My best friend invited me to stay over at her place, but while preparing for pregnancy I forgot to bring my folic acid.

“Kelly, where do you keep your folic acid? I’ll take two pills.”

She handed me the bottle. When I opened it, I realized that although it was the same brand, the pills inside looked completely different.

My folic acid was always prepared by my husband, William Harris.

Clutching my bag, I rushed home and slipped quietly through the door.

William had always been restrained, only touching me during my ovulation days, even while we were trying to conceive.

But there he was, in our bedroom, losing control in front of a photo of his childhood sweetheart, Sophia Reed.

I silently covered my mouth and retreated to the living room, pretending to look for something.

Hearing the noise, he quickly cleaned up and walked out.

“Anna? Didn’t you say you were staying at Kelly’s tonight? Why did you suddenly come back?”

I masked my panic and replied calmly:

“I dropped the folic acid I brought with me on the way, so I came back to grab a new bottle.”

William smiled as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.

“Our future baby will be so happy knowing that Mommy cares this much.”

Once upon a time, I would have felt blessed by such words.

But recalling the sounds of pleasure he had just made alone in that room, my eyes burned red.

Every time he was with me, he treated it like a cold obligation, utterly without feeling.

He claimed he was born indifferent, yet facing Sophia’s photo could bring him such joy.

I forced a smile and gently pushed him away.

“Alright, where’s the folic acid? I’ll grab it myself.”

The dim light hid my expression.

He guided me to the couch tenderly.

“Small things like this, let your husband handle.”

I nodded, watching his back as he fetched the pills, silently memorizing the cabinet’s location.

William handed me the folic acid, but the seal had already been broken.

I poured out two pills.

Still not the same as Kelly’s.

He brought me some water. I asked tentatively:

“Is this brand of folic acid only made in one formula?”

He nodded.

“Of course. This is already the best and most expensive folic acid on the market.”

“Don’t worry, honey. If I prepared it, it’s safe.”

So I swallowed the pills.

The wall clock was about to strike eleven.

Sure enough, William’s phone rang right on time.

It was Sophia.

I’d been trying to conceive for two months, and she had returned from abroad at exactly the same time.

From her very first day back, every night at eleven, she would call and ask William to sleep beside her.

At first, I argued and even threatened: if William stepped out the door, he shouldn’t bother coming back.

But he always coaxed me gently:

“Anna, Sophia has needed me to stay by her side since childhood. During all those years abroad, she couldn’t sleep without me. Now that she’s back, I can’t just ignore her insomnia.”

When I refused, he promised:

“I’ll only stay with her for three months, I swear. Once the time is up, I’ll never go again.”

“And besides, I told you—Sophia has a phobia of men. Nothing will ever happen between us.”

After hanging up, he kissed my forehead, grabbed his coat, and left.

Tonight, I was glad he went out quickly—because I wanted to see what he had really replaced my folic acid with.

When I opened that cabinet, I tried to comfort myself:

Maybe he secretly swapped it with a more expensive supplement, afraid I wouldn’t buy it for myself.

Inside were several unopened bottles of folic acid. I opened one.

It was exactly the same as Kelly’s.

But behind those bottles, there was another one—unlabeled, no packaging, not even a production date.

Inside that bottle were the pills William had been giving me every day.

I snapped a photo of it and slipped one pill into a sealed bag.

Back in the bedroom, a small drop of liquid William had failed to wipe clean still stained the desk.

Beside his computer stood Sophia’s photo.

William and I were both twenty-five, while Sophia was a few years older. In a few months, she’d turn thirty.

I loved William deeply.

Even though I knew Sophia held a special place in his heart, they had never been together despite knowing each other for so many years.

When William and I first met, he pursued me passionately.

We had been married for three years now and were preparing for a child.

I believed William truly loved me.

With that thought, I quietly wiped the desk with a tissue.

As I tossed the tissue into the trash, I noticed a sheet of paper on the floor—covered in Spanish writing.

William and Sophia had once studied abroad in Spain.

Lately, handwritten Spanish notes kept appearing around the house.

When I asked about them, he simply said they were part of his studio’s research project.

I picked up the page and neatly placed it back on his desk.

After my shower, William came home, having soothed Sophia to sleep.

He held me tenderly.

“How did I get so lucky to marry such a caring wife?”

As he spoke, his hands began to wander.

