My husband claimed to have a weak sperm count. We went through dozens of rounds of IVF before we finally had a child.

But when I called my husband, feeling miserable from morning sickness, he was impatient: "Don't bother me with such trivial things."

The call didn’t end; I heard a sugary voice on the other end: "Brian, what if someone finds out about this?"

"It's fine. That foolish woman still blissfully thinks it's her child."

"Lily, you were afraid of getting pregnant and feeling awful, so I swapped her egg with yours for the IVF."

"When the baby is born, I'll lie to her, telling her that the baby died, and then divorce her."

"Then our little family can live happily together."

"That woman is nothing but a surrogate tool."

Amid the teasing sounds, my heart grew colder.

The suffering I endured was caused by the person I loved the most.

I calmly dialed the hospital: "I'd like to schedule an appointment for an abortion."

...

After hanging up, I slid to the floor, unable to hold myself up anymore.

The discomfort from morning sickness was instantly replaced by a piercing chill.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, my phone slipped from my hand, my stomach churning intensely, but I couldn't throw up anymore.

I remembered the voice on the phone. It belonged to Lily Brown, my husband Brian Walker’s childhood sweetheart, who returned from abroad last month.

I had been wary initially, but when I first met her, she smiled sincerely and even hugged me, excited about my pregnancy.

I had silently mocked myself for being paranoid. Now it was clear that her happiness wasn’t about my pregnancy but about her own child growing healthily inside me.

Trembling, I stood up and washed my face.

The woman in the mirror had a pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, and trembling lips from recent vomiting.

This was me, a pitiful woman used as a mere tool by the one she loved the most.

Returning to the living room, I collapsed onto the sofa, fingers unconsciously stroking my slightly swollen abdomen.

Three months ago, when the pregnancy test showed two red lines, Brian had been ecstatic, lifting me in his arms and spinning me around. That night, he took me to the most expensive restaurant for dinner.

Looking back now, his joy was never truly for me.

The memories felt like open wounds, bleeding right before my eyes.

A year ago, Brian had suddenly appeared outside my office building, holding roses and proposed to me.

We were college classmates. I had secretly loved him for four years, and after graduation, we went our separate ways.

When we met again, he was the CEO of a start-up company, while I was just an ordinary designer.

"Laura, you're the perfect mother for my child," he had said, kneeling on one knee.

I thought it was the awkward romance of a man in STEM and had teased him for his strange proposal words.

Now I understood that he chose me because of my uterus.

Even the wedding photo on the coffee table showed Brian holding me gently, smiling tenderly.

Beside the photo were the prenatal vitamins he had bought for me last week. Every day, he personally reminded me to take them with a glass of water.

What a considerate husband.

If only this care wasn't for someone else's child in my belly.

I grabbed the photo frame and hurled it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass temporarily brought me back to my senses.

I couldn't go on like this. I needed to think clearly.

Taking a deep breath, I checked my savings in the mobile banking app.

Fifteen thousand dollars, my private savings, enough for me to leave this place and start anew.

Sliding my fingers across the screen, I booked a ticket to Westwood for three days later.

I have a college roommate there who runs a guesthouse and has often invited me to visit.

Now, it would be my refuge.

The sound of the door unlocking made my whole body tense. Brian was back, two hours earlier than usual. I quickly wiped away my tears and shoved my phone under the cushion.

His voice floated in from the hallway, as warm and gentle as ever, "Lori, I brought you some sour plum soup. I heard it's good for morning sickness."

His footsteps approached. I forced myself to look up and muster a smile. He bent down and kissed my forehead, his gaze immediately dropping to my belly. "Has the baby been good today?" His hand naturally rested on my stomach.

A wave of nausea surged up my throat, and I abruptly stood up. "I need to use the restroom." Shutting the door behind me, I dry-heaved a few times, turning on the faucet to mask the sound of my sobs.

“Lori, are you alright?” Brian asked from outside the door.

I opened the door, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm fine, just morning sickness. Maybe I ate something wrong this morning."

He frowned, reaching out to touch my face. I instinctively turned my head away. I walked back to the sofa, deliberately maintaining some distance between us.

"Why are you home so early today?" I asked.

"Of course, it’s because I was worried about you.” He sat next to me, close enough that I could smell the sweet, cloying scent of his cologne, so different from the fresh, woody fragrance I usually wear.

"When you called this morning, I was in a meeting. Sorry I wasn't more attentive."

A meeting? Was he having a meeting in bed with Lily? I bit my lip to keep from screaming those words.

"It’s okay, work is important," I whispered, my fingers digging into my palm. Brian's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression changing subtly. "I need to take this call."

He walked quickly to the balcony, pulling the glass door shut. His muffled voice reached me in bits and pieces. "Don't worry, she doesn't know... Yes, very healthy... Just a few more months..."

His expressions of tenderness and patience were a stark contrast to the facade of concern he showed to me.

