Every year on April Fool's Day, my husband, Carter, would play a game of "I Dare You" with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. "Remember eighth grade? I dared you not to turn in your homework, and you folded your essay into paper airplanes," Carter said, leaning back in his chair with a nostalgic grin. "That was nothing," Chloe shot back. "Sophomore year, I dared you to steal the principal's glasses, and you took his toupee along with it." I stood in the doorway, my fingers tightly gripping an ultrasound printout. We had been married for five years. After countless hospital visits and endless disappointment, I had finally found out I was pregnant today. Chloe glanced up and saw me. She lifted her chin, turned to Carter, and dragged out her words: "Let's play for real today. Carter, I dare you to go to the courthouse and marry me right now." Whistles and cheers erupted from their friends around the room. Carter turned to look at me and chuckled. "Why wouldn't I? Give me a second." He stood up, walked over, and grabbed my arm, pulling me out into the hallway. "Harper, everyone's watching. Don't be a buzzkill," he said lightly, arranging my life as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's just an April Fool's joke. Play along and sign the divorce papers with me today, and we'll get remarried first thing tomorrow morning. I can't back down from a dare in front of Chloe." I stared at the man in front of me. For the sake of his so-called "childhood games," I had compromised for five years. This time, I hid my hands behind my back, crumpling the paper. "But I'm pregnant." ... "Harper, that's a brilliant move!" Carter paused for a second before bursting into laughter. "Making up a pregnancy just to stop me from winning? Alright, you're better at April Fool's than I am." Chloe drawled from inside, "Harper, it's just a game. If you're a sore loser, just say so. Joking about a baby is kind of messed up." "Exactly," Carter said, his grip on my wrist tightening with surprising force. "Come on, let's go. If we're too late, the county clerk's office will close, and how am I supposed to get my marriage license?" He dragged me outside, his strides long and hurried. Five years. He had built his publishing company from the ground up, all the way to a public listing, entirely off the back of the novels I wrote. Yet every year, I had to endure his absurd pranks on April Fool's Day, all to indulge Chloe. On the way to the lawyer's office, Carter drove like a maniac. When we arrived, he grabbed the expedited divorce agreement the attorney had prepped and slapped it in front of me. "Hurry up and sign. I still have to get to the courthouse with Chloe," he urged, tapping his knuckles on the desk. I picked up the pen and looked at the name "Carter Hayes" printed on the paper. "Fine. I'll give you what you want." I signed my name without a second of hesitation. The notary stamped it. Five years of marriage came to a ridiculous end. With the papers signed, Carter turned around, grabbed a brand-new suit from his trunk, and changed. Chloe pulled out a pristine white veil and pinned it to her hair. They had even booked a makeup artist in advance. The two of them sat under ring lights, letting the artist touch up their faces. I sat in a chair, watching it all unfold. Five years ago, on the day Carter and I got our marriage license, he wore a faded t-shirt, ripped jeans, and flip-flops. When I asked him to change, he said true love didn't need superficial packaging. Authenticity was what mattered. Now, wearing a tailored suit, he wrapped his arm tightly around Chloe's waist, smiling radiantly for the camera. Click. The frame froze. A picture-perfect couple. A little while later, Carter walked over to me, waving the freshly stamped marriage certificate. "See that, babe? I won again. We'll remarry first thing tomorrow morning. Don't be mad, it's just for the memories." My early pregnancy nausea hit me like a wave. I barely had the strength to stand. "Take me back," I said, swallowing the bile in my throat. "I need to pack my things." I opened the passenger side door, but before I could get in, Chloe squeezed past me. "Harper, if we're doing this, we have to do it right. Since Carter and I are legally married now, the passenger seat is mine," she said with absolute entitlement, sliding in. With a casual wave of her hand, she swept my plush throw pillow and the dashboard ornaments I had bought onto the floor mats. Standing by the hood of the car, Carter gave me an apologetic shrug. I turned around and walked toward the street to hail a cab. Carter jogged after me, opened the rear door, and practically shoved me inside. "Stop