How do you tell your husband you're pregnant with style when you're in the middle of giving him the silent treatment? Naturally, I turned to the internet for help and decided to follow the advice of the true experts: the seasoned romance novel readers with a decade of tropes under their belts. Their plan was flawless. Step one: Run away with the baby bump in tow. Step two: The dramatic morning sickness reveal at the dinner table. Step three: Schedule a fake abortion and list his number as the emergency contact… It all went perfectly... until I saw him completely lose his mind. And that's when I realized: Wait a second. I think I might have taken this a little too far. 1 Good news: I’m pregnant. Bad news: We’re in the middle of a cold war. How was I supposed to tell my husband, Alistair, without completely losing face? I posted a picture of the positive pregnancy test online and asked for advice. The internet’s good Samaritans did not disappoint; within moments, my phone was flooded with thousands of replies. 【Just send him the picture and tell him the baby’s gone. It froze to death from the cold shoulder you two were giving each other.】 【Stand in front of him and declare solemnly: ‘We are not alone in this fight.’】 【Make a grand comeback in five years with quintuplets.】 【Tell him: ‘Come here. Kneel. I have something to tell you.’】 … This generation of netizens really comes through when you need them. I watched the comment count skyrocket, marveling at the sheer number of good people in the world. Among the tens of thousands of comments, a few top-voted ones caught my eye. 【Do the classic runaway pregnant wife plot. I’ve been reading romance novels for ten years, trust my expertise.】 【First, schedule an abortion and list his number as the emergency contact. Then, you can sneak over to my city and cover my shift at work.】 I conveniently ignored that last part. 【At dinner, make a few gagging noises in front of him, then run to the bathroom.】 The repeated claims of “ten years of novel-reading experience” filled me with confidence. I glanced at the unanswered messages I’d sent Alistair, the memory of his cold, indifferent face fueling my anger. With a decisive tap, I blocked him. Enjoy the blocklist while you’re busy with your work, you clueless blockhead. I’ve got a very big surprise waiting for you. 2 Step one of running away from home: select a suitable vehicle from the garage. My eyes landed on Alistair’s favorite, a sleek, midnight-black Bugatti supercar. You’re the one, Alistair’s favorite child. To make the drama as authentic as possible, I waited for the day I knew he’d be swamped with work, then sped off. With the top down and the wind in my hair, I sighed contentedly. This was the life. Alistair could go cool his heels somewhere else. The roads were clear, and soon I was pulling up to my best friend Veronica’s place with my luggage in tow. Sprawled on her couch, I laid out my master plan. She just collapsed onto my shoulder, howling with laughter. “Seriously, Selena, what is going on in that head of yours?” she asked, completely bewildered. “What did our dear Mr. Russo do to offend you this time?” Just thinking about it made my blood boil. I hate to admit it, but our previous arguments had been a bit… flimsy. There was the time he forgot to buy me the new Hermès bag on his business trip, only for me to realize I’d never actually asked for it. Or the time he ate spicy takeout next to me while I had cramps… But! This time, it was one hundred percent Alistair’s fault! I told Veronica this with absolute certainty. “Alright, spill. What happened?” She propped her chin up, grabbing a bag of chips with the air of someone settling in for a good show. This had been her attitude toward my fights with Alistair ever since college. She was convinced we’d never really fight, that we were an endgame couple. “Stop eating!” I swatted her hand away. “General Veronica, show some respect! This is serious!” “Yes, Commander Selena.” The cause of our current cold war was a tale of pure tragedy, enough to make anyone who heard it weep. 3 The other day, after arranging my collection of designer bags, I decided to graciously check on Alistair, who was busy in his study. I tiptoed through the bedroom and crept up behind him. He was holding his phone to his ear, clearly on a call, while staring at a photograph in his other hand. I popped my head over his shoulder. “Alistair!” Normally, when he was busy, he’d look up, smile, and motion for me to sit with him. If he wasn’t, he’d pull me onto his lap to look over the boring documents with him. But this time, he flinched, hastily shoving the photo into a drawer as if trying to hide something. “Alistair, what are you hiding?” His eyes darted away, avoiding my gaze. The ever-composed, rational man was suddenly a picture of guilt. “It’s nothing. Just some old junk.” “Alistair!” I felt a surge of panic. “You’re lying.” He had a tell. Whenever he lied, he would subconsciously tap his fingers on the nearest surface. I reached for the drawer. “I said it’s nothing!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm, preventing me from opening it. Then, he locked it. “Alistair, what can’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice laced with hurt. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never hidden anything from me. Even during company crises, confidential files were left out in the open for me to see. He refused to say what it was, just kept avoiding my eyes. My frustration mounted, and I angrily tried to snatch the key from his hand. In the struggle, I lost my balance and nearly fell. Alistair caught me, pulling me upright before his patience finally snapped. “Selena, when are you going to stop with this drama?” His voice was icy, laced with an anger he could no longer contain. I froze, then glared at him. “Alistair Russo, if you can’t stand me anymore, then let’s get a divorce.” I spun around and stormed out. Behind me, there was only silence. He didn’t even try to follow me, to apologize. Men. He wasn’t worth my tears. I wiped my eyes, packed my things, and moved into the guest room. Curled up on the bed, my tears soaked into the silk pillowcase. I couldn’t hold it in. I started sobbing. The truth was, I had seen it. The photo in his hand was of a woman. It looked old, the edges frayed and white. And the woman looked just like me. 4 Veronica slammed her hand on the sofa. “You’re telling me Alistair is cheating on you?!” She rolled up her sleeves, looking furious enough to tear him limb from limb. I gave her a sidelong glance. “Cut the act.” She deflated, sitting back down and patting my leg gently. “Okay, but seriously, honey, if he’s bullying you, I’m on your side. 100%.” “That’s why I ran away. With the baby.