Ninety-nine times I'd caught Duncan cheating. By now, panic was a thing of the past. All that was left in his eyes was irritation：

“How many times is this now? Sure, I can apologize—but I already told you I'm not changing. Next time I'll just be smarter about hiding it.”

I pressed my hand against the tight knot in my belly, eyes stinging so badly I could barely keep them open：

“I don't need an apology. You know that when you cheat, I can only……”

He cut me off, impatient：“Your people will die of shame on your behalf, and you'll get dragged back for an arranged marriage, right?”

“God, I am so tired of that line. It's faker than you whimpering 'no' in bed! You want to leave? Leave tomorrow. And don't ever come back.”

The tears dried on my cheeks. In my pocket, my phone kept buzzing.

A message from my mother：

【Bina, you're the only daughter our family has. Carrying on the bloodline isn't something you can walk away from. We agreed—one hundred chances for him to turn around. There's only one left. We're waiting for you at home.】

When Duncan saw I wasn't speaking, the contempt in his eyes deepened：

“Bad luck this time—you caught me. I wasn't even finished. Stand guard if you want.”

The door closed, and the image of their bodies tangled together on the other side drove through me like a blade.

I typed back to my mother with a bitter smile：【Mom, I'm not giving him the last chance. I'm coming home for the arranged marriage.】

The moment I sent it, I mailed him the appointment slip for the abortion. Then I walked away and never looked back.

A man who wouldn't cherish ninety-nine chances didn't deserve a hundredth.

……

I left the hotel and went straight to the hospital for the procedure.

Even as the doctor frowned and tried to talk me out of it：

“This baby's healthy—growing well. And very bonded to you. On the ultrasound, even when it's sleeping, it's gripping the cord. Are you sure about this? Have you talked it over with your family?”

I shook my head：

“There's no father in the picture. My family doesn't accept the relationship, either. I won't bring a child into the world just to suffer.”

Something like regret flickered in the doctor's eyes.

“It's okay. You've got a long road ahead of you, and you can walk it wide even on your own.”

I managed a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.

Even a perfect stranger could see it that clearly. So why had I wasted all that time on Duncan Delgado?

Three days in the hospital after the procedure, and I dragged myself home on shaky legs.

Dust on the table. Dust on everything he would have touched.

Duncan hadn't been back once in three days.

Not a single message on my phone.

The appointment slip I'd sent—he'd probably kicked it aside like trash without a second look.

I frowned and wiped the dust away.

After packing up the few things that were actually mine, I looked around. Nothing in the apartment was missing. As if I'd never belonged here at all.

I was about to call for a pickup when Duncan stumbled through the door, reeking of alcohol.

His gaze landed on the packed suitcases. He squinted, face flushed：

“Where do you think you're going?”

I didn't ask where he'd been for the past three days. Not the way I always used to.

I didn't ask about the cloying perfume clinging to him, either.

I just kept walking toward the door.

He lifted his foot, waiting. When I didn't kneel down to take off his shoes the way I always had—

That was when Duncan finally noticed something was wrong. He frowned：

“I had a big deal overseas, had to fly out personally. That's why I wasn't around. You're really going to throw a fit over that?”

“Next time I'll bring you along, okay? Knock it off.”

Listening to lies that rolled off his tongue like breathing, I just shook my head. Cold. Quiet.

Nothing like the woman who used to cling to him the moment he vanished for half a day, screaming, begging him to tell her whether he loved her or not.

One phone call. That was all it would have taken. He never made it.

He just didn't care.

His hand clamped down on my arm, and for the first time, real panic bled into his voice：

“Still mad? I got you those heels you wanted. You kept saying you liked them, right?”

He held out a shoebox like a peace offering. Red-soled heels—the exact pair I'd mentioned more than once.

Only there were faint scuff marks near the sole. And the size was two smaller than mine. These were never meant for me.

I remembered instantly. A few days ago, his latest fling had posted these same shoes on social media, posing and preening before adding a complaint:

“God, my man is so basic. Told me the red soles were 'hot' and literally made me model them for him. Embarrassingly tacky.”

Then she'd let her dog walk all over them, captioning it something about how even the dog wouldn't wear them.

The girl's name was Lorna Winfield, a junior in the dance program. She'd met Duncan at a drinking party.

I hadn't been there that night. I'd hurt my back caring for Duncan's bedridden grandmother.

He didn't say a single comforting word. I limped home and found the two of them tangled in our bed.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, smiling like it was nothing：

“Don't be mad. She just reminds me of you at eighteen. That same freshness, that same beauty.”

“Don't worry that I'll forget about you now that she's here. I still love you.”

So in his mind, all I deserved were shoes even a dog had rejected.

Always telling me he loved me, while behind my back I was the worn-out woman he was too embarrassed to show off.

I closed the lid with a bitter smile and looked up at him.

“These aren't for me, are they?”

“You forgot. I can't wear heels anymore.”

Duncan's eyes went wide for a second, a flicker of shame crossing his face before it smoothed over.