throwing a tantrum, it's hard to get an Uber out here. Just sit down." The car stereo was blasting Bruno Mars' "Marry You." Chloe hummed along to the beat, and when the chorus hit, she reached over and tugged on Carter's sleeve. "Just say I do..." Carter seamlessly sang the next line. They exchanged a look and burst into laughter. She twisted the cap off a bottle of water, took a sip, and held it to Carter's lips. He drank from her hand, looking exactly like a newlywed groom. "Your collar is crooked, Carter," Chloe said, leaning sideways and reaching over to fix his tie. Her fingertips brushed against his Adam's apple as she pressed half her body weight onto him. Carter didn't pull away. Instead, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he wrapped his other arm around her back. "Stop messing around, I'm driving," he scolded, though his voice was entirely indulgent. I leaned my head against the cold window of the backseat, the acid rising in my stomach again. I closed my eyes and placed a protective hand over my lower abdomen. Today, this pathetic joke was finally coming to an end. The moment I pushed the front door open, my mother-in-law rushed forward, grabbing Chloe's hand and slipping a vintage diamond tennis bracelet onto her wrist. She put on a playfully scolding tone. "Carter told me everything. You kids are absolutely crazy." "Chloe, honey, I always knew you two were meant for each other. If it weren't for back then..." Mrs. Hayes caught sight of me taking off my shoes out of the corner of her eye and turned her face away. "...you were always the perfect pair." Carter stepped between them. "Mom, it's just a joke. We're messing around for April Fool's." Mrs. Hayes patted Chloe's hand. "Sigh. I just wish it could stay this way forever." I didn't say a word. I walked right past them, went into the master bedroom, and pulled out my suitcase. I hadn't even folded two shirts before Carter followed me in. "Harper, everyone's here today. Don't be a buzzkill," he said, lowering his voice. "Let's all have dinner tonight to celebrate." I brushed his hand away and kept packing. "Tomorrow is the launch of the final book in your Nightwalker trilogy. I invited the whole publishing team over. Let's treat it as a wrap party." I stopped. I had poured three years of my life into that trilogy. Endless nights of staying up till dawn, rewriting draft after draft. If I caused a massive scene right now, tomorrow's book launch would definitely be affected. I closed the suitcase. "Fine. After this dinner, I'm gone." Carter beamed, turning around to head back to the living room and make some calls. I decided to treat it as my farewell dinner with the team. Not long after, Chloe leaned against the kitchen doorframe, lifting her chin at me. "Harper, since you're divorced now, you should at least be useful around the house, right? Carter works so hard running the company all by himself. You just sit at home all day. Shouldn't you be the one making dinner?" Carter sat on the couch sipping his coffee. He didn't say a word to defend me. Over half of Hayes Publishing's revenue came from the books I had typed out, word by word, in this very house. And now, I was being treated like the lazy housewife. My mother-in-law chimed in. "The maid is off today. Be a dear and help out, Harper. The guests will be here soon." Not wanting my final dinner with my editorial team to end in a shouting match, I rolled up my sleeves and walked into the kitchen. The churning in my stomach hadn't stopped, and my lower abdomen was throbbing with dull, rhythmic cramps. I chopped vegetables, turned on the stove, and dropped the meat into the sizzling pan. Chloe stood off to the side, acting completely like the lady of the house. "Put more garlic in the roast, Carter hates it bland. Don't overcook the asparagus." The editors started arriving one by one. Matt, my lead editor, couldn't stand watching it anymore. He rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen to help me wash the vegetables. Chloe immediately shoved him aside. "Excuse me, do you have no manners? You're a guest in my house. Trying to do the cooking is a slap in the face to the hostess." Matt's face turned bright red, and he retreated to the living room. I brought out the last dish—a beautiful homemade pot roast. Six entrees and a soup, covering the dining table. Just as I untied my apron, the doorbell rang. Chloe ran to open it. Several delivery drivers walked in carrying massive insulated bags. "I saw that Harper only made basic, home-cooked food. That's definitely not good enough for our guests," Chloe announced, directing the delivery guys to unpack exquisite takeout