“You don't look so good. Don't overthink it. He was drunk and running his mouth.”

I took the glass from her. My fingertips pressed against the warmth of the cup.

Warm.

But it couldn't reach anywhere inside me.

I looked up at her and asked quietly：

“Angela, did you ever actually love me?”

Her expression froze. She was about to speak.

But Carter got there first, laughing, swirling his glass lazily：

“Bro, that's a real mood-killer of a question.”

“She married you. She's having your kid. Isn't that enough?”

“After all, this princess slept in my arms for years, and she never gave me that much.”

I looked at him. And then, somehow, I smiled too.

“You're right.”

“The title. That should be enough.”

Except from this moment on,

I didn't want it anymore.

On the drive home, the only sound in the car was the windshield wipers.

Angela gripped the steering wheel. A long time passed before she spoke.

“Don't take what Carter said seriously.”

“We were young and stupid. He never knew when to shut up.”

She paused, her tone the kind you'd use to calm someone being unreasonable.

“I married you. The baby is ours. Isn't that enough?”

I watched the neon signs slide backward past the window. My nails dug into my palm, slowly, deeper.

“So you think I should be grateful?”

Angela frowned.

“You're too emotional tonight. Let's just go home and get some rest.”

Back at the house, she took off her coat and went through her usual routine. Poured water. Washed her hands. Checked her phone.

Calm. As if the humiliation in that private room had never happened.

I stood in the bedroom doorway, my throat tight.

In that moment, I needed to know.

Was it that she felt nothing for me, or that she simply didn't want me at all?

I clenched my jaw, loosened my collar, and walked up to her.

My fingers were shaking, but I still reached out and pulled her into my arms.

“Angela……”

“Look at me.”

Her body stiffened for a second, then she pushed me away.

No desire. No warmth. Just exhaustion and irritation.

She picked up the coat beside her and draped it back over my shoulders, her voice flat：

“Stop it.”

My eyes burned red instantly.

“You're three months along. The doctor said once you're in the stable period, we can……”

“I'm not messing around. I just want to know if you still want me.”

Angela looked at me, her expression darkening inch by inch.

“Lucius, are you really that desperate?”

The words hit like a slap across the face.

I stood frozen. Even my breathing shook.

She had already turned away, grabbed her car keys, and walked out.

The door slammed “shut”.

The whole house was empty now. Just me, and the wreckage of my dignity.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Tears hit the backs of my hands, one by one.

Half an hour later, my phone lit up.

Carter had posted on social media.

The photo showed a woman's wrist on the driver's seat. The bracelet was the one I'd given Angela.

The caption was a single line：

【Someone blamed me for talking too much when I'm drunk.

But she still showed up in the middle of the night.】

Below it, he'd added another post：

【Back when we were broke college kids, we tried every place imaginable. Except this one.】

【Looks like tonight we unlock a new spot.】

I stared at those two lines, and I laughed.

Kept laughing, and the tears came harder.

So when she told me not to overthink it,

she meant for me to stay home and keep up appearances.

While she went to him, where she could let herself be real.

I wiped my eyes, opened the family group chat, and typed a message.

“Dad, Mom, I need you to set me up with a lawyer.”

“I don't want the baby. And I want a divorce.”

The message had barely sent before my father's call came through.

His voice was low and cold.

“Finally come to your senses?”

“Your mother and I never thought Angela was right for you.”

“The Pruitt name carries weight, sure, but that girl was put on a pedestal her whole life, and she's kept Carter Simmons attached to her hip the entire time. A so-called 'best friend' with no boundaries.”

“A woman like that is too restless. She was never going to hold a marriage together.”

“We only stepped back because you loved her.”

“Now that you've woken up, it's not too late.”

My mother took the phone, her tone aching but resolute：

“I'm sending someone to pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”

“The divorce attorney is already on his way.”

“As for the baby, I know you can't let go easily.”

“But once that child is born, you and Angela will be tangled together for life.”

“A marriage like this, the sooner you cut it, the better off you'll be.”

The next morning, I woke to the sound of the front door unlocking.

Angela walked in carrying a paper bag, her expression unusually soft.

“You're up? I got you a little cake.”

She pushed the box toward me, her voice sweet like she was coaxing a child.

“Isn't this place your favorite?”

I looked down. Mango mousse.

My stomach turned instantly.

I'm allergic to mango. Bad reactions. The kind where my throat closes up.

I stared at that slice of mango mousse, and a flood of small, razor-sharp memories surfaced.

Carter doesn't eat green onions. She remembered that.

Every time they ordered food, she'd say it before anything else：“No green onions in his.”

Iced Americanos give Carter stomach cramps. She remembered that too.

On rainy days, she'd order him a hot latte ahead of time, with a note for less sugar.

Carter's red-eye flight lands at 1 AM. She remembered that.

I'd seen the reminders on her phone more than once.

【Carter 01：20 landing. Temperature drop. Remind him to bring a jacket.】

Down to the minute.

