My friend Lily sent me a photo. It was a screenshot of my husband checking into a love hotel in the city. She sent me a message teasing: "You and your husband sure know how to have fun. Going to a love hotel while pregnant? Be careful!" I stared at my phone blankly for a moment, then casually opened the SnapChat message my husband had sent me half an hour ago: [I have to go to New York on a business trip for a few days. Go to tomorrow's prenatal checkup by yourself.] So I replied to Lily seriously: "The one getting a room with him is his mistress, not me." Lily's call came through quickly. "Are you sure? I'll send you the location. Come over now. I have a room card." I said no need. She sounded anxious: "Why aren't you reacting at all?" I thought for a moment and said, "Help me send them something. Wish them a good time." There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then she agreed. After hanging up, I canceled my prenatal checkup appointment and confirmed the time for the abortion procedure. After finishing these tasks, I walked into the nursery. That room had been gradually cleared out after confirming the pregnancy. There wasn't much, but everything was new. Ethan Wade had said the child was very important to him. At the time, he said it with such certainty. I had believed him once. I grabbed scissors and trash bags and began cutting up the brand-new clothes. When I made the first cut, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wouldn't be needing these things anymore. The clothes, books, bottles—everything was quickly dealt with. I also pushed the baby stroller to the door and knocked it over. Half an hour later, the room was empty. I made several trips carrying everything down to the building's trash station and threw it all away without hesitation. At ten o'clock that night, the door lock clicked. Ethan Wade had come home. He said he was out of town, but he'd suddenly changed his plans and come back. He saw me sitting in the living room, lifted his hand to glance at his watch, and frowned slightly: "Why aren't you asleep yet at this hour? Your irregular sleep schedule will directly affect the fetus's nervous system development. I shouldn't have to teach you this basic knowledge, should I?" As he approached, I smelled a scent that didn't belong to this house. It was some niche salon perfume mixed with the sickly sweetness of hotel body wash. I shifted to the side: "You smell different." His hand paused while loosening his tie, then he tossed his jacket onto the sofa without changing expression: "That's air freshener from a client's car. Don't be paranoid." While unfastening his cufflinks, he walked straight toward the nursery: "By the way, did the custom baby bed I ordered arrive? Let me check the dimensions." A few seconds later, his footsteps stopped abruptly. Dead silence. "Claire Smith." His voice came from the nursery, carrying a cold edge. I walked over and saw him standing in the center of the room, his face dark enough to drip water. "Where are the things?" He turned around, glaring at me with a black expression. "Where's the stroller I ordered and all the baby clothes I bought?" "I got rid of them," I answered calmly. He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to me. "Who gave you permission to get rid of them?" His tone was angry. "Are you so bored staying home all day that you have to cause trouble? You know how hard I work to support this family. Can't you just give me less grief?" "The doctor suggested I shouldn't prepare these things too early in the first trimester." I looked him straight in the eye without changing expression. "I'd have anxiety reactions that could easily trigger false contractions." "Anxiety?" Ethan Wade laughed coldly. "Claire, I think you're too idle. Your hormones are out of balance and making you irrational." "Other people are happy when they're pregnant. Why do you have so many pretentious problems? You get anxious seeing baby things? Are you sick? Should you get treatment?" His fingers were ice cold, pinching me painfully. But I didn't dodge. I just looked at him woodenly: "Better safe than sorry." He frowned, seeming suspicious that my attitude was somehow different. Probably because he saw me calm down, or perhaps because he had a guilty conscience. In the end, he just dropped a line: "I'll have someone buy everything again tomorrow. If you dare throw it away again, go see a psychiatrist." After speaking, he didn't look at me again and turned into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of rushing water came from inside. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out. On the screen was a confirmation text from the hospital. [Ms. Smith, your appointment for pre-abortion examination has been confirmed.] I glanced at the tightly closed bathroom door, listening to the sound of water inside, and silently deleted the message.