boxes. "So I just took my husband's card and ordered a few things myself." Caviar, Maine lobster tails, Wagyu beef, truffle risotto. The table was out of space. Chloe picked up the pot roast I had just finished cooking and dumped it—meat, gravy, and all—straight into the trash can to make room for her seafood. Carter didn't mind at all. He handed her a napkin to wipe her hands. "You're always so thoughtful." I had reached my absolute limit. Just as I took a step forward, someone grabbed my sleeve. Matt leaned in close, sliding his phone screen toward me. His voice was barely a whisper. "Harper, you need to see this." It was a proof of the promotional poster the publisher had just sent him for approval. Under the "Author" section, right in front of my name, was another name in bold print: Chloe Jenkins. I snatched the phone and slammed it down right in front of Carter. "Why?" I demanded, staring dead into his eyes. Carter walked over with an easy smile. "Harper, my bad. I forgot to tell you." "I want to split the author credit with her. I already promised Chloe I'd do it. You love me so much, you wouldn't mind doing me this tiny favor, right?" "I bled for three years to write this book. Why the hell should she get half the credit?" "How can you say it's just your credit?" Carter raised his voice, though he tried to sound reasonable. "It's a team effort. Chloe is the new flagship author our company is going to push this year. I've already poured a ton of resources into her, but she needs a stepping stone. A guaranteed hit to put her on the map." "So you're using my masterpiece as a cheap marketing stunt for her?" Carter started losing his patience. "Harper, don't be ungrateful. Every book you've ever written was marketed with my money. Without me, you'd be nobody. What's the big deal about sharing one book to help a rookie out?" I stood up, getting right in his face. "The copyright is in my name. You have no legal right to add hers." Chloe walked over, clinging intimately to Carter's arm, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Carter, the food is getting cold. Everyone's waiting to eat." Carter patted her hand to comfort her, then glanced at me. "Let's eat first. We can talk about this tomorrow." I ignored the table full of people, grabbed my car keys, and stormed out the door. By the time I drove to the publishing house, the massive billboard was already unfurled. Eighty percent of the poster featured a glamorous photo of Chloe, accompanied by a massive bio that even hinted at her romantic history with Carter. My name was squeezed into a tiny corner at the bottom. Ryan, the head of the publishing department and Carter's childhood friend, was sitting in his office smoking a cigarette. "Harper, my hands are tied. Carter called me personally and ordered a rush print job overnight. Besides, Hayes Publishing is a family business between you two. Does it really matter whose name is on it as long as it makes money?" I felt ice cold all over. Carter's "we can talk about it tomorrow" was just a stalling tactic! I turned, ran downstairs, and drove like a madwoman back to the Hayes house. When I burst through the door, the dinner party was over. Carter was sitting on the couch, watching TV with Chloe. "How could you do this?!" I screamed. "That was my life's work!" Carter didn't even flinch. His tone was dismissive. "I told you, we're just borrowing your fame for a bit. Once Chloe's name is out there, I'll have them remove it for the next printing." Chloe's eyes welled up with tears. "Harper, it's all my fault. Please don't be mad at Carter. If it's this much trouble, I won't be a writer. I'll give the book back. I just saw how stressed Carter is running the company and wanted to help him shoulder the burden." "This has nothing to do with you!" I snapped. But Carter instantly pulled her into his arms, shielding her fiercely. "Pushing Chloe into the spotlight is the company's new strategy. I'd appreciate it if you stopped being so jealous of her." "I think you're forgetting what I just said. Let me remind you!" "Oh, by the way," Carter cut in, his voice cold. "Tonight, Chloe is Mrs. Hayes. So I'm going to have to ask you to leave and cool your head." I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and threw them directly at his face. "I was planning to leave tonight anyway. Now, there's absolutely no reason for us to ever speak again." The heavy packet of papers smacked Carter right across the bridge of his nose. "Fine! Have it your way!" Carter yelled, clutching his nose. "Since you don't want to be Mrs. Hayes, I'm freezing your credit cards and bank accounts right now." He picked up his phone and called the