Chapter 3

I shut the door of the guest room and stood there, leaning against it, for a long time.

Valentine hadn't always been like this.

He was born with genius syndrome. He didn't understand ordinary human feelings.

But for me, he used to watch and learn, clumsy as it was.

If I so much as frowned, he'd ask, careful and quiet, whether something was wrong.

After a fight, even when he had no idea what he'd done wrong, he'd be the first to back down.

Then I introduced him to my best friend, who had the same genius syndrome, so they could work on a project together.

After that, everything changed.

Once, after he'd spent two straight months at Joanna's side revising data instead of coming home, I complained.

He answered me, cold as ice.

"Joanna says geniuses like us shouldn't let ourselves be dragged down by the trivial concerns and moods of ordinary people like you."

"Stella, you can't understand my research anymore. The least you can do is not weigh me down in daily life. All right?"

From then on, my feelings, my complaints, my tears,

all of it became a burden, proof that I didn't know any better.

Especially when it came to having children. He deferred to Joanna almost completely.

The first time I got pregnant,

Joanna drew up a nutrition chart, dense with entries.

Several of the items were things I'd been allergic to since childhood.

I refused to eat them. She pushed the plate in front of me anyway.

"Precisely because you're allergic, you need to build a tolerance."

"A defect in the mother can't be passed down to the next generation."

Valentine pinned my hand down and forced the peanut butter into my mouth.

"Joanna's a doctor. She knows better than you."

That night my whole body broke out in red welts.

The baby didn't make it.

I cried until I couldn't breathe.

Joanna stood at the side of the hospital bed, frowning as she recorded the data.

"So the mother's allergic reaction was stronger than projected."

"We'll just avoid it next time."

The second time I was pregnant,

she said she'd learned from the last time. This time she wouldn't let me touch a single allergen.

But she controlled my diet to the point of cruelty.

Every bite, what I ate, when I ate, how much, all decided by her.

I was so hungry my stomach ached. I begged her to let me eat a little more.

She refused flatly.

"Weight and nutrient intake during pregnancy have to be strictly controlled."

"Bear with it. It's better for the baby."

I turned to Valentine, but he only frowned and scolded me.

"Joanna has stayed up night after night working on your plan."

"You don't understand any of it. Could you stop second-guessing an expert?"

Later, from malnutrition, the second baby didn't make it either.

I lay in the hospital bed and looked at the sheets soaked red, shaking as I cried.

Joanna finished reading the test results and said only one light little thing.

"So it seems overcontrolling the diet doesn't work either."

As if it wasn't my child who had died,

only one wrong answer eliminated for her.

I finally broke and demanded of her,

"How many more times are you going to run tests on me?"

But Valentine's face went dark.

"She's helping us find the best plan for having a child."

"Other people can't even get her to draw up a plan for them. Why can you never just cooperate?"

I looked at the disappointment on his face and couldn't get a single word out.

So when I got pregnant the third time, I begged Valentine.

"This time, don't let her get involved."

He was silent for a while, then he agreed.

The whole pregnancy, the baby was healthy.

I thought I would finally be able to bring him safely into the world.

Until the day of the delivery, when the doctor held the consent form out to Valentine.

He didn't sign it.

"Wait a little longer."

The doctor grew anxious.

"She's already dilated. We can't wait any longer!"

Valentine took out his phone.

"This isn't my area of expertise."

"Let me ask Joanna first."

I lay on the delivery table, shaking all over from the pain.

I clung to his sleeve and begged him without stopping, and still I couldn't stop him from making that call.

Joanna came. She read the results and had them give me a suppressant right there.

"Wait another six hours and the baby's cognitive development markers will be better."

But six hours later, the baby was gone.

Joanna looked at the report and in the end said only this to me.

"Sorry. This time the data deviated from what was projected."

"I promise I'll do better next time."

Then she gathered her things to leave. "I have a review meeting this afternoon. I'll come see you when it's over."

Valentine went out after her at once.

"It's too late to catch a cab. I'll drive you."

"I'll take her to the venue and come straight back."

But he was gone the entire day.

He even took my ID, my insurance card, and all my documents in the bag he carried off.

I couldn't so much as complete the hospital paperwork.

At first light there was a sudden loud crash from the kitchen.

I went out and found the matching bowls I'd made with my own hands shattered across the floor.

Seeing me come out,

Valentine pointed at the pieces on the ground.

"Hurry up and clean this."

"Before Joanna steps on it by accident."

I didn't move.

My eyes went to the counter.

Lotus seeds scattered everywhere, a layer of blackened scorch caked in the pot.

Valentine never cooked.

Once, when I had a fever of a hundred and two and asked him to make me a bowl of porridge,

all he'd said was, "I'm a researcher. I don't do things like cooking."

And now,

for Joanna's presentation tomorrow, he had actually learned to make a nourishing homemade soup.

I turned and went back to the room, took out the divorce papers I'd printed the night before.

Walked back to the dining table,

and set them down in front of him with a slap.

Valentine froze and asked me, "What is this?"

"Divorce papers."

I looked at him.

"Sign them."