A saleswoman walked over with a smile. "This is our promotional video, showing our members' daily lives and class snippets."

My grip tightened on the phone as I watched Ivan in the video, braiding Alba's hair during a post-pregnancy recovery class.

"Isn't it sweet?" the saleswoman said. "He's an entrepreneur but always makes time for his wife, no matter how busy."

I hung up, rubbing the mark on my ring finger. My tears started to fall uncontrollably.

The saleswoman looked flustered. "Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile, and left.

As I passed a corner, Ivan's car passed by.

Through the window, I saw him hand a piece of durian-flavored candy to Alba.

I recognized the wrapper. It was my favorite.

I pressed my hand against my chest and wandered down the street, but I couldn't shake the memory of how Ivan had grimaced when I ate that candy.

"This stuff tastes awful," he had said.

Because of that, I'd stopped eating them. But now, he doted on Alba with them.

...

Days passed without contact from Ivan, likely because I'd hung up on him twice.

I used the time to clear out everything tied to him.

On Monday, I went to the hospital for the abortion. Just before I could enter the operating room, Alba texted, [Mr. Knowles asked me to order rose-flavored cookies from you for Nettie's 100-day celebration tomorrow. He wants it to be grand.]

Those cookies were my creation, perfected over sleepless nights for our engagement, but Ivan had dismissed them as childish.

He had denied all my efforts without even tasting them, and I had been upset for days because of it.

But instead of comforting me, he had accused me of overreacting.

Yes, I had overreacted, but not anymore.

I sent Alba the recipe, deleted her contact, and walked into the operating room.

As the anesthesia took hold, my tears fell. The baby I had been hoping for all these years was leaving me.

I whispered, "I'm sorry, baby. I couldn't protect you. I hope you find a happy family in your next life."

After the surgery, weak and exhausted, I ran into Ivan and Alba at the pharmacy.

He stormed over and shoved me. "What's your problem, Betsy? How dare you hang up on me? Did you get the ingredients for the cookies? Are you slacking off here? Planning to fake a medical report to get out of it?"

I stumbled and fell to the ground. Pain shot through my abdomen, and sweat beaded on my forehead.

"Drop the act!" he sneered. "You're as strong as a horse."

Alba, holding her medicine, walked up and linked her arm with his. She cooed, "Mr. Knowles, take it easy. It's fine if Betsy doesn't want to help."

I wanted to argue, but the pain was too much.

Ivan clicked his tongue, about to taunt me further, when a nurse passing by screamed, "Someone's bleeding heavily!"

Ivan's expression shifted. He cried out in a panic, "Betsy!"