The day Julian learned I was pregnant, he burst into tears. To pray for the child, he donated 500,000 dollars in my name. He even hired a lawyer to notarize the allocation of 3 million dollars to me as a guarantee and purchased a million-dollar jade at an auction, claiming it would bring me peace and help ensure a safe pregnancy.

In front of the media, he knelt on one knee, gently stroked my belly, and made a solemn vow.

"Audrey, thank you for giving me a new identity. I promise to protect you both for the rest of my life."

I smiled, but bitterness surged within me. Because deep down, I knew—we had no future.

——

Amid the thunderous applause, reporters eagerly thrust microphones toward me, demanding a response.

"How do you feel at this moment? Please share your thoughts!"

I shook my head, my expression cold and indifferent. "I have nothing to say. Thank you."

Without waiting for a reaction, I turned and walked away, citing fatigue from my early pregnancy as an excuse to retreat to the back hall.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Julian Foster, however, didn’t falter. He immediately stepped forward to smooth things over.

"Thank you for your concern," he addressed the crowd warmly. "Today's schedule has been overwhelming, and my wife is truly exhausted. Please understand and don’t overthink her reaction. Pregnancy is incredibly hard, especially for her. She has sacrificed so much for me, and I deeply regret how much she’s had to endure. Please, let her rest."

He then smiled and gestured toward the banquet hall. "There’s a feast prepared for everyone, along with tokens of appreciation. Please, enjoy yourselves and collect them afterward."

His words worked like magic. The crowd, previously skeptical and judgmental, softened. The sharp glares and whispered criticisms transformed into envy and admiration.

I glanced back, catching Julian’s gaze filled with what seemed like love. I forced a faint smile in return.

But my heart was already riddled with scars.

If he truly felt sorry for me…

Would he parade me before the media, forcing me to smile through exhaustion when all I needed was rest in the fragile stages of early pregnancy?

He knew the truth. We had been married for eight long years without a child. Eight years of heartbreak, detours, and sacrifices—all for this baby. Finally, through artificial insemination, I was pregnant. And yet, instead of protecting me, I was dragged to events, placed under glaring spotlights, and made to endure prying questions.

The world admired his devotion, but I knew better.

The answer came swiftly. My phone buzzed relentlessly, ringing over ten times before I glanced at the screen. It was a message from Hazel Wallace, Julian’s secretary.

Attached were two photos that pierced me like daggers.

In the first, Julian cradled her bare, smooth belly with both hands, his lips pressed lovingly against it. In the second, he knelt on one knee, slipping shoes onto her feet, a faint kiss mark visible on her neck. The images radiated joy—the unrestrained excitement of a man about to become a father.

My vision blurred as tears welled up. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to read Hazel’s accompanying text, each word sharper than the last:

"Audrey, do you think our due dates will align? The day you found out you were pregnant, I discovered I was too!"

"Julian was ecstatic! He insisted on rewarding me. He bought me a jade bracelet, transferred 3 million dollars, and promised to celebrate our joy quietly—just for me. Isn’t it ironic how all the media attention you dislike is actually his way of celebrating my pregnancy?"

"You’ve always hated the fanfare, haven’t you? Don’t delude yourself into thinking Julian’s happiness is about your pregnancy. You’re just a facade for the public. The truth? It’s all for me."

Another photo followed.

It was the jade bracelet Julian had won at auction—the same one he claimed was for my peace of mind.

All I received was an inconspicuous bracelet core, while the real bracelet adorned Hazel’s wrist. What I had was a counterfeit—indistinguishable from the original but ultimately meaningless. And yet, I was forced to smile, endure the celebration banquet Julian arranged in my honor, and attend charity dinners and media interviews.

How absurd it all was.

Julian thought he had hidden the truth flawlessly. But Hazel had already revealed everything to me a month ago, hoping to push me out of my place. Back then, I was blissfully unaware, clinging to hope after undergoing my third artificial insemination.

I glanced at my bruised arms and belly, marked by countless injections and the painful aftermath of ovulation induction and surgery. The sight of the needle marks and discoloration reminded me of all I had endured.

Why?

Why had I subjected myself to so much pain? Why had I swallowed every grievance, held back every tear, and remained silent in my discomfort?

The answer was simple: Julian. His facade had been perfect.

In public, he played the devoted husband, loving me as if I were his entire world. But in private, he shared that same affection—and more—with another woman. Hazel. The woman carrying his child.

The revelation crushed me. Just as I finally achieved the joy I’d waited eight long years for, I was dealt a devastating blow.

I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, forcing myself to suppress the heartbreak. And in that moment, a decision crystallized within me—one so shocking that even I couldn’t believe it.

This child cannot stay.

I will not give birth to a child for Julian. He is unworthy of being a father, and I refuse to allow myself to feel joy on his behalf.

He doesn’t deserve it.

And neither do I.