I frowned.

“But it isn’t even my ovulation period today.”

He muttered something about not caring, then carried me to bed.

That night was unusually intense.

The next morning, my body ached. William had seemed especially spirited, unusually satisfied.

I wanted to ask him about the pills, but he was still asleep.

So I got up, washed, and went to work.

I worked in the sales department of a pharmaceutical company. I handed that pill to a colleague in the testing lab, asking her to check its ingredients.

She took it and said,

“Come back in three days for the results.”

Embarrassed, I smiled:

“No need for heavy equipment. It’s just a supplement my husband bought for me, probably full of nutrients.”

She gave me a knowing look and teased:

“Your husband is really thoughtful. Any child born into your family will be blessed. He’s sure to be a great father. Come back tomorrow—I’ll have the results ready.”

I thanked her and left.

The next day, I ran into her at the time clock. Her face was grim.

“Anna, did your husband really give you that pill?”

Puzzled, I nodded.

“Of course. Why? What is it—some rare herb worth a fortune?”

She hesitated, then said,

“The composition is complicated. Maybe you should come back in a week for the final report.”

“Your… your husband…”

I thanked her again, brushing off her tone.

“My husband is really generous. I’ll treat you to dinner when the results come out.”

That evening, William called:

“Honey, Sophia is holding her birthday party earlier this year. I’ll pick you up after work.”

Although I was reluctant, all his old friends would be there.

As his wife, not showing up would look bad.

I replied:

“Alright, I just got off work. Come pick me up now.”

By the time we arrived, everyone else was already seated.

Seeing me, Sophia stood warmly and said:

“Anna’s here—come sit next to me.”

She pulled me down beside her, though every instinct in my body resisted her touch.

Dinner stretched on, drinks flowing.

Sophia grew tipsy, raising her glass of wine again and again, urging me to drink.

I waved her off.

“I’d better not. William and I are trying for a baby, you know that.”

But William, who usually forbade me from touching alcohol, spoke up:

“It’s her birthday. Just have one drink. You’re not ovulating for a while anyway.”

Had he already forgotten what we did just a few nights ago?

Before I could reply, others chimed in:

“Come on, Anna, Sophia never urges anyone to drink—she must really like you!”

“She’s showing you respect by toasting you!”

Feeling cornered, I opened my mouth and swallowed a sip.

But Sophia forced the entire glass to my lips, making me drink it all.

I choked, coughing, and clutched the table.

Sophia, meanwhile, grew more jubilant, raising her glass to everyone:

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate. My real thirtieth birthday isn’t for a few months yet.”

“But tonight, I want to celebrate something else.”

“The most important event of my life—my research project is about to succeed!”

Applause and cheers filled the room.

She then looked straight at William and me.

“The people I’m most grateful to are William and his wife, Anna Collins!”

Murmurs of confusion spread among the guests.

The smile on William’s face froze instantly.

Leaning close, he whispered to me:

“She’s drunk. I’ll take her home and come back for you.”

Dizzy from the wine, I nodded.

But I waited and waited.

The guests left. The restaurant closed.

Still, he never returned.

Groggy, I hailed a cab home.

When I entered, William wasn’t back yet. His Spanish notes were scattered across the floor.

I was too irritable from the alcohol to tidy them. Instead, I kicked them aside.

Dirty shoe prints smudged the papers.

When William finally came home and saw the mess, he snapped:

“Anna Collins, what are you doing? Do you have any idea how important these are to me?”

Still tipsy, I burst into tears.

“William, why are you yelling at me? You didn’t put them away yourself! I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Seeing my tears, his tone softened.

“I… Just don’t touch my things again.”

I collapsed into sleep on the floor.

When I woke, William had already left. His weekends were always busier than weekdays.

The notes had been carefully flattened and laid back out on the desk.

Curiosity gnawed at me.

What was so important about them?

I pulled out my phone’s translation app and scanned one page.

His handwriting was messy; the translation came out fragmented.

But a few words stood out: “pregnant women,” “deformity,” “drug effects,” “IQ.”

I scanned more pages, though most of the terms were too technical.

I saved screenshots of the translations, planning to show them to my lab colleague when I collected the test results.

Four days later, we met as arranged.

She handed me the report, her eyes filled with pity.

“This drug contains nothing beneficial for pregnant women at all.”