That night, I pretended to fall asleep early, my back turned to Brian. He crept into bed, habitually draping an arm over my waist. My body remained rigid until his breathing evened out, and only then did I carefully move away.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating Brian’s sleeping face. The face I once loved now filled me with terror and revulsion. I slipped out of bed, clutching my phone, and hid in the bathroom. First, I messaged my roommate from Westwood, confirming she could take me in. Then, I logged into my mobile bank app and transferred fifteen thousand to a new account Brian didn't know about.

After deleting all traces of my actions, I flushed the toilet to cover any noise and returned to bed. Brian turned over, his arm reaching for my body unconsciously. I lay there stiffly, counting the seconds as they passed.

Three days. I just had to endure for three more days. Then, I could leave this city of lies and pain forever.

The next morning, as soon as I heard Brian's car leave the garage, I sprang out of bed. The morning sickness was worse than the day before, but I ignored it. After a hurried wash, I donned a mask and baseball cap and called a ride.

I chose a hospital I had never been to before. The scenery outside the car window blurred as it flew past, and I instinctively held my stomach. There was a three-month-old life inside me. A life built on lies.

My phone buzzed with a message from Brian: Remember to have breakfast. The vitamins are on the nightstand. I sneered, turning off the notifications. His concern had nothing to do with me.

I stood in the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant stinging my nose.

The doctor handed me the surgery consent form:

"Mrs. Greene, are you sure you want to go through with this operation? According to the ultrasound, there are multiple signs of egg retrieval on the uterine wall, indicating several rounds of IVF. This child has come to you with great difficulty..."

I tightened my fists, nails digging into my palms:

"Yes, it took thirteen attempts to succeed."

He put down the pen and sighed:

"Mrs. Greene, I must inform you, cases like yours, where it took more than a dozen attempts of IVF to succeed, are extremely rare. This child might be your only chance."

"I am sure I don't want it." My voice was cold as ice.

While signing before the surgery, the doctor instinctively glanced behind me.

"Why isn't your husband here? He needs to sign."

I gave a bitter smile:

"He won't come. I can sign it myself."

The doctor looked up in astonishment, with a trace of sympathy in his eyes.

The pen made a scratching sound across the paper.

The operating room was so cold it made people shiver.

"Relax, it'll be over soon." The anesthetic flowed into my veins, and the doctor's voice gradually faded away.

Thirteen rounds of IVF.

Each time before egg retrieval, I had to take hormone injections, the needle piercing my abdomen, the drugs making my body swell and burn.

Brian always said:

"Try one more time; we will succeed next time."

Once, after egg retrieval, I bled heavily and was hospitalized for a week.

Brian only visited me on the first day, claiming he was too busy with work afterwards.

Looking back, he was probably spending time with Lily.

The most painful moment was after the twelfth failure, when I broke down in tears and said I couldn't do it anymore.

Brian knelt on the ground, begging me:

"Just one last time, I promise. You know how much I want a child."

Yes, he really wanted a child with Lily.

To keep up appearances, he let me endure the pain of thirteen egg retrievals.

When I woke up, the sycamore trees outside the window were shedding leaves. The nurse handed me post-surgery instructions:

"Rest for half an hour and you can leave. Do you want to see the embryo?"

I turned my head:

"No, dispose of it."

The nurse brought a wheelchair, but I insisted on walking on my own.

My lower abdomen ached faintly, every step felt like walking on cotton.

But compared to the pain of egg retrieval, it was nothing.

When I walked out of the hospital, it was already dark, the streetlights had just come on, casting long shadows.

I leaned against the wall, walking slowly forward, and saw a familiar figure.

Brian stood at the stairs of the hospital, impeccably dressed in a suit, with Lily, looking radiant, on his arm.

Seeing me, he frowned and stepped forward:

"What are you doing here? Didn't you say you were going for a prenatal checkup?"

Lily also stepped forward, her perfume making me dizzy:

"Lori, you look so pale; is the baby okay?"

She reached out as if to touch my belly, and I moved aside to avoid her.

"What are you doing at the hospital?" I fixed my eyes on Brian.

He straightened his tie:

"Mr. Cheney’s banquet is at the hotel next door. You being pregnant, I brought Lily instead."

I sneered:

"Why didn't you bring me when I wasn’t pregnant?"

Brian's expression turned dark:

"Don't you get it? You would only embarrass me at such occasions, not even able to tell the difference between red wine and Burgundy!"

Those words stabbed me in the heart.

When we first got married, I specifically learned about wine to surprise him, but he said he was too busy with work to enjoy it.

Turns out, in his eyes, I was just a vulgar woman, unfit for social events.

“Lily is different; she understands art, appreciates wine, anyone would envy me for bringing her.” Brian's tone suddenly softened.

Lily gave a shy smile at the perfect moment, her fingers brushing the necklace on her neck.

The same necklace Brian had promised to buy me as an anniversary gift, now adorned another woman's neck.

I no longer wanted to see their lovey-dovey act and turned to leave.

“Wait!”