Chapter 4

Daddy? Mommy?

They had a three-year-old son?

"Let's get a divorce."

When I said those words, I felt incredibly calm.

Before this, I had foolishly hoped that Ethan was just insecure about my career, but that he still loved me.

Even though his words had crushed my spirit, I had only planned to use my transfer to give us some space to breathe.

Ignoring his desperate pleas, I slammed the door shut and locked it.

Let it snow. He wouldn't freeze to death. He had a warm bed right across the hall.

The apartment was deathly quiet. I could hear my own rapid heartbeat. It was beating so fast that I had to crouch down and press my hand against my chest to dull the agonizing pain.

The chestnuts on the table looked like a monument to my stupidity.

I couldn't help but wonder: did Ethan ever actually love me?

My eyes burned. They were probably swollen already.

Suddenly, the smart TV in the living room flickered on. It was a video casting from a phone—undoubtedly Chloe's doing.

Under a dim, warm light, two bodies were tangled together on a bed, gasping.

The woman panted, "Ethan... who do you love more? Me or Claire?"

The man groaned, "You, of course, you little witch. You're my baby. You belong only to me."

The woman giggled, "I'm yours. All yours. Inside and out."

The scene shifted. Under the same dim light, the woman was heavily pregnant, resting her head on the headboard. She took the man's hand and placed it on her belly. "Look, the baby is kicking."

A second later, tears rolled down her cheeks like pearls. "Are you really going to make me give our baby to her? I know I shouldn't ask for more. You only came to me for a child. But I've carried him for ten months. I watched him grow inside me. I can't let him go."

The man comforted her gently, "It's not like you'll never see him. Don't worry. Claire is soft-hearted. She'll treat the boy like her own."

The woman sobbed hysterically. "If you love her so much, why didn't you let her carry your child? Why did you have to ruin me?"

"If she got pregnant, how would I know if the kid was actually mine? I've been using birth control for years because I refuse to raise another man's bastard. I love her, and I can tolerate her dirty job, but I draw the line at raising a kid of questionable blood."

"Besides, I didn't want her to suffer through ten months of pregnancy."

...

I grabbed a heavy ceramic vase from the table and smashed it into the TV screen.

The screen shattered with a loud pop. Shards of glass, cream from the cake, and chestnuts scattered across the messy living room.

It was all a lie.

Ethan had always claimed that his mother and I couldn't get along. But he forgot that during the first two years of our marriage, my mother-in-law and I were very close. We went shopping and had lunch together all the time.

In the third year, when I still wasn't pregnant, his mother got desperate for a grandchild. She constantly brewed herbal fertility soups for me and brought up children in every conversation.

I felt suffocated during that time.

I remembered Ethan holding me in his arms, whispering, "Mom is old-school. Don't listen to her. We don't need to rush. When the time is right, it will happen. I'll send her back to the countryside tomorrow. It'll just be the two of us."

I had felt so lucky to have a husband who could handle his mother so perfectly.

Years passed, and my belly remained flat. The rumors grew louder.

People always assumed it was the woman's fault when a couple couldn't conceive.

I heard so much gossip that I started doubting myself. I dragged Ethan to the hospital for tests.

I drank endless cups of bitter Chinese medicine.

We tried IVF. But it failed.

I still remembered the agonizing cycle of hope and despair every time I lay on the cold operating table.

Eventually, Ethan stopped me. "No more, babe. We'll just live like this. If you really want a kid, we can adopt. Blood doesn't matter."

What a saint.