For the first time, a strange expression crossed his face.

It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t a surprise.

It was something… calculated.

Without saying another word, he took out a sheet of paper and a pen and began scribbling numbers, his brow furrowing as if he was doing a budget report instead of reacting to a baby.

“I looked it up, Grace,” he stated plainly. “From prenatal checkups to delivery, the full package at a public hospital is about $15,000. For the postpartum care center, the mid-range cost is $30,000 a month. Formula, diapers, and other baby supplies are at least $20,000 in the first year. These are all shared expenses, so we’ll have to split them evenly.”

When he finished, he slid the paper covered in figures over to me.

“So, all in all, the total is $65,000. Your share is $32,500. My suggestion is that you start saving now.”

I stared at the paper, and a wave of dizziness washed over me, as if the floor had quietly shifted.

“Evan, am I having this child all by myself?” I asked quietly.

“You can’t put it like that,” he replied. “You’re the one who’s pregnant, but fertilization was on me. Half and half. Very fair.”

Somehow, Patricia had already heard I was pregnant, and she made a special trip over.

The moment Evan's mother walked in, she didn’t ask how I was feeling. Instead, she grabbed Evan by the arm and dragged him into the bedroom.

Through the door, I could just make out her voice.

"Evan, you shouldn’t go soft on your wife. Having children is a woman’s duty. Why should our family be the one paying for it? Make her pay. Otherwise, once this child is born, it has nothing to do with us."

After a while, Evan came out of the room.

He was holding a new agreement:

[Split-Everything Agreement for Pregnancy and Child-Rearing Expenses]

Then, he set it down in front of me.

“Sign it,” he said. “It’ll prevent disputes later.”

My hands were shaking.

“And if I don’t sign?” I asked, my voice barely steady.

“Then I suggest you don’t keep this child.” His voice was ice-cold, stripped of any emotion. “I’m not going to shoulder a debt that doesn’t belong to me, Grace.”

I looked at him—the man I’d loved for three years—and at that moment, he was so unfamiliar that it genuinely frightened me.

“Evan, do you even have a heart?” I whispered.

Patricia chimed in from the side, her tone sharp and impatient. “Why bother explaining so much to her? She just wants to cling to our family. I’m telling you, if she won’t sign, then she can hurry up and get it aborted. The Haywood family doesn’t support freeloaders, and we definitely don’t raise money-sucking burdens.”

I was trembling with anger now, my finger stabbing toward the door.

“Get out. Both of you," I finally snapped.

Evan frowned.

“How can you talk to my mother like that?” he demanded. “She’s your elder.”

I let out a bitter, shaky laugh as tears spilled down my cheeks.

“An elder?” I said, my voice breaking. “What kind of elder forces her own daughter-in-law to abort her child?”

I turned my gaze on Evan, my eyes burning. “Evan, how did I never see before what a piece of trash you are?”

His face darkened.

“I’m just following the rules. You’re the one being unreasonable. Since you’re so worked up, there’s nothing more to discuss.”

With that, he yanked Patricia by the arm and slammed the door on his way out.

That night, I received a message from him:

[Think it over. Either sign the agreement, or go to the hospital, Grace. I’ll give you three days to decide.]

I lay in bed, resting my hand on my still-flat belly.

There was a tiny life in there.

My child.

I couldn’t give him up.

...

Three days later, I called Evan.

“I’ll sign,” I said.

On the other end of the line, he sounded like he had finally let out a breath.

“That’s better. Don’t worry, I’ll fulfill my responsibilities as a father, too. For example, I’ll be responsible for providing the other half of the genes.”

I hung up and then slumped over the toilet, vomiting until everything blurred.

Throughout my pregnancy, including prenatal visits, morning sickness, and commuting to and from work, I was always alone.

Evan, on the other hand, got out of work on time every single day.

After that, Evan never came near me. If I tried to sit closer on the couch or reach for his hand, he would inch away, always with some detached explanation ready.

He would say, “Pregnant women are emotionally unstable. If I stay too close, it might affect my work performance. And my time cost is very high.”

So that became his excuse—for distance, coldness, and everything else.

In the meantime, Patricia would drop by occasionally.

Every time she came, she brought a scale. She’d set it down with a clunk, make me stand on it, then bend over and jot down my weight.

“Why did you gain again? Are you secretly eating something nice?” she would demand. “I’m telling you, everything you eat counts as child-rearing costs, and you’ll split all of that with us later. Don’t even think about taking advantage of our family.”

I said nothing and just looked at her.

My stare made her uneasy.

“What are you looking at? Did I say anything wrong?” Patricia snapped.

I answered softly, “No.”

Only then did she leave, satisfied.

...

Time crawled by, and finally, the day of my due date arrived.

That morning, my water broke.

A wave of contractions slammed into me so hard my vision went black.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my phone and called Evan.

“Evan… I… I’m going into labor,” I panted.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end.

“So soon? Three days earlier than expected,” he said.

Then, almost reassuringly, he added, “Don’t panic, Grace. I’m coming back now.”

I was writhing on the floor from the pain when he finally walked in.

However, he didn’t offer a hand to help me up. Instead, he calmly retrieved the same portable card reader he had used at our wedding and crouched down in front of me.

Then, he said, “The signal at the hospital is bad. Card payment is the most reliable. Here—seven thousand five hundred. Let’s settle the bill first.”

Evan held the reader near my trembling hand, as if he were waiting for me to purchase a product.

Then he opened a memo on his phone.

“We agreed before that hospitalization and delivery cost $15,000. Your share is $7,500. Transfer it now. We need to settle accounts before going to the hospital.”

Curled on the floor, my clothes soaked with sweat, I stared at him in disbelief.

“Evan… you…” was all I could manage.

“This was clearly written in the agreement. You didn’t forget, did you?” he reminded me.

He handed his phone to me, and the QR code was glowing on the screen.

“Hurry up. Don’t waste time. Hospital beds are limited," Evan urged.

Patricia stood behind him, arms crossed, watching coldly.

“What are you dawdling for? It’s just giving birth. What woman doesn’t?” she said with a snort. “Transfer the money. Don’t even think about skipping the bill.”

Using every ounce of strength I had, I crawled up from the floor and fumbled around until I found my phone. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely hold them.

I opened the payment app and aimed it at his QR code.

[Entered amount: $7,500]

[Pressed pay]

A soft beep sounded.

[Payment successful]

Evan glanced down at his phone, checked the notification, and nodded in satisfaction.

“Good. Got it. Let’s go,” he said, as if we’d just finished paying for groceries.

He reached out to support me.

I shoved his hand away.

“No need,” I said through clenched teeth.

Supporting myself against the wall, I took slow, agonizing steps toward the door.

Every step felt like walking on blades. Blood and amniotic fluid streamed down my legs.

I didn’t look back.

But I could feel them, mother and son, following behind me.

I reached the elevator and pressed the down button.

The doors opened with a soft chime, and I stepped inside.

Just as the doors were about to close, I turned my head.

Evan and Patricia stood frozen in the doorway.

I smiled at him.

Then I pressed the button for the underground parking level of the other building.

My car was parked there.

I had already contacted my private doctor and the postpartum center.

From the moment I decided to keep this child, I had been preparing for this day.

'Evan, and your mother, your game ends here. Now, it’s my turn.'