“Bina, I've been thinking about how much you wanted them. Slipped my mind you're still pregnant. Just save them for after the baby comes. No rush.”

“And that gift you sent me the other day, I really liked it. Don't go to the trouble anymore, though. Just focus on taking care of the baby.”

He set the box aside and reached over, pressing his palm against my stomach, trying to feel for the baby.

My blood went cold. He had never even opened that package.

I stepped away without making it obvious, head down, fingers crushing the fabric of my skirt：

“I'm glad you liked it.”

He stood there, awkward, and changed the subject：

“You called me the day before yesterday. I was busy. Was it something important?”

I made that call while I was bleeding out on the table, pad after pad soaking through red beneath me, sure I was going to die.

The only reason I called him was to ask him to bury me with the baby.

Dozens of calls. It never went to voicemail. He simply chose not to answer.

Just like the miscarriage papers I'd mailed him. He didn't want to know.

But of course. I had only lost half my life and a child. Why should that get in the way of him and Lorna?

“It was nothing.” I lowered my eyes. There was nothing left inside to feel.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a ringtone cut in, some cutesy, whiny sound that didn't belong to any work contact.

Duncan killed the call immediately and cleared his throat：

“Bina, something came up with work. Gotta handle it.”

He ducked into the bathroom. Muffled laughter seeped through the door.

He hadn't noticed that I could barely stand, or that my lips had gone white.

I picked up my mother's call.

“Go ahead with the wedding however you want to arrange it. I can come back anytime.”

My mother asked：“Don't you want to know who the groom is?”

I exhaled, too tired to care：“Who it is or who it isn't, when have I ever had a say? Just decide for me.”

My mother choked back tears but said nothing, only that this was the best thing for me.

We settled on a date for the family to come get me. One week, and I would be gone.

I was about to say goodbye to Duncan.

He came rushing out with a shopping list in his hand, frantic：

“Go to the market and get some soup bones. I need them now!”

“Right now. Not a second later.”

I watched him panic and felt my mouth twist into a smirk. I already knew why he was so worked up.

Just minutes ago, Lorna had posted on social media, crying about how her dog had tumbled down the stairs and hurt its leg.

And Duncan was ordering me around like this for a dog I had never even met.

He stared at me, waiting, fully expecting me to do what I'd always done.

Rush to the market, pick out the best cuts, and have a pot of rich bone broth ready for him before he could blink.

But I didn't move. I turned and walked back toward the bedroom to lie down.

“The market's closed. If you want bones, go yourself.”

The words flew out of him on reflex：“You're just being lazy. I keep a roof over your head, and you can't even handle something this small?”

I shut the door. Hard. Let the silence answer for me.

For years, all he had to do was mention a craving and I'd rack my brain figuring out how to make it perfect, nicking my fingers on the knife more times than I could count, burning my arms on hot pans.

And all it ever earned me was one label: the freeloader who ate and drank on his dime.

He was about to knock when Lorna called. Her voice came through nasal and thick, all guilt.

“It's all my fault. Don't make Sabina do it. My dog can't compare to the baby in her belly. I'll take care of Lucky myself. Just stay with her, okay?”

His whole expression went soft in an instant, like he was looking at the only person who mattered.

“Don't worry. I've already called the vet.”

“Stay with her? She does nothing but pull faces at me. Forget about it—I'm getting a professional chef to make the broth right now. Lucky's going to be fine.”

He hung up and headed straight for the walk-in closet, digging through my clothes and bags, pulling out the nicest, most expensive pieces and packing them up.

“Lorna mentioned last time that she liked these limited-edition ones. She's upset right now. I'll bring them over to cheer her up.”

I didn't move. I kept my back to him, pretending to be asleep.

Duncan filled a large bag, then kept rummaging, until finally, in the bottom compartment, he found the box of baby clothes.

“You bought so many. The biggest ones can go to Lucky—not like you'll be needing them anytime soon.”

I sat up instantly.

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

Duncan was holding up the baby clothes I had picked out piece by piece, each one hand-washed so gently I was afraid to damage the fabric.

For Lorna's dog.

I hadn't thought he could be this heartless. Not a single thought spared for his own child. Everything I'd poured my heart into, every scrap of love in those tiny clothes—handed off to a dog.

Something surged through my body, some strength I didn't know I had left. I was on my feet, blocking his path, snatching the clothes out of his hands and pressing them to my chest.

“Take everything else I own. I don't care. But you do not touch the baby's things.”

These were meant for the seventh-day burning—every last piece sent to my baby as an offering.

He never got to see this world. He left in pain before he ever opened his eyes. Did he not even deserve a set of clothes?

Duncan's brow twisted with impatience, and he reached out to shove me aside：

“It's a few outfits. Why are you being so petty? I'll buy more later.”

He grabbed the clothes from my arms anyway. When he saw I wouldn't let go, something flickered across his face, half irritation, half embarrassment.

“Sabina, do you really think throwing a fit over a dog is worth it?”