Perhaps it was due to some algorithm-driven suggestion, but six months later, now five months pregnant, I stumbled upon that video again.

To my shock, the same despicable individual had posted a new, even more vile comment just three days prior.

[How can I make my wife, who's five months pregnant, have a natural miscarriage? Here's the thing. I've been tired of her for a long time. If it weren't for her family's upcoming fortune from the land acquisition, I'd have left her ages ago. I was planning to divorce her as soon as the money came through, but now she's pregnant, and it's already five months along. I've tried every forbidden food recipe for pregnant women, but nothing works. I'm sick of it. Is there any way to make her lose the baby without anyone knowing?]

This was beyond monstrous. How could such a person exist in this world?

While I usually enjoy reading gossip, I tend not to engage in online arguments.

But this comment was simply too infuriating.

Perhaps it was my heightened emotions during pregnancy, but I felt both anger and curiosity surge within me. I clicked on the comment to read all the replies.

To my horror, I found myself witnessing a conversation between two shameless men, filled with the most malevolent ideas.

[I just wish she'd slip and fall down the stairs, lose the baby, and save me the trouble.]

[Exactly! But don't worry, even if she doesn't fall, there's no guarantee the baby will make it to term. Bad luck might mean she doesn't survive the delivery at all.]

[You can't rely on luck. But I heard there's a drug online you can mix into prenatal vitamins that will cause a miscarriage without her knowing. Not sure if it works, though.]

[Really? Got a link? Send it to me privately!]

These conversations were so vile that even casual readers couldn't stand it. They flooded the comments with outrage.

[May these two scumbags suffer a terrible fate!]

[Exactly! They deserve to rot for this. Let their poor wives be free of them.]

...

As I read these comments, I was seething.

How could such dark, cruel people exist?

These men, whose wives were carrying their children and risking their lives to bring them into the world, were plotting divorce and financial gain, even contemplating the death of both mother and child. They were worse than beasts!

Fuming, I clicked on the profile of the person who had posted the original comment, eager to see what kind of person could be so vile.

Unfortunately, there was nothing of substance on their page.

I clicked on the profile picture, hoping to find some clues.

To my surprise, the profile picture was of a hand gripping a steering wheel.

He was showing off a flashy BMW emblem adorned with pink rhinestones—a clear sign that this was no decent person.

Wait a minute, pink rhinestones on a BMW emblem?

Last week, my mom bought me a black BMW, but I found it too corporate-looking, so I added a circle of pink rhinestones around the steering wheel emblem. Bruce had even teased me about how crooked the rhinestones were, saying it looked ridiculous.

But the rhinestones on this scumbag's profile picture were exactly like mine!

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me on a freezing winter day. My vision went dark for a moment.

But I wasn't ready to give up. My hands trembling, I zoomed in on the picture, trying to examine the details.

The scar on the back of the hand, the identical wedding ring on the ring finger, the sleeve of a plaid shirt peeking out.

All of these details told me that the man in the profile picture was Bruce Tuttle.

Bruce, who often shared funny videos with me on TikTok, said that laughter was good for the baby.

Could this really be Bruce's secondary account?

Was this man, who wished his wife would fall down the stairs and lose both her life and their child's, really Bruce?

I felt a sudden numbness sweep over my body.

This couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake. Maybe someone had stolen a picture Bruce had taken and posted it online.

Bruce loved me so much. His social media, whether on Facebook or TikTok, was full of pictures of us, and even his profile picture was of the two of us together.

Besides, my mom hadn't mentioned anything about the land acquisition.

My hands trembling, I scrolled through the comments on the video and stopped at one that said: [I've started sleeping with my wife again.]

Suddenly, I remembered that six months ago, when I was feeling slightly depressed while trying to conceive, Bruce had handed over his paychecks to make me feel more secure.

Everything matched what the commenter had said.

As the realization hit, my stomach churned violently.

After hanging up on Bruce in a daze, I immediately received a message from him.

[I'll be home in half an hour. If you're hungry, there's cake in the fridge. Have some to hold you over.]

I stared blankly at the message, almost mechanically tapping on Bruce's profile picture.

Just at that moment, his profile picture changed.

Originally, it had been a photo of the two of us together, but now it had switched to something unsettlingly familiar.

It was a photo of a steering wheel, with a hand adorned with a pink rhinestone sticker clumsily placed on it.

Wait... isn't this the same profile picture I saw earlier today, the one that belonged to that despicable person?

Does this mean that person was Bruce all along?

All those vile comments in the thread, were they really his true thoughts? Did he really type out all those nasty words, one by one?

Staring at the profile picture, I felt an inexplicable chill run down my spine.

Maybe it was my pregnancy hormones making me impulsive, but I dialed his number without a second thought.

Bruce picked up almost immediately, his voice tinged with nervousness.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

Suppressing the turmoil inside me, I casually mentioned a few snacks I was craving before finally steering the conversation to the topic at hand.

"Bruce, why did you change your profile picture?"

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by his nonchalant reply.

"Oh, it's nothing. I was driving to work this morning and noticed that cute pink rhinestone you stuck on the wheel. I thought it was adorable, so I snapped a picture and changed it."

As soon as those words left his mouth, I felt myself sink to rock bottom.

How could a photo he took this morning have already been stolen and used by someone else?

People say pregnancy makes you a bit slow, but I was not so out of it that I would overlook something this blatant.

After hanging up, I was utterly uneasy, counting the minutes until seven o'clock at night.

At precisely 7:10 PM, Bruce returned home, carrying all sorts of snacks I loved.

But the more considerate he acted, the more uneasy I became.

As I stared at the assortment of high-fat, high-sugar, high-calorie treats, a chilling comment I had read earlier came to mind.

[Feed your wife more of these fattening foods. That way, even if nothing goes wrong, the baby will be so big she'll have a difficult delivery.]

The thought made me shiver involuntarily.

How terrifying it was to think that the person who shared my bed could be harboring such dark intentions against me.

Yet as I watched Bruce carefully peel the fruit for me, then tie on an apron to start cooking, I was overwhelmed with sadness and confusion.

Could it be that all the kindness he'd shown me over the years was just an act?

Just then, Bruce's phone, left on the sofa, suddenly rang.

Since Bruce and I got together, I'd always had free access to his phone.

But because I trusted him, I never felt the need to snoop.

I glanced at his phone, seeing the screen light up with a notification, and suddenly a thought crossed my mind.

I knew Bruce's lock screen password, but even without unlocking it, I could see the message preview.

It was a WhatsApp message from someone who seemed to be a dealer of some kind.

[Hey, did you receive the package? If you ever need more, just let me know. I'll give you a discount next time. Also, be careful with that stuff—just a little goes a long way. Too much, and it could be lethal.]

Reading that message felt like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless.

I was about to check what exactly Bruce had ordered when his voice suddenly sounded from behind me.

"Honey, dinner's ready. I made your favorite—braised short ribs and spaghetti."

I dragged myself to the dining table.

Looking at the gleaming, oily dishes laid out before me, I had no appetite at all.

Bruce frowned in concern and asked, "Sweetheart, are you feeling unwell? If you're not feeling good, you must tell me. Don't push yourself."

I shook my head slowly.

"Bruce, I'm not unwell. I just filled up on the snacks you bought earlier and can't eat any more."

Bruce looked both upset and a bit guilty.

"I knew I shouldn't have bought you so many junk foods. They're unhealthy, and if you eat too much, it could upset your stomach."

I watched him continue his performance, my heart growing colder with each word.

Yes, the outside food might be unclean and could upset my stomach if I ate too much.

But the food at home? That could kill me.