Meanwhile, the fact that mango could kill me? Three years in, and she still forgot.

She must have seen my face, because her hand froze mid-motion and a flicker of embarrassment crossed her expression.

“I……grabbed the wrong one.”

She quickly dug another box out of her bag, rushing to recover.

“Here, look at this instead. I passed by the store and picked it up for you.”

“You said you liked this watch, remember?”

She opened the box. A beautiful wristwatch.

It was the exact one I'd wanted for a long time.

A few months ago, I would have forgiven her on the spot, eyes stinging with gratitude.

Now, all I felt was tired.

I pushed the box back toward her.

“Just leave it.”

Angela frowned：“You're still doing this?”

I didn't answer. I picked up my phone.

The screen lit up and the group chat notifications hit me immediately.

The same familiar group name, “The Crew”. Caspar Matthews had posted a photo grid.

A man's dress shirt, a woman's skirt, black lace underwear, all scattered across the floor.

The chat blew up instantly.

“Holy shit, who was Carter with last night?”

“Looks like it got intense?”

“Details, details. How many rounds?”

Carter replied, slow and smug：

“Obviously.”

“Nearly killed me.”

“Someone acts all classy and intellectual in public. Behind closed doors? Whole different story.”

A wall of smirking emojis followed.

Then he sent one more message：

“@Angela Pruitt You make it home okay?”

“Did your hubby like the watch you picked out for him?”

I stared at those words. The cold crept into my fingers one joint at a time.

So even the apology gift was Carter's idea.

Beside me, Angela's phone buzzed at almost the same moment.

She glanced down, and the color drained from her face. She lunged for my phone.

I killed the screen before she could reach for it and looked up at her.

“I haven't even asked you anything yet. No need to rush into an explanation.”

Angela's hand froze in midair. Her throat bobbed.

“Don't overthink this.”

“Whatever happened between Carter and me, that's ancient history.”

“Once the baby's born, I'll take you on a trip. You've always wanted to see the Northern Lights in Iceland, right?”

“Besides, if there were really something going on between us, we'd have a kid in middle school by now. You think it would've waited until today?”

She reached for my hand. I pulled away, just enough.

I looked at her and let a small smile form.

“Yeah. You're right.”

Angela blinked, caught off guard. She took it as surrender, and the tension in her voice eased.

“See? Don't keep spiraling over nothing.”

“Carter's always running his mouth. He posts whatever he wants without thinking. Don't stoop to his level.”

I nodded. My voice came out flat, without a single ripple.

“It doesn't matter to me anymore.”

Angela frowned slightly, clearly reading it as me being petty.

She glanced at the time, then grabbed her car keys.

“Alright, stop sulking.”

“I've got things to do this afternoon. I'll be back later and we can have dinner together.”

The door clicked shut. The room went quiet again.

I stared at the mango mousse cake on the table, then slowly picked up my phone and sent my lawyer a message：

“Go ahead and start the proceedings.”

At three that afternoon, I sat in a consultation room at the hospital.

Sunlight through the window was sharp enough to sting.

The doctor finished reviewing the file, looked up at me, and spoke evenly：

“Mr. Swanson, terminating a pregnancy requires the mother's own consent.”

“As the husband, you can accompany her and sign some of the paperwork, but you can't make that decision for her.”

I nodded.

I'd known before I came.

It was Angela's body.

Even if I hated her, even if I no longer wanted this child, it wasn't my place to put her on that operating table.

But I came anyway.

Because I needed to hear it said out loud, clearly, before I could kill the last scrap of hope still breathing inside me.

The doctor slid the papers back across the desk and softened her voice：

“If the two of you are just having marital difficulties, I'd suggest working on the relationship first.”

“A child shouldn't be caught in the crossfire.”

I lowered my eyes. My fingers curled tighter, knuckle by knuckle.

It wasn't crossfire.

I finally understood that once this child was born, Angela and I would never be able to cut clean.

My phone buzzed against the table.

The screen lit up. A message from Angela：

“Babe, I just picked out a gold locket for the baby.”

“It's so delicate. He's going to love it someday.”

I stared at those two lines until my vision blurred.

I thought of the day we found out she was pregnant.

When the lab results were placed in my hands, Angela went still for a second, and the next her eyes were red.

She threw her arms around me and laughed in the middle of the living room like a kid.

“I'm going to be a mom?”

“Lucius, I'm going to be a mom!”

That night she lay against my shoulder and talked for hours.

Said she wanted the nursery painted pale blue. Or maybe soft yellow.

Said I should be the one to pick the name.

Said no matter how busy things got, she'd always come home on time for me and the baby.

I believed every word.

I thought this child would warm all the places between us that had gone cold.

But now the same woman was texting me photos of gold lockets while leaving traces of ambiguous nights all over Carter Simmons' social media.

Sincerity and betrayal, living behind the same face.

I pressed the screen dark and said quietly to the doctor：