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I fully support this!” I’d barely finished unpacking at Veronica’s when my phone started ringing nonstop. It was his assistant, Liam. Obviously, Alistair had sent him. What, you ask, why didn’t Alistair call me himself? Because I’d blocked him, of course. And his family. And his friends. Block, delete, repeat. It was the full-service treatment. Back in a black Bentley, Alistair’s face was thunderous as he watched his assistant make another call. “Sir, she hung up.” “Call again!” “She… blocked me.” Alistair let out a humorless laugh. He’d come home to a scene of what looked like a robbery. Selena’s closet was empty, her bags and clothes gone. His own clothes were thrown on the floor, and to top it all off, his favorite car was missing from the garage. He knew instantly who was responsible. I felt my face, a smirk playing on my lips. Don’t praise me, I’ll get a big head. Anyway, things unfolded just as you’d expect. A storm raged outside as Alistair Russo stood on Veronica’s doorstep. He knocked. “Selena, open the door.” I ignored him, sitting on the entryway bench with my arms crossed, staring defiantly at the door. Who knew that Alistair—unbelievably—had the code to Veronica’s apartment. 5 The door swung open. Alistair’s cold, handsome face and eyes simmering with fury met mine. I whipped my head around to glare at Veronica, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Veronica!” Alistair scooped me up from the bench and started carrying me out. “Alistair, I’m not going back!” I clung to a nearby cabinet. “Selena, what is this about?” he demanded. “Just let me explain.” I met his gaze. “Alistair, you still think I’m just throwing a tantrum?” I struggled out of his arms and pointed to the door. “I’m not listening. Just go.” He stood there silently, fiddling with his phone. So, not even an explanation now? I stared at the face I had loved for so long. Had he been tolerating me this whole time? Did he really just see me as dramatic and childish? Alistair looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting my crestfallen expression. He suddenly shoved the phone in my face. On the screen was a picture of the “Sea Princess,” a magnificent yacht I had been dreaming of for ages, docked elegantly in a beautiful bay. “For my princess,” he said simply. “The Sea Princess. I bought it.” I fell silent instantly, my eyes glued to the screen. Are you kidding me? That was the Sea Princess! That was a $25 million yacht! Heh. Alistair did have his good points. My face was practically splitting from smiling so hard as I held the phone. “Selena,” he said, taking the phone back. “Can you listen to me now?” I nodded like a bobblehead. “That day, I was hiding a photo. There’s a girl in it who looks like you…” I nodded again, my eyes still trying to follow the phone. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t know her. She was just a candidate in an interview. I hid it because I was afraid you’d misunderstand.” It was a flimsy excuse, but… There was the yacht. Besides, just like Veronica, I never truly believed Alistair would cheat on me. We’d been together too long for that. I will absolutely not admit that the yacht was the deciding factor. And anyway, I still had the rest of my plan to execute. 6 I went back home. As we were leaving, Veronica leaned against the doorframe, watching Alistair carry my bags. “So what was the point of all this drama?” she whispered. I looked at her and said, loud enough for Alistair to hear, “I’m just going home with him. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.” All that commotion had made me starving. I had the housekeeper prepare a meal, ready to execute step two of my plan. I continued to ignore Alistair, and we ate in tense silence. “Urgh…” I shot him a sidelong glance, then dramatically dropped my chopsticks and bolted for the bathroom. I thought my performance was convincing enough, but Alistair didn’t fall for it! He followed me, looking utterly bewildered as I pretended to retch into the toilet. After a long pause, he finally said, “Selena, what did you sneak-eat this time?” Huh? What was happening? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! It was obvious Alistair had never watched a single daytime soap opera in his life. Seriously. What a waste of my acting talent. I shot him a withering look. Useless man. Fine. I still had other tricks up my sleeve. The sight of his face was starting to annoy me again. I went back to our room, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction when I saw his clothes were still on the floor where I’d left them. I tried the fake-vomiting routine a few more times, but that blockhead Alistair just kept asking if I had food poisoning. Did he really think I was that much of a glutton? So what if I had a few spicy chips and some ice cream now and then? I hadn’t touched any of it since I found out I was pregnant. The bottom line was, he was just too dumb. The next day, while Alistair was at the office, I decided to move on to my final, most dramatic step. I scheduled an abortion at a private hospital owned by the Russo Corporation. And yes, I put Alistair’s name and number down as the emergency contact. Sitting in the waiting room, I hit ‘confirm’ on the appointment. A smirk crossed my face. The confirmation text should be hitting his phone any second now. I was a genius. For good measure, I also posted on my social media: 【My darling, it's not that Mommy doesn't love you... it's just... I don't want to bring you into a loveless home.】 The post was accompanied by a picture of my ultrasound report. And I set the post to be visible only to him. Sure enough, the moment Alistair saw it, he lost his mind.
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