The next day, Ethan Wade gave me a gift. He shoved the gift into my arms, his tone gentle: "I had a bad attitude last night, but I bought you some skincare products suitable for pregnant women." I glanced at the bag. The opening was wrinkled, and the seal sticker had one corner peeling up. When I poured it out, there were several delicate little bottles, one of which had "NOT FOR SALE" printed on the bottom. This bag was clearly just the sample gift pack the salesgirl gives when you buy the full-size products. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?" Ethan Wade didn't notice my reaction and kept talking: "I heard it works really well. Do you like it?" I lifted my head and smiled silently. "I like it." I picked up the bottle marked "not for sale" and shook it in my hand: "I'll use it well." Ethan Wade breathed a sigh of relief, his face breaking into a smile again. He raised his hand to check his watch: "I have an early meeting today. Rest well at home." He grabbed his jacket and left humming a tune. The smile on my face vanished instantly. I picked up the paper bag and threw it in the trash. After disposing of the garbage, I took a cab to the hospital. Because I had an appointment, the gynecology outpatient process went quickly. The doctor wrote me a prescription and told me to get an ultrasound to confirm the fetus's size and position. I took the form and walked toward the ultrasound room. My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a SnapChat message from Ethan Wade. [I have a dinner meeting tonight. Won't be home for dinner.] I had just put my phone back in my pocket when the door to the gynecology consultation room ahead opened. A familiar figure walked out—it was actually Sophia Reynolds and her best friend Morgan Clark. I deliberately turned my head away. They didn't see me. Sophia Reynolds held a lab slip in her hand, radiating barely concealed smugness: "It's just a routine checkup. Why are you so nervous..." Morgan Clark said enviously: "How can I not be nervous? Everyone knows Ethan Wade treasures you like the apple of his eye. Last time you just casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, and Ethan Wade took you to the Maldives." "When you had menstrual cramps, Ethan Wade pushed back an important meeting and spent the whole afternoon with you. That kind of treatment—even the legitimate wife probably doesn't get it, right?" "And, and—Ethan Wade buys you luxury skincare products but gives Claire the free sample gift pack." "He bought you that limited edition bag without a second thought." Sophia Reynolds laughed lightly: "For some women, as long as their husband tosses them scraps from the table, they can convince themselves it's some grand romantic gesture." Morgan Clark laughed so hard she doubled over: "If I were her, I'd be so ashamed I'd jump off a building." "That's why people need self-awareness. What's the use of holding onto a title? She's living like more of a joke than something respectable." I felt a chill shoot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. Nausea overwhelmed anger. The lab slip in my hand was crushed into a ball, my nails digging deep into my palm. Only when the stabbing pain came did it barely pull back my nearly collapsing rationality. I took a deep breath, but couldn't stop my trembling fingers. After watching them leave, I finally calmed down and turned toward the elevator in the opposite direction. Then I opened my phone and checked yesterday's shipping information: [Your documents sent to the law firm have been signed for.]
The doctor prescribed pre-surgery medication and told me to rest well these days and wait for the surgery schedule. Back home, to distract myself, I went into the long-unused baking room. Before marriage, I had owned a dessert shop. After marriage, Ethan Wade hoped I could focus more energy on the family, so he had me close the shop and concentrate on preparing for pregnancy. I took out a bag of flour and began making desserts. The humming of the machine filled the space, and that familiar milky fragrance let me relax briefly. Two hours later, a half-finished frosted cake sat on the turntable. I was about to mix colors when there was suddenly movement at the entrance. Ethan Wade had returned, followed by two men in suits who looked like important business partners. While unbuttoning his suit jacket, Ethan Wade spoke in a gentle tone: "My home is quieter, suitable for discussing business." I hadn't had time to wash my hands yet. My apron was covered in flour, and I stood there somewhat disheveled. Our eyes met. The expression on Ethan Wade's face instantly disappeared. His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze sweeping over my flour-covered apron and the half-finished cake. His words carried barbs: "How did you end up like this?" "I didn't know you were bringing people home," I instinctively hid my flour-covered hands behind my back. "Don't you have any awareness?" His brow furrowed tightly, his tone full of impatience. "When you see guests, your first reaction should be to make yourself scarce, not stand here being an eyesore." The two guests awkwardly tried to smooth things over: "It's fine, it's fine. Claire is so virtuous, even making cakes." Ethan Wade didn't respond. He couldn't even spare me a perfunctory smile. He looked at me with cold eyes: "Have the housekeeper clean this up, then go back to your room so you don't irritate me." My heart felt like something had squeezed it hard, sending waves of dense pain. I bit my lip and turned to get the trash can. "Wait." He stopped me, pointing at the cake. "Take that too." "I just made this..." "Take it or throw it away." He interrupted me, his tone cold. "Don't leave it here embarrassing me." I took a deep breath, my nails digging deep into my palm, using the pain to suppress the stinging in my eyes. I picked up the cake that hadn't been decorated yet, and in front of him, let go. The cake fell into the trash can along with my dignity. Seeing this, Ethan Wade's brow relaxed a bit, seemingly finally satisfied. He turned toward his guests and put on a smile, as if the coldness just now was only my illusion: "Sorry about that. She's bored and messes around with nothing better to do." Then they went to the study. The door closed, cutting off the cheerful conversation inside. I stood alone in the kitchen, looking at the ruined cake in the trash can. Tears finally couldn't be held back, falling heavily onto the floor. I remembered that year we got married. On an afternoon just like this, he had held me and said, "Your cakes are the best in the whole world." Now he couldn't even be bothered to look, only finding them embarrassing. I squatted down and mechanically wiped the flour from the floor. As I wiped, I suddenly laughed. Laughing at my own foolishness, laughing at seven years of one-sided affection. I scrubbed the floor three times until there wasn't a trace left.
