In the end, I opened one last video.

On the screen, Daniel stood by the sea. The wind tousled his hair, and his voice was low and gentle as he called her name.

“My Karina.”

She asked softly, “Do you love me?”

It was a question he hadn’t asked me that way in many years.

On the screen, my husband of seven years—the father of the child growing inside me—answered without hesitation:

“I will always love you, Carla.”

I replayed the video again and again, watching as daylight slowly drained from the room.

Tears slid down my face in silence, yet no sound escaped me.

When night fully fell, I turned off my phone.

Then I reopened the bank statements.

I backed up every record, one by one, carefully labeled and clearly marked.

Only after I finished did I lower my gaze to my belly.

The baby moved gently again.

And in that moment, I finally understood something—

This story would no longer be allowed to end on their terms.

When Daniel came home, the house was completely dark.

He paused at the door, then turned on the light, his voice carrying a note of deliberate concern.

“Olivia, why didn’t you turn on the lights? It’s so dark—what if you trip?”

The moment the lights came on, he was already in front of me. He dropped to one knee and took my hand in his.

I instinctively raised my other hand to shield my face, but the tears still slipped through my fingers.

“Why are you crying like this?” he asked softly, as if soothing a child. “Who made my wife and our baby so uncomfortable?”

As he spoke, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss against my belly.

In that instant, I smelled it again.

That familiar scent—

Sweet, faint, unmistakable jasmine.

I forced myself to steady my breathing and looked up at him.

“Where were you just now?”

“At the office,” he answered quickly, without even pausing. “There was a sudden issue with a project. I had to work late.”

His tone was natural—too natural. As if it had been rehearsed countless times.

I nodded, then smiled instead.

“Is that so?”

He visibly relaxed.

“But Daniel,” I said softly, my fingers tightening around his hand, “weren’t you in the eastern part of the city today? Carla suddenly wanted dumplings from that famous place. You drove all the way from the west side—it takes over an hour. She even went live.”

The air fell silent for a single second.

Before he could react, I added with another smile, my voice gentle, almost naïve,

“Now that I think about it, I suddenly want those dumplings too.”

I placed my hand back on my belly, as if reminding him of the role he was supposed to be playing.

As if sensing my emotions, the baby suddenly kicked hard. I frowned and drew in a shallow breath.

“Could you help me get some?”

Daniel withdrew his hand from mine.

He stood up, a trace of poorly concealed irritation flashing across his brow.

“That kind of food isn’t very nutritious,” he said. “You’re so far along now—you need to be careful about what you eat.”

After a brief pause, he added,

“For our son. Try to endure it, okay?”

Without waiting for my response, he turned and walked toward the bathroom. His voice returned to that familiar, gentle tone that allowed no argument.

“I’ll take a shower first. I’m exhausted. Why don’t you call your mother and ask her to make you something light?”

The sound of the bathroom door closing echoed sharply through the house.

I leaned back against the sofa, slowly stroking my belly, and whispered,

“Don’t be afraid, my love.”

“Mommy will find a way.”

The phone on the dining table lit up.

Daniel was always like this—never cautious, never secretive, as if he were certain I would never touch it.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. I braced myself against the sofa and stood up. My movements were slow, but my mind had never been clearer.

I tried a few familiar numbers.

Our wedding anniversary.

His birthday.

The date of our first date.

All failed.

In the end, I stared at the screen. My finger hovered for two seconds before I entered the date printed on Carla’s ultrasound report.

The screen unlocked.

I wasn’t even that surprised.

In his messaging app, her profile picture stood out unmistakably.

What was more bitterly ironic was that they were using the exact same couple avatar.

The chat history was overwhelming.

“I miss you.”

“Baby, when can we meet?”

“As long as I can see you every day, nothing else matters.”

I didn’t keep scrolling. Instead, I turned on screen recording.

Then I opened his shopping app.

The order list made me let out a silent, humorless laugh.

Prenatal supplements. Skincare. Cosmetics. Not a single thing missing.

The delivery address was always the same.

And the recipient was never me.

I took screenshots one after another, forcing myself to keep my breathing steady, afraid the baby inside me might feel my trembling.

After everything was saved, I carefully erased all traces and placed the phone back exactly where it had been.

When I returned to the bedroom, I lay down almost on my side. The night pressed in heavily, and my chest felt hollow and aching, as if something essential had been carved out.

Seven years of marriage—

it turned out to be nothing more than a stepping stone in someone else’s story.

The bathroom door opened again.

Not long after, his phone lit up once more.