neighborhood security. Two bouncers showed up at the door, looking incredibly awkward. Carter pointed at me. "I divorced this woman today. She's trespassing and harassing me and my wife. Drag her out of here. Throw her on the street." Left with no choice, the security guards grabbed my arms and forcibly dragged me out. Carter's voice followed me. "Harper, you leave me, and you won't even be able to afford a meal! I'll be waiting for you to come crawling back tomorrow morning to remarry me. As for that book, consider it your wedding gift to Chloe." The guards shoved me out the front gates. My foot slipped, and I crashed hard into a muddy puddle left over from the rain. I pushed myself up off the ground, clutching my stomach as I stumbled toward the edge of the road. Suddenly, a delivery van lost control coming around the corner, barreling straight toward me. The piercing screech of tires ripped through the night air. I dodged the direct impact, but the momentum threw me violently onto the rough asphalt. A sharp, stabbing cramp ripped through my abdomen—more intense than anything I had felt all day. The ambulance was still an hour out. Desperate, I leaned against a streetlamp and dialed my emergency contact. Carter was close. He arrived fast. He threw his car door open, but the moment his eyes landed on the blood pooling on my skirt, he froze. "Harper, what the hell did you do?" he asked, bending down to pick me up. Just then, Chloe's name lit up on his phone screen. "It's almost midnight, hubby. If you don't show up before the clock strikes twelve, you lose the dare." Carter's hands stopped in mid-air. He stared at the dashboard screen, then looked down at me. "Help me," I gasped, my fingers weakly gripping his cuff. "Harper, do me a favor," Carter said, slowly prying my fingers off his sleeve one by one. "I've never lost a game to her in my life. I can see you just twisted your ankle. I'll call another ambulance for you." He pulled me away from his car door, pulled two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, and shoved them into my hand. "I'll come check on you in a bit!" The exhaust fumes blasted my face. I lay in the freezing puddle, screaming at the retreating taillights. "Carter Hayes! I'm pregnant with your child, you bastard!" Only the sound of the rain answered me. The brake lights on his car never even flickered. My vision began to blur. A white Toyota pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Matt's exhausted, pale face. "Oh my god... Harper!" He scrambled out of the car and half-carried, half-dragged me into the backseat. At the hospital ER. A nurse ran over with a long printout. "Where is the family? The patient is hemorrhaging, and her cards were all declined! We need the deposit paid and the surgery consent signed immediately!" I was doubled over in agony. Gripping the edge of the gurney, I turned my head to look at Matt. "Matt. Please. Sign it." Matt grabbed the pen, his hand shaking violently. "Harper, this is a surgical consent form. How can I sign this?" I gritted my teeth, swallowing the coppery taste of blood in my throat. "It's April Fool's Day. Just pretend it's a prank. Dare you to play my husband for the night." Matt's face flushed bright red. He pulled out his phone to pay the deposit and scribbled his name on the line. "Harper... that's a hell of a prank." The blinding surgical lights flicked on above me. The doctors and nurses were barking orders at lightning speed. "Blood pressure dropping!" "Hemorrhagic shock, prep for a transfusion!" Cold instruments invaded my body. The heart monitor shrieked a high-pitched alarm. Right before I completely lost consciousness, I heard the doctor sigh. "We can't save the baby. Just focus on keeping the mother alive." When I woke up, the anesthesia hadn't fully worn off yet. But I could feel an agonizing, soul-tearing pain. An emptiness—like a piece of my flesh and blood had been gouged out—radiated from my womb to the rest of my body. A life I hadn't even had time to truly acknowledge had been there. And now, they were gone. Along with the absolute last shred of attachment I had for Carter. It was all gone. Matt sat by the bed, completely at a loss for words. I reached for my phone and scrolled through my contacts. "Matt. Contact my old publisher. Starlight Media." Matt froze. "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to collect my debts." The phone screen lit up. The time ticked over to 12:01 AM. "April Fool's is over." A text message from Carter popped up. "Joke's over. See you at the courthouse tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Don't be late."
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