The medication the doctor prescribed had severe side effects. These past two days I'd been lying in bed in a daze. And Ethan Wade always had various reasons not to be home. I knew that on the days he didn't come home, he was with Sophia Reynolds. The next time I saw him was two days later. When he pushed the door open, I was hugging the trash can and dry heaving. All the medicine I'd just taken came back up. My stomach burned like fire. He asked how I was. I wiped my mouth and replied flatly: "I ate something too rich for dinner." "You're so pretentious. You're pregnant and should be getting more nutrition. How can you not eat anything?" He sounded a bit impatient. I laughed coldly inside but didn't bother explaining. Then he handed me an exquisite outfit. "There's a charity gala tonight. Several partners will bring their spouses. Come with me." I leaned weakly against the sofa: "I'm not feeling well. I can't go." Ethan Wade's hand paused while unfastening his cufflinks. He turned to look at me. "It wouldn't look good to be absent from this kind of occasion. I don't want people thinking there are problems within my family." "Just tough it out. Make an appearance and that's it. You don't have to socialize." I didn't argue further. Once he decided something, it never changed because of my suffering. I took the clothes and walked into the bedroom. After changing, Ethan Wade drove me to the reception. At the venue, Ethan Wade appeared composed and distinguished. He didn't deliberately show off our relationship, just had me hold his arm. His cuff was ice cold, the stiff fabric pressing painfully against my palm, but I could only force a smile and cooperate with his performance. When people came over to chat, he would introduce me appropriately: "This is my wife, Claire." When someone offered a toast, he would naturally step aside: "She's not in a condition to drink. I'll have this one for her." His movements were smooth and flowing, his gentlemanly manner perfect. The business partner across from us immediately joked with a laugh: "Ethan Wade really dotes on his wife. No wonder your career is developing so well." Ethan Wade smiled faintly, his eyes full of satisfied control, taking a sip of wine: "Just doing my duty." Everything looked so perfect. After being seated, while talking quietly with the person next to him, he casually picked up a piece of fish and put it on my plate. "Try this." He did it so casually, as if this kind of consideration was a habit ingrained in his bones. I looked at that piece of fish, my stomach cramping. He had probably forgotten that since becoming pregnant, I couldn't stand even the slightest fishy smell. Every time I smelled it, it triggered severe morning sickness. "Excuse me." I stood up abruptly, covering my mouth and rushing toward the restroom. Behind me came a ripple of subtle commotion, but I couldn't care about that anymore. In the stall, I dry heaved for a while until tears streamed down. Only then did that overwhelming feeling gradually subside. I rinsed my mouth and splashed cold water on my face. Looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I took a deep breath. Walking out of the restroom, Ethan Wade was standing by a window in the corridor waiting for me. He held a cigarette in his hand, his expression cold. Seeing me come out, he looked me up and down from a few steps away. "Are you composed now?" He stubbed out his cigarette, his tone lacking concern and more filled with displeasure at having his rhythm disrupted. "It's only been a moment and you can't even handle this kind of occasion? I don't want people thinking I can't even manage my own wife's emotions." Finished speaking, he put on a smile again and extended his arm toward me. "Let's go. We haven't greeted Mr. Anderson yet." I looked at that outstretched arm, hesitated for two seconds, then took it. The moment my fingertips touched him, my heart went completely cold. By the time the gala ended, I was utterly exhausted. My lower abdomen ached faintly, as if something was draining away. Ethan Wade had drunk quite a bit and was leaning back in the seat somewhat excited, completely oblivious to the cold sweat seeping from my forehead. "Today Mr. Anderson even mentioned to me that once our child is born, the board will be more stable." He closed his eyes, a smile on his lips, his hand unconsciously tapping on his knee. "When it's time, we'll throw a big birthday party for the child, right in tonight's hall." I turned to look at the speeding night scenery outside the window, my hand pressing hard against my stomach.
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