As soon as I made that decision, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my lower abdomen, taking me by surprise. I wasn’t sure if the child could sense my emotions, but it felt as if he, too, was grieving for me.

I'm so sorry, my baby.

Mommy can’t keep you.

Tears blurred my vision as I held my phone, trembling with emotions while I made an appointment with the obstetrics and gynecology department. That was when Julian entered.

He was unusually careful, immediately noticing that something was wrong. His gaze softened when he saw the tears in my eyes.

"Audrey, why are you crying? Are you feeling unwell?"

His voice, full of false concern, made my heart sink.

"I... I got too caught up in everything. I made a scene, and now you can’t get the rest you need. It’s my fault. I didn’t think it through."

He cupped my face gently, his fingertips brushing away the tears from the corners of my eyes before he planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Audrey, thank you for everything. You've suffered so much these last ten months, but the days ahead will be sweet. If we have a boy, we’ll protect you together. If it’s a girl, I’ll protect both of you."

I couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. Leaning against his chest, I felt the warmth of his body—but all I could sense was the hypocrisy.

I was about to speak, to finally confront him, when his phone rang.

He pulled away from me, glancing at the screen before his expression faltered. He quickly hung up. But the phone continued to ring, and the unease on his face grew.

"Answer it. It might be something important," I said, pretending not to notice.

Julian walked away to answer the call, but the delicate voice of Hazel came through clearly from the other side of the room.

"Julian, can you come over? I suddenly feel so uneasy... I'm not feeling well..."

Julian’s face tightened, and he glanced back at me, his unease visible. He hung up hurriedly, as though desperate to prevent me from hearing.

He returned to me with an awkward smile, grasping my hand, his excuses already on his lips.

"Audrey, there’s an issue at the banquet. I need to go take care of it. You rest here, okay?"

"Go on," I replied, my voice flat, my heart completely hollow.

I had no more strength to confront him. The words I had prepared vanished as I realized how futile they would be.

I ignored his weak excuses, barely able to hold back the overwhelming urge to push him away. I just wanted him to leave.

Every minute, every second spent with him now felt suffocating, like I was struggling for air.

Julian didn’t say much. He brushed off my discomfort, gave my hand a perfunctory squeeze, and walked out without a second glance.

As expected.

Not long after, Hazel’s message arrived, a taunting display of her victory.

"Audrey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. But Julian left you so quickly and came to see me. I hope you weren’t hiding away and crying alone?"

"I’m only doing this for your own good. You need to face the truth—you’re not loved. You don’t know that Julian talks about you all the time to me, always shaking his head and saying how you’re 'old,' 'lifeless,' and 'unromantic.'"

"He’s still with you only out of guilt, fulfilling some sense of responsibility, but there’s no love left. Please, Audrey, wake up and see it for yourself."

Each word pierced like a blade, but at this point, I had grown numb to the pain. It didn’t sting anymore.

A month ago, when Hazel first contacted me, it felt like I had died a thousand deaths.

At the time, I had just undergone my third round of artificial insemination. I was still recovering in the hospital, struggling with the aftermath of the first two failed attempts, both ending in miscarriage. This time, I was extra cautious.

But Hazel didn’t care. She sent me photos and messages, showing off behind Julian’s back.

In one photo, she lay in our master bedroom while Julian was on top of her, the marks on her back a clear sign of their intimate encounter.

She was so giddy, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes clouded with desire, that it was evident even in the photos she sent. Her words, dripping with heat, left no room for interpretation.

“Audrey, make sure to rest well! Julian will be in my care for a few days.”

“He’s insatiable, really. I’m exhausted. From morning to night, he won’t let me leave the bed...”

“By the way, Julian said making love on the bed you used to sleep in was so thrilling, so special. I have to agree, it did feel different.”

In that moment, the world around me collapsed.

I understood every word, yet together they formed a meaning that ripped through me.

I stood frozen, unable to react, but with each tear that slid down my cheek, the reality became clearer.

Each droplet blurred the screen, wetting the blanket beneath me, and I couldn’t stop them.

The weight of my despair was unbearable, like a mountain silently crumbling under the weight of snow. The flakes fell like jagged knives, piercing my heart over and over again.

The cold seeped into my soul, and I could feel the pain manifesting in my tears—tears that bled pure sorrow, making me feel as though my heart was being torn apart, screaming in agony without sound.

I don't even remember how I made it through. I don't know how the child inside me survived.

All I remember is the endless shots of hormone injections I endured, my muscles stiff and my skin bruised, each one a desperate attempt to protect what little hope I had left.

A week passed before Julian, who had claimed to be on a business trip, returned. He was his usual charming, gentlemanly self, bringing a "gift" from his trip.

That night, Hazel posted a picture flaunting her new bag and watch, but only I could see it. It was then I realized—the so-called gift Julian had brought me was nothing more than a trinket Hazel had purchased, just another token after her lavish spