Eight months pregnant, Ian Shaw insisted that I accompany him back to his hometown for the New Year.

Worried about the baby, I refused, but he flew into a rage and smashed the tea set we had just bought.

On the day of departure, we stopped at a gas station, where he coincidentally ran into his first love, who was waiting for a bus home.

In a soft, sweet voice, Paula Keith said, "Ian, take me home first. Sherrie won’t mind, right?"

Ian replied, "She’s been doing nothing but eating and sleeping her entire pregnancy. It’s better for the baby if she stays in the car."

Paula didn’t hesitate, opening the passenger door and sliding into the front seat.

Halfway through the drive, sharp pain gripped my stomach, and I pleaded with him to take me to the hospital.

With a cold expression, he shoved me out of the car. "Stop using the baby as an excuse. If you don’t want to go back, then don’t. Just get out!"

He slammed the accelerator and drove away without looking back.

I collapsed in the freezing wind, consumed by the unbearable pain.

——

When I regained consciousness, muffled voices floated above me.

"If she’d gotten here 20 minutes earlier, the baby might have survived."

"Running around so recklessly while heavily pregnant... The poor child suffocated. It’s all the mother’s fault!"

Tears slipped silently from the corners of my eyes as I lay there helplessly. My baby was gone.

The sound of the monitor’s alarm jolted me before darkness swallowed me whole.

When I opened my eyes again, the ward was silent.

The night outside the window was pitch-black, like ink spilled across the sky.

I stared blankly at the pale ceiling, my entire body numb and cold.

Suddenly, my phone screen lit up.

I glanced at it and mechanically answered the call.

Ian’s irritated voice broke the silence. "Sherrie, it’s been two days! You won’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. How long are you planning to act like this?"

I closed my eyes, my voice faint and lifeless. "Ian, I’m in the hospital."

"Enough! Stop pretending! You just didn’t want to go back to my family’s countryside for the New Year, didn’t you?"

His tone shot up, sharp and accusatory, like a cornered animal.

I didn’t argue as I usually would. Instead, I replied flatly, "Are you done? If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up now."

"You’re just going to hang up because I called you out? If you’ve got any sense left, take the bus back tomorrow, and I’ll forgive you!"

I ended the call without another word.

He called seven or eight more times, but I muted my phone and watched the screen darken each time.

A notification dinged—his Instagram message.

"Fine! If you want to act up, go ahead! Spend the New Year alone! Don’t even think about asking me to pick you up!"

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Before we got married, he’d rush back from his hometown just to watch a movie with me.

When I was afraid of the dark, he’d leave all the lights on for me when I was alone at home.

After we married, he always made sure to come home early.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory, long forgotten.

Just then, a group message notification popped up.

[Paula Keith]: "Dear uncles and aunts, I’ll be turning one on February 8th! Mommy is throwing a party at home to celebrate. You all have to come! Here’s some candy for everyone."

The profile picture was a pouting selfie of Paula.

[Ian Shaw]: "Everyone, let’s take this chance to get together like old times."

I froze. When did Ian change the group name?

When we first got together, he had eagerly added me to his high school group and introduced me to all his old classmates.

I never spoke in the chat, so he probably forgot I was even part of it.

Messages poured in: in—congratulations, blessings, cheerful words.

Each one was stung like a knife.

[Paula Keith]: "Thank you, everyone! My phone’s about to die because there’s a power outage at home. Don’t forget to come on the 8th!"

[Ian Shaw]: “Are you okay, Paula? Wait, I’ll come over to help you.”

My chest tightened, pain spreading with every beat of my heart.

My child was gone, but my husband was miles away, busy tending to another woman.

What a cruel irony.

Tears slipped down my face as I unlocked my phone. Without hesitation, I tapped on Ian’s avatar in Instagram and sent a message: “When you return, we’re getting a divorce.”

For a long time, there was no reply.

Of course. He was likely on his way to Paula’s place, just as he had once hurried to find me.

An hour later, his avatar finally lit up.

“?”

“Do you still think you’re some untouchable princess? Always threatening to break up, huh?”

“And have you even looked at yourself? Eight months pregnant—who would want you if you left me?”

Anger coursed through me, making my entire body tremble. I stared at the screen, my tear-streaked, pale reflection staring back into the darkened glass.

With a shaky hand, I wiped my face and replied, my voice caught in my throat as if choking on every word: “I’d rather be unwanted than stay with someone as heartless as you. Ian, you’re no better than a beast!”

He didn’t respond, choosing silence as he always did.

I was used to his cold indifference, yet disappointment lingered.

Before we were married, whenever I was upset, he’d immediately admit fault and shower me with affection to make up for it.

But those days were gone.

When I was discharged from the hospital, the nurse gave me a knowing smile.

“Your husband must be something. No matter how busy he is, he should have come to pick you up.”

I forced a faint smile. “He’s preoccupied with his first love. He couldn’t make it.”

The nurse’s smile faltered, and she said nothing more.

Outside, the streets buzzed with traffic. Cars blurred past as I stood there, numb and aimless.

Go home? It was too far.

The doctor had strictly warned me to stay in bed and avoid prolonged sitting.

Given my condition, taking a long bus ride wasn’t an option.

I decided to stay nearby. A taxi took me to a modest hotel, where I checked in and began unpacking.

Later, I prepared to visit the mall next door to buy some essentials and fresh clothes.

As I changed my shoes, my reflection in the mirror caught me off guard. My stomach, still swollen, looked as if nothing had changed—as if my baby was still there.

