Chapter 2

I looked at him, and suddenly I laughed.

He worried his best friend would be nervous tomorrow, worried she'd go hungry, and he remembered she loved a nourishing homemade soup.

But he never noticed

that I'd lain alone in that hospital for a full day.

My lips had long since cracked, gone pale,

and my empty stomach kept twisting in on itself.

I looked at him.

"If you take me home, will you take care of me?"

He didn't even lift his head, holding my documents to handle the discharge paperwork for me.

"Not these few days."

"Joanna's project just hit the review stage. I have to go through all the materials with her."

He said it calmly, and even reached out to stroke my head.

"Besides, you only miscarried. It's not like you broke a bone."

"Just go home and lie down and rest. You don't need someone hovering over you."

I still wanted to say something.

He'd already signed for me.

"Let's go."

He gave me no chance to refuse at all.

We got home, and the moment the door opened,

he pushed the bag of ingredients and pots into my arms.

"I bought everything already."

"Joanna's presentation is tomorrow morning. Just get the soup done tonight."

Then he frowned suddenly, looking at my fingers.

My heart jumped. I thought he'd noticed my wedding ring was gone.

But the next second, he said:

"Your hands are all bloody. Wash your—never mind, hurry up and shower first, then cook. Joanna's a germaphobe. If the soup picks up the smell of blood, she definitely won't want to eat it."

He'd barely finished when Joanna's voice called out to him from the study,

and he turned and went in.

From inside came the sound of him and Joanna discussing data,

with a laugh mixed in now and then.

I stood in the kitchen, still gripping the pot handle.

After a long while, I numbly threw the things back onto the counter.

The soup. Whoever wanted to make it could make it.

I turned and went back to the master bedroom.

Since I'd already decided to divorce,

I didn't want to stay a single day longer.

But the instant I opened the closet,

I froze.

Empty.

My clothes, my suitcase, my skincare.

All gone.

Even the little clothes and blankets I'd prepared for the baby with my own hands after I got pregnant, and the little cradle by the bed, had all vanished.

My head went blank with a roar.

I spun around and rushed to the study door.

Bang, bang, Bang! I hammered on the door until it rattled.

The voices inside cut off at once.

A few seconds later, my husband opened the door, frowning.

"What is it now?"

"We're in the middle of an online meeting. Can you stop cutting in on us like this?"

I stared at him.

"Where are my things from the master bedroom?"

He went blank.

Before he could speak,

Joanna had already stepped out from behind him.

She gave me a little smile.

"Didn't Valentine tell you? You two can't share a room right now."

"I was afraid the moment you saw Val your hormones would flood out of control, so I helped you move your things to the guest room. When you're cleared to share a room again, I'll let you know to come sleep in Val's room."

I stared at her, unable to believe it.

"This is my house! This is my husband! It's not your place to arrange me!"

But Joanna acted as if she hadn't understood my accusation at all, and just shrugged.

"This is scientific reproduction. It's perfectly natural that you don't get it."

She raised her hand and pointed at the living room.

"Oh, right. Since the baby miscarried anyway, keeping that stuff around was pointless, so I already threw it out for you."

I followed her hand. The baby's things were all piled in the trash can.

My hands shook with rage.

Then, as if she'd just remembered something, she said:

"The underwear you got for Valentine wasn't up to standard either, so I threw those out too and bought him new ones."

My head snapped up.

"What?"

Her tone was easy, almost affectionate.

"I remeasured his sizes myself and swapped in a batch that actually fits him."

"Honestly, you. Fine, you never made much of your schooling, but how are you married this long and still can't figure out your own husband's size?"

Seeing my face freeze, Joanna finally seemed to catch on.

She smiled at me. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm a doctor."

"To me, that kind of thing is no different from an arm or a leg."

I couldn't get out a single word.

Valentine had already glanced at his watch, frowning impatiently, and said:

"The meeting isn't over. If there's nothing else, stop bothering us."

"Hurry up and get the soup on the stove. Don't hold up Joanna's rest."

I looked at him, at the way he saw nothing wrong with anything Joanna had done,

at the way he thought I was the one making a nuisance of myself.

And suddenly even being angry felt pointless.

"I'm not making it."

I turned and walked toward the guest room.

His baffled, impatient voice came from behind me at once.

"Are you angry? Just because we threw out some useless garbage for you?"

Joanna lowered her voice and coaxed him.

"Come on, Stella's different from the two of us. It's only natural she can't understand."

"Do me a favor and don't be angry with her, all right?"

I didn't look back. I just shut the door.