I got pregnant in my third year of marriage to Ryan, a software architect in Seattle.

Before I went on maternity leave, he and a few colleagues threw me a send-off.

His new colleague, Camilla, who had just joined the company, was also there.

Ryan introduced her, "This is a classmate of mine from Stanford."

I smiled and nodded, not thinking much of it.

Halfway through the party, a drunk executive from his company slung an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "Ryan, you've got some moves! The one that got away in college, and you managed to get her back in the fold. Planning to rekindle an old flame?"

The atmosphere at the party instantly turned awkward.

After we got home, Ryan held me and apologized repeatedly, saying it was all in the past.

His desperation felt so genuine that I chose to believe him.

After that, the few times he mentioned Camilla were only to complain about work.

"Camilla's project management is a nightmare. I can never tell what she's thinking."

I thought the matter was closed, until I stopped by his office with lunch.

He casually made himself a latte with oat milk.

I paused for a moment.

"When did you stop drinking black coffee?"

He answered instinctively, "She likes oat milk…"

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1

The spoon Ryan was using to stir his coffee paused mid-air.

But the unfinished half of his sentence sent a chill down my spine.

"I… What was I saying?"

He tried to cover it up, his tone unnaturally light as he let out a dry laugh.

"This is a new perk the company started offering. It tastes pretty good, so I thought I'd give it a try."

I just watched him, saying nothing.

Under my steady gaze, Ryan shifted uncomfortably, tugging at his collar.

It was his tell whenever he felt guilty.

After three years of marriage, I knew him all too well.

He only ever drank black coffee, which was why I always prepared the purest single-origin beans for him.

He hadn't forgotten his own preference; he'd remembered someone else's.

Swallowing the knot of emotion in my throat, I pushed the lunchbox toward him.

"You'll have to bring me a cup next time."

Ryan let out a sigh of relief, thinking I had believed him.

He stood up and hugged me, his chin resting in the crook of my neck. His voice suddenly sounded tired.

"Honey, I've been under a lot of pressure at work lately. Don't let your mind wander. It's not good for the baby."

His warm breath ghosted across my neck, but all I felt was a chill.

I gently pushed him away. "Hurry up and eat before it gets cold."

With that, I left his office.

That evening, Ryan said he was pulling an all-nighter at work and wouldn't be home.

I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I finally got up and opened his laptop to find a movie to watch.

As I moved the mouse, my eyes landed on an encrypted folder named "Project Serendipity."

My fingertips trembled. On a gut-wrenching impulse, I opened it.

Inside the folder was all the data for a social app they had developed together in college, along with a heartfelt confession of love hidden in the code comments.

My blood ran cold.

This confession…

They were the exact same vows he had spoken to me so lovingly on our wedding day, in front of all our guests.

He'd told me he wrote them just for me, that every word was mine.

I had been in the crowd, weeping.

It turned out I wasn't the first to witness these vows, nor was I the "serendipity" in his heart.

"...With you, my world finally has color..."

So, the past wasn't in the past at all. It was just buried.

From that day on, I noticed a change in Ryan.

He had always emphasized focus, believing that work and life should have clear boundaries.

Now, his phone never left his side, even when he showered.

Several times, I even heard his laughter through the frosted glass of the bathroom door.

I've never been one to snoop through someone's phone; it feels like a basic violation of respect.

But that day, he showered without his phone, leaving it charging on the nightstand.

The screen lit up, and a message preview flashed across it.

Just finished my workout. Good night.

My heart sank.

I picked up the phone, wanting to see what they had been talking about.

But I discovered he had changed the password.

When Ryan came out and saw me holding his phone, panic flashed across his face.

"What are you doing with my phone?"

I tossed the phone back onto the bed, my voice calm. "Nothing. Just wanted to see the time."

He didn't press the matter.

That night, we slept with our backs to each other, the silence a wall between us.

Before I knew it, his birthday had arrived.

Six months pregnant, I’d carefully booked a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant for him.

I waited for him to come home, full of anticipation.

