[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.”

My mother-in-law immediately turned her head, her voice hoarse and accusatory. “This is the countryside, not the city. Where would there be a night market? Are you asking just to mock us? What do you mean by that?”

My sister-in-law finally put down her phone and chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sister-in-law, people here don’t eat midnight snacks. You’re an older mother now, aren’t you? Eating late can easily cause high blood sugar. If you don’t even know that, how can you raise a child?”

My father-in-law took a long puff from his pipe, exhaling a thick smoke ring. “You act like a city woman as soon as you walk in the door. If you’re hungry, there are a couple of steamed buns in the cupboard. Eat those.”

Too drained to argue, I simply turned and retreated to the bedroom in silence.

Lying on the cold, hard bed, memories of life before marriage swirled in my mind.

When we got engaged, my parents-in-law had held my hand warmly, promising, “We’ll treat you like our own daughter.”

My sister-in-law had hooked her arm through mine with a wide smile, saying, “Sister-in-law, we’re family now. If my brother ever dares to mistreat you, I won’t let him get away with it!”

But now, it was all painfully clear. Lies. Empty promises.

I had poured my heart into this family, never failing to bring gifts and red envelopes for every occasion, big or small.

Yet, today, I finally understood that, in the Shaw family, a daughter-in-law would always be an outsider.

Through the thin wooden door, I could hear their cheerful chatter and laughter, a stark reminder of my alienation.

I pulled the quilt tightly around me, forcing myself to block out the noise, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

I didn’t know how long I had been out when someone woke me up.

It was Ian.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at me.

I froze, my breath caught. Could it be that he finally realized the child was gone?

My chest tightened, and my eyes stung with tears, but before I could say a word, he gave me a sheepish smile.

“Wife,” he began, his tone almost flattering. “I need to discuss something with you.”

I frowned. “What?”

He shifted closer, hesitating before continuing. “The day after tomorrow—the 8th—Paula is throwing a birthday party for her kid. I was thinking of giving them a cash gift of 5,000 dollars.”

I stared at him, my expression hardening as his words sank in.

He pushed on, seemingly oblivious. “And since the kid calls you Auntie, it’d be nice to show some respect, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “How exactly do you suggest I do that?”

“Well,” he said, his voice brightening, “you could buy a pair of gold bracelets for the child! Gold prices are good right now, and I’ve already picked out a pair. They’re not expensive—just 15,000 dollars.”

It took me a moment to fully process his request.

Did he even remember the time he refused to buy me the gold bracelet I had wanted when we got married?

That bracelet, even after a discount, had only cost 9,000 dollars. He had dragged me out of the store, grumbling, “Let’s not waste money. Wait until the gold prices drop!”

Anger burned through me like a wildfire.

I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. “Ian, what have you ever bought for our child?”

He seemed taken aback, his face clouding with irritation. “Paula and I have been friends since school! Giving a pair of bracelets to her kid is nothing. Stop making a fuss over this!”

I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow.

All for Paula. For his precious first love.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do.

“It’s settled,” he declared, brushing off my reaction. “I have errands tomorrow, so you can take a bus to the city to buy it. I’ll send you the style and the shop’s address on Instagram.”

I was silent for a long moment. Then, with ice in my voice, I replied, “Fine.”

His face lit up with joy, and he leaned in to kiss me.

I turned away sharply. “Sleep in the outer room for now. Your snoring keeps me up at night.”

Unbothered, he nodded and left, humming as he clutched his phone. Moments later, the familiar chime of a Instagram notification filled the air.

I opened the message and saw the address for the gold shop. It was in the same mall where I had seen him buying lingerie for Paula.

I closed the app. My face was cold and unreadable, when suddenly, a friend request popped up from an unfamiliar account.

[Paula Keith]: “Ian insisted on buying Lloyd a pair of gold bracelets. I tried to refuse, but he got upset and said I was treating him like a stranger.”

I stared at the screen, stunned. Accepting the request out of morbid curiosity, I barely had time to process her message before more notifications flooded in.

[Paula Keith]: "Sherrie, is Ian this generous with you and your child? Don’t worry, I won’t take it for free. When your baby turns one month old, I’ll give you a pair of longevity locks."

[Paula Keith]: "Oh, wait, such locks shouldn’t just be given away. What a shame."

This was followed by an emoji that seemed to laugh so hard it brought tears.

My head buzzed. My chest tightened as I gasped for air, trembling all over.

Before I completely lost control of myself, I exited the chat and went to Director Zheng's Instagram page. My fingers furiously typed a single line.

"Hello, Director Zheng. I’ll come by the funeral home tomorrow to finalize the procedures and bring the child home. Thank you for all you’ve done during this time."

After turning off my phone, I wiped away my tears, clenched my fists, and gritted my teeth.

Baby, we’re going to that birthday party. We’ll give them a gift they’ll never forget.