his smile faded slightly. "Wendy, I'm sorry I'm late." He held my hand, his voice thick with guilt. His hand was warm, but to me, it felt as cold as ice. I looked at him, wanting to say something, but in the end, I only whispered: "It's okay." I didn't want to expose him, and I didn't dare to. At that moment, I knew—between us, just like my right leg—that everything was completely broken. On the third day after the earthquake, a simple commendation ceremony was held at the temporary shelter. Felix Carter was undeniably the central figure. Director Warren stood on the makeshift podium, holding the microphone, his voice strong and clear. "In this sudden disaster, Leader Felix Carter, led from the front, fighting tirelessly for over thirty hours straight, rescuing twelve trapped people, embodying true heroism with his actions!" The audience erupted into roaring applause, with some even shouting excitedly, "Hero!" Lee stood in the front row, clapping vigorously, her eyes shining with admiration. She was a veteran member of the rescue team and had always been a fierce supporter of Felix Carter. "Leader Carter is our hero—putting aside his own safety, thinking only about saving others!" Lee said to those nearby, pride thick in her voice.