Through the crack of the door, I saw him answer the call. In that instant, his entire body softened. He glanced toward the bedroom, then walked quietly to the balcony, closing the door behind him.

The sound of the glass sliding shut was soft.

But I heard it with absolute clarity.

At that moment, I didn’t cry.

Curiosity—thin, sharp, relentless—pushed me to stand up again. I held onto the doorframe and remained in the shadows, watching Daniel take the call on the balcony.

Through the glass, I couldn’t hear his words. I could only see his face.

It was an expression I hadn’t seen on him in a long time—relaxed, patient, even tinged with indulgence.

The person on the other end seemed to make a request. His brow furrowed briefly, as if hesitating. But not long after, he nodded, the smile returning to his lips.

In that moment, a chill slowly spread from my chest outward.

I turned away and dragged my heavy body back to the bed. The room was terrifyingly quiet, the air feeling as though it had been drained away, every breath suddenly laborious.

A few minutes later, he slipped into the room quietly.

One hand rested on my belly. The other brushed aside the loose strands of hair at my forehead. His movements were gentle—almost flawless.

“Baby,” he said softly, “something urgent came up at work. I need to step out for a bit.”

I turned my head and looked straight at him.

In that moment, I still gave him one last chance.

I spoke quietly.

“I’m not feeling well. Could you stay?”

As long as he nodded.

As long as he chose me—just this once.

Maybe then, I could still persuade myself to forget all the evidence.

The thought had barely surfaced before it was cut off by a calmer, clearer voice within me.

A kite with its string severed can never return to its original direction, no matter how carefully it is repaired.

Daniel showed a brief look of hesitation, then quickly returned to the tone I knew so well, gentle, steady, and firm.

“This project is really important. I have to go.”

“I’ll ask your mother to come stay with you, alright?”

My stomach churned as a faint chill spread across my skin. I nodded, my voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

“Drive safely.”

He noticed nothing unusual. He got dressed and left.

The moment the door closed, I opened my eyes.

Slowly, I sat up. Supporting my belly, I made my way downstairs and hailed a taxi.

“Maplewood Estate,” I said, my tone unexpectedly calm.

The car had barely stopped when Daniel’s vehicle came into view. I immediately asked the driver to pull over and park behind the shadow of roadside trees.

Through the window, I saw Carla almost jump into his arms.

Daniel caught her with ease. One hand rested naturally on her still flat abdomen as he lowered his head and gently tapped her nose, as if teasing her.

Instinctively, my hand moved to protect my own belly.

I took out my phone and started recording. My fingers trembled, but I did not stop.

On the screen, he opened the car door for her, settled her into the passenger seat, and carefully fastened her seatbelt. His movements were practiced and tender.

My eyes burned sharply, yet no tears fell.

“Follow that car,” I said to the driver.

Night flowed past the windows. Neon lights passed one by one. I gripped the window frame until my nails pressed into the wooden edge. The pain kept me awake and clear.

Endure it, I told myself.

Do not fall apart here.

The car finally stopped in front of Riverside General Hospital.

After paying the fare, I stepped out. The driver, who had been silent the entire ride, suddenly glanced back at me, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

“Miss, take care of yourself. For the baby.”

That simple sentence nearly broke me.

Since discovering the truth, I had buried everything deep inside, like swallowing a slow acting poison.

A stranger’s quiet concern allowed me to breathe for a brief moment.

I hid behind a pillar and watched Daniel.

Throughout my entire pregnancy, he had never accompanied me to the hospital even once. He was always too busy.

And now, here he was, registering for someone else, collecting medication, supporting her by the hand with patience and care.

Like a flawless husband.

In that moment, I finally understood.

He never lacked time.

He had simply chosen to give it to the wrong person.

And I, too, finally needed to make a choice, for myself and for my child.

The hospital lobby was flooded with harsh white light. It was noisy, crowded, and restless.

Daniel’s arm rested naturally around the woman’s shoulders, his voice soft and careful.

“The doctor said you should eat a little less these days. Walk around a bit, it helps digestion. Early pregnancy is sensitive, so do not push yourself. This time, let’s listen to the doctor, alright?”

She gave a dissatisfied hum, sounding spoiled.

“I know, I know.”

Then she smiled and added,

“It’s all your fault for buying so much food.”

“Alright, my mistake,” he said with a low laugh. “I care too much.”

She looked up at him, the corners of her lips lifting slightly.

“Then I’ll let it go this time.”

Their voices were light and natural, like lovers long accustomed to one another.

I stood not far away. The fluorescent lights washed my face pale. People passed by me again and again, yet not a single one noticed my presence.

As if, in their world, I had never existed.