I froze, the image stabbing me with fresh grief.

Blinking back tears, I pulled on my jacket, stole myself, and stepped outside.

At the mall, I picked up toiletries and other necessities. Just as I passed a lingerie store, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Ian, what do you think of this one? Does it look good on me?”

I turned instinctively toward the voice.

Paula stood in front of a mirror, flaunting a tight outfit, her chest puffed out. Ian sat on the store’s plush sofa, his gaze fixed on her with unhidden admiration.

He smiled and said, “Paula, you’d look good in anything.”

The sales clerk chimed in with a professional smile, “Sir, you have excellent taste. The bra your wife is trying on is one of our bestsellers.”

Paula smiled coyly but didn’t correct her.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stepped into the store, my voice was cold and sharp.

“This won’t do. You should take off the tights too, just to be sure.”

Ian spun around, shock written all over his face. Paula’s expression froze, her embarrassment evident.

“Sherrie,” Ian stammered, standing up, his tone laced with surprise. “What… why are you here?”

I didn’t answer, my gaze fixed on him, my anger simmering.

Paula, playing the victim, spoke softly, “Sherrie, don’t misunderstand. Ian just drove me here to pick up some New Year’s items. I saw this store on the way and decided to stop in for a quick look.”

I let out a cold laugh and turned to Ian.

“You’re the same man who refused to buy sanitary napkins for your pregnant wife. And now you’re in a lingerie store? What’s the occasion? Aren’t you ashamed?”

Ian faltered, unable to respond.

Paula’s eyes reddened as she clung to her act. “Don’t argue. It’s all my fault. Ian, I’ve caused you trouble.”

What a picture-perfect white lotus she was.

I felt nauseous, my stomach churning, and turned to leave.

Ian grabbed my hand.

“Sherrie,” he said, his tone tinged with an unusual urgency.

“You’re still pregnant. Be careful—you might miscarry. Be a good girl and come home with me first. Things aren’t what you think.”

I turned to face him, my voice was cold. “Home? I don’t have a home anymore.”

He sighed, his face softening. “You’re still upset that I left you, aren’t you? Listen, after dropping Paula off, I went back to look for you, but you were already gone.”

A chill crept over me, freezing me to my core.

At that very moment, I was on an operating table. My child was already gone.

Ian glanced at me and suddenly laughed. “You lied about being in the hospital. Look at your belly—it’s fine.”

I forced a bitter smile, one filled with sorrow. He wasn’t blind. He simply didn’t care.

It didn’t matter if I had dressed up in new clothes or changed my hairstyle in the past, nor did it matter if I looked haggard and ghostly now.

To him, none of it ever mattered enough.

“Stop making a fuss. Let’s go home. I’ll make it up to you—and to the baby.”

His voice softened, carrying the same sincerity he’d once had when we were in love.

I stayed silent, hesitating. Deep down, I knew I needed someone to care for me right now.

My resolve wavered, and I finally nodded.

“Fine. I’ll go back with you.”

After checking out of the hotel, I climbed into the car and sat in the back seat without a word.

Paula, seated in the passenger seat, turned her head to look at me.

“Sherrie, don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt,” she said lightly. “There are traffic cops everywhere. You wouldn’t want a ticket.”

Her tone carried casual authority, as if she were the rightful mistress of the car and I was nothing more than an inconvenient guest.

I ignored her and quietly buckled my seatbelt.

As the car sped along the road, I leaned back, exhaustion overtaking me, and drifted off to sleep.

I woke with a jolt, startled by the sudden stop.

The moonlight poured through the window, casting everything outside in a silvery glow. The world was eerily quiet.

“Ian, now that my divorce is public, I can only imagine what people in the village are saying about me.”

Paula’s soft, tearful voice drifted through the open window.

I sat up, looking in the direction of the sound. Ian was standing beneath a tree on the roadside, and Paula was clinging to him, her body pressed close, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Lloyd is still so young,” she whimpered. “I’m terrified people will look down on him.”

Ian’s face filled with sympathy as he reached out to wipe her tears.

“Paula, no one will dare say a word while I’m here. On the 8th, I’ll attend the celebration as Lloyd’s father. I’ll stand by you and the boy.”

Paula’s tears turned into a bashful smile. “You’ve been running around for me these past few days. The villagers are probably already convinced you’re Lloyd’s dad.”

Ian chuckled and gently tapped her nose, his gaze tender. “Well, your ex-husband’s never around anyway. Just tell them I am!”

I watched the scene unfold, my heart a chasm of icy numbness. A bitter laugh escaped me, quiet and sharp.

Ian, if only you knew your own child, now lay in an ice-cold coffin. Would you still play pretend as the father of someone else’s child?

A cold wind swept through my chest, hollowing me out further.

I sank back into the car, closing my eyes as if shutting out the world could erase what I’d seen.

A few minutes later, the car door opened and closed.

I didn’t stir, pretending to sleep. Ian got in, humming a cheerful tune, the rhythm beating mockingly in the dark.

He didn’t glance back at me even once.

Back at his family's home, the reception was as cold as I had expected.

“Oh, she’s back,” his parents said with disinterest before turning their full attention to Ian. They surrounded him, bombarding him with questions about his well-being.

My sister-in-law, glued to her phone, didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

It was as if I didn’t exist.

The ache in my abdomen grew sharper, and hunger gnawed at me, the acid in my stomach churning. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I broke the silence.

“Ian, is there a night market nearby? I need something warm to eat.”