The reservation time came and went, but he never showed.

When I called, the background noise was incredibly loud, like he was in a high-end bar.

"Hello? Honey?"

His voice was slurred.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Oh! The team threw a surprise party for me! I'm such an idiot, I got so busy I completely forgot to tell you."

Just as he finished speaking, I heard Camilla's flirtatious voice chime in.

"Come on, make a wish!"

Before the call ended, a familiar tune started playing in the background.

It was the music from their app's demo video.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest, as if a needle had pierced my heart.

I hung up without a word.

Looking at the reservation confirmation on my phone, a wave of fury erupted in my chest.

In a fit of fury, I canceled the reservation.

Only after I received the cancellation confirmation email did I feel a flicker of satisfaction.

He came back at one in the morning.

I was sitting in the living room, my face expressionless.

He was startled to see me.

"Honey, why are you still up?"

He leaned in to hug me, but the overpowering stench of alcohol mixed with a cloying women's perfume made my stomach turn.

That perfume was the exact same one I had smelled on Camilla at the send-off party.

Forcing down a wave of nausea, I subtly shifted away and reached up to pluck a long hair from the shoulder of his dark jacket.

A single, damning strand of rose gold.

I asked, already knowing the answer, "What's this?"

The strand of rose-gold hair on his dark jacket was like an intimate mark.

Its presence was jarring, a silent declaration.

Ryan looked down, his expression shifting slightly.

He frantically tried to remove it, but his trembling fingertips only made it more obvious.

"This… There were a lot of people at the party. It must have gotten on me by accident."

His eyes darted away, not daring to meet mine.

"By accident?" I scoffed. "Quite the coincidence. One of your colleagues has... distinctive hair."

My words must have stung him, or maybe the alcohol gave him courage, because his shame quickly curdled into anger.

"Ava! What are you trying to say? Why do you have to be so unreasonable?"

He raised his voice, his face a mask of impatience.

"No wonder they say pregnancy hormones make women crazy. Guess I'm seeing it firsthand!"

"They?" I countered.

"Who are 'they'? Camilla?"

I’d clearly hit a nerve. Ryan's face flushed as he finally dropped the pretense.

"So what if it was? Camilla was just kindly reminding me that pregnant women can be emotionally unstable, and that I should be more patient with you!"

"Just look at yourself now, so aggressive. What happened to the gentle woman I married?"

I was trembling with such rage that the words caught in my throat.

I pointed to the guest room and managed to choke out a single command:

"Get out!"

I turned and walked into the bedroom, shutting him out.

That night, Ryan slept on the sofa in the guest room.

The next morning, I was awakened by the aroma of breakfast.

When I opened my eyes, Ryan was arranging fresh flowers on the dining table, with my favorite bagel and cream cheese beside them.

The sunlight streamed in from behind him, softening his silhouette.

Seeing me, he immediately put on a placating smile.

"Honey, I was wrong. I drank too much yesterday and was talking nonsense. Please don't be mad at me."

I didn't respond, just looked at him coldly.

The smile on his face froze for a second before he took my hand, his tone coaxing.

"It was my fault for not telling you about the team's party beforehand."

"I promise, I'll let you know in advance wherever I go, okay?"

"Don't be angry. The doctor said it's not good for the baby when you're upset."

He guided me to a seat at the table, carefully opened the bagel, spread a thick layer of cream cheese on it, and held it to my lips.

Looking at his humble, eager-to-please expression, flashes of our passionate early days flickered before my eyes.

Back then, he would get incredibly nervous over the slightest hint of my unhappiness.

Maybe… maybe it really was just my pregnancy hormones making me overthink everything?

The word "divorce" was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back down.

But the little life stirring inside me was my softest spot.

I looked at the anticipation in his eyes and finally accepted the bagel.

"There won't be a next time," I said calmly.

Relief flooded Ryan's eyes, and he nodded eagerly.

He even raised his hand to swear an oath.

"Honey, don't worry. There will absolutely never be a next time!"