Just as Dwayne was about to explode with anger, I spoke in a hoarse voice, "Dwayne, let’s get a divorce."

Dwayne froze, stunned. It seemed he couldn’t believe that I, who had always been devoted to him and the children, would ask for a divorce.

He looked at me impatiently and snapped, "Have you had enough trouble?"

I remained calm and replied, "I’m not making trouble. Let’s get a divorce."

As I spoke, I took out the divorce agreement I had just prepared. Its terms offered a fair and reasonable division for Dwayne.

Only then did he realize I was serious. His temper flared as he glared at me, saying, "Didn’t I just spend some money on you? I’ve already paid it back! I’ve already explained why I didn’t go to the hospital. What are you still fussing about?"

"Annie is just a girl—she couldn’t handle those things on her own. I only went to help! If you insist on holding on to this, then I don’t know what else to do!"

Annie appeared again, looking fragile and innocent, as if I were the one who had caused all the problems.

I repeated firmly, my tone resolute, "Dwayne, I want to divorce you."

Dwayne’s face darkened further, and finally, resorting to his usual tactic, he stormed out of the house.

Whenever Dwayne faces a situation he can’t resolve, he isolates himself—and me—even knowing I’m still pregnant. This time was no different.

Before leaving the house, he fixed me with a cold, piercing stare and warned:

"Don’t even think about doing anything to harm the child. Let me tell you, even if we divorce, the child must be raised by me!"

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed dully.

With my frail body, I forced myself to stand, walked over to the trash can, retrieved the crumpled report sheet, and carefully smoothed it out, as though trying to piece together my shattered heart.

From the moment Dwayne returned to the moment he left, he never once asked about my abdominal pain or the condition of our unborn child. Not a word about the dozens of missed calls I had made.

All he cared about was whether I was taking the medicine as he demanded.

I sat alone in the vast, empty living room, my eyes reddened once more.

Dwayne, you’ve lost the chance to be a father.

And with it, you’ve lost me, too.

The next day, Dwayne called again, urging me to take the anti-fetal medicine on time.

After a sleepless night, I steadied my emotions and replied calmly, "I’ll be waiting for you when you come back—for the divorce."

On the other end of the phone came Dwayne's almost roaring rebuke, "How long are you going to make trouble? I’m exhausted and don’t have time for your nonsense!"

In the end, Dwayne refused to sign the divorce agreement. Instead, he continued his cold, silent aggression and resorted to harsh threats, "You’re a failure who’s stayed home for eight years and never worked. What will you do without me after the child is born? Even if we divorce, the custody of the child will be mine. Think carefully about that!"

Hearing his angry words, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at myself. To Dwayne, I had always been nothing more than a tool for childbirth, and our child was just another checkpoint in his self-serving life.

Consumed by grief, I gathered every item we had prepared for the baby—from clothes to toys—and burned them one by one.

In the end, only a small portrait of the baby remained.

That portrait brought back memories of our most hopeful year together. Dwayne held my hand, and we painted an image of our imagined child, stroke by stroke. Her delicate features—eyes like mine and lips like his—formed a beautiful, happy vision of the daughter we had dreamed of raising in a loving family of three.

But Dwayne destroyed it all. Even the evidence of our child’s existence had been discarded like trash.

With trembling hands, I clutched the portrait to my chest, trying to feel the presence of the child I had lost. Tears fell uncontrollably as I finally let the flames consume it, turning every last remnant of that dream into ashes.

The firelight flickered brightly, and for a moment, I seemed to see a young child waving at me.

She wore the white princess dress I had just burned for her. She smiled happily as her eyes met mine, babbling softly, as though calling: "Mom..."

I instinctively reached out to touch her, but my palm was scorched by the heat of the fire.

It was then I realized—my child had completely left me. Her brief appearance wasn’t to linger but to help me let go, urging me to leave this sorrow behind and face life again.

"Baby," I murmured, tears streaming, "thank you for coming to me, for giving me the greatest comfort in life. With you by my side, even for this brief journey, I have no regrets."

I steadied myself, packed my emotions, and began preparing my luggage. With quiet resolve, I booked a flight for the end of the month.

That same day, Annie posted another update on her Moments:

"Everyone is welcome to attend my housewarming~"

The accompanying photo showed Dwayne and Annie locked in an embrace, gazing at each other.

Coincidentally, her housewarming was on the same day as my flight.

Over the past eight years, there had been countless quarrels, each one ending with me lowering my head to make peace.

But this time, I didn’t bow my head.

And this time, Dwayne didn’t look back either.

I couldn’t help but recall how uneasy Dwayne had been when he first confessed his physical condition.

I remembered the surprise and excitement on his face when I agreed to be his girlfriend. He once told me I was like a candy, sweetly melting into the bitterness of his heart.

Back then, we changed our lives for the sake of love, determined to have a child of our own. Even after countless setbacks, our bond remained unshaken.

But now, standing at this moment, we had let the chance for happiness slip away.

After leaving home, I cut all ties with Dwayne and stayed in a hotel for three days.

Grief consumed me, weakening my body to the point where I had no choice but to seek medical attention.

It was at the hospital’s obstetrics and gynecology department that I unexpectedly ran into Dwayne and Annie.

Annie had just stepped out of the examination area, clutching a film from her check-up. When she saw me, her innocent eyes blinked, and she smiled sweetly, "What a coincidence, Tricia! I wasn’t feeling well, so Mr. Doyle insisted on bringing me to the hospital for a check-up. I didn’t expect to see you here."

I didn’t have the energy to wonder what had made Annie feel unwell—or why Dwayne had accompanied her to the obstetrics and gynecology department.

"I heard that Tricia had abdominal pain a few days ago. Is she feeling better now?" Annie asked with feigned concern, her tone syrupy sweet, yet only I could detect the mockery hidden within her words.

I pulled out my registration slip and replied calmly, "It's fine now. You don’t need to worry."

Just as I finished, Dwayne appeared behind her, holding a bag of prescribed medicine. When our eyes met, he showed no trace of shame at being caught in such a situation. Instead, he stormed toward me, anger flaring in his voice as he demanded, "Where have you been these past few days?"

I stayed silent, taking a deliberate step back to maintain my distance.

This small action enraged Dwayne further. He snatched the registration slip from my hand, towering over me with a cold, condescending gaze.

"As a pregnant woman, running around recklessly with your baby—do you even care about basic safety?" he barked. "Your prenatal check-up isn’t due yet. Did you come to the hospital today just to follow me?"

Ever since meeting Annie, Dwayne’s mindset had turned stubborn and accusatory. No matter what I said, he would twist it to fit his narrative, refusing to believe anything I explained.

"I'm here to see a doctor," I replied plainly, though I knew my words would fall on deaf ears.

Predictably, my response only strengthened his suspicion. He became even more convinced that I had followed them to the hospital. His sharp, scrutinizing eyes bore into me, searching for confirmation of his baseless accusations.

Despite his abrasive attitude, he still offered to take me home.

I shook my head and refused, walking past him toward the registration kiosk to sign up for my appointment again.

It must have been my strange behavior that tipped Dwayne off. His gaze shifted to my flat stomach, and his voice took on an unusually nervous tone, "What's wrong with you?"

Just as he seemed ready to accompany me for the examination, Annie suddenly doubled over in pain. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her face turned pale as she weakly called out to him.

"Mr. Doyle, I feel so uncomfortable..."

Dwayne hesitated for a moment but ultimately turned away from me, choosing to help Annie instead. He guided her back to the examination room, leaving me standing there frozen.

A wave of memories hit me, and I suddenly recalled the day I had begged Dwayne to take just ten minutes to drive me to the hospital.

I had pleaded desperately, insisting that it would only take ten minutes, but he refused.

I was shaking from the cold, my body convulsing, but I kept begging him.

But his response was cruel, "Annie says that pregnant women are just being dramatic. I know you want to keep me, but using the child to manipulate me won’t work anymore!"

"If you want to pretend, then go ahead—pretend as much as you want!"

He slammed the door on me and locked me inside the house.

The stark contrast between his callous departure back then and his nervous concern for Annie now was jarring—like night and day.

Perhaps due to some lingering conscience, Dwayne turned back and said to me, "Wait here. I'll come find you when I'm done."

Watching him help Annie leave, I took a deep breath, then turned and walked into the outpatient department.

Although Dwayne never cared for me, he was always there for the children.

On every prenatal check-up day, no matter how much Annie cried or caused trouble, Dwayne would always show up by my side, fulfilling his so-called fatherly duty.

But it was only for the check-ups. He never wanted to be around at any other time.

Because Annie told him that the more a pregnant woman is pampered, the more pretentious she becomes.

And what Dwayne hated most were pretentious women.

I had once thought that this was his true nature, but now it seemed his dislike was reserved only for me.

Eight years had passed.

It was long enough to replace every cell in a person's body and transform them into someone entirely different.

In the end, my children and I were nothing more than relics of the past.

So before I left, I wanted to give Dwayne an unforgettable surprise.

I found all of Annie’s social media profiles and saved every piece of her and Dwayne’s shared life, using it as leverage for our divorce.

Once I finished, I blocked Annie and did the same to Dwayne.

My world seemed to have pressed the pause button at that moment.

The day before I was set to board my flight, I received a call from an unknown number.

It was Annie on the other end, and her tone was so sweet that it made it impossible to feel angry:

"Tricia, tomorrow is my housewarming. Are you free to come and join us?"

I knew Annie’s call was meant to provoke me. On such an important day for her, Dwayne would undoubtedly be there.

Sure enough, Annie started showing off in the next sentence:

"Recently, Mr. Doyle has been personally buying furniture for me. He stays at my house when he’s too busy. You won’t mind, right?"

"I always say a woman needs capital—whether it’s a career or youth. Without either, no one will care, even if she runs away."

If I had heard these words before, I would have rushed over and slapped Annie twice.

But now, her provocations no longer stirred anything in my heart.

Another whisper of intimacy came through the phone, and Annie intentionally inserted my name between her breaths.

Dwayne couldn't help but sneer and said with disgust, "You still think you’re a young girl, playing these childish games of running away from home. You have no shame."

"Anyway, she's carrying my child. Even if she runs to the ends of the earth, she can't get rid of me!"

"But honey, you can't leave me. If you disappear, I will die of anxiety!"

The tip of my nose felt sour. I didn't expect such words to come out of Dwayne's mouth.

He was once a father who longed for a family of three.

What's the difference between him now and the person he scorned when he was a boy?

I turned off the record button on the phone, looked at the countdown to the boarding reminder, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Next, we just need to wait quietly for tomorrow to arrive.

On the day of her housewarming, Annie was so excited that even the live broadcast room, which had not been updated for a long time, was restarted.

In the camera lens, she held Dwayne's hand like a pair of beauties. Those who came to visit and give gifts were all friends of Dwayne's company.

It turned out that these people had long known about Dwayne and Annie's affair.

Among them was a courier boy whose attire attracted everyone’s attention. He held up the document bag in his hand and shouted loudly, "Mr. Dwayne, here’s a courier sent to you by Miss Tricia."

When Dwayne heard my name, all the friends present showed contempt and were unwilling to take the folder.

However, Annie walked over openly, smiled broadly at everyone, and said, "Is this a gift from Tricia to me?"

Dwayne didn't expect that I would use express delivery to upset everyone at this time. He took the express delivery and was about to throw it into the trash can.

The raised hand paused again, and after thinking for a moment, Dwayne opened the folder.

There was only a thin abortion surgery report sheet inside.

"How is it possible..." Under the live broadcast camera, I saw Dwayne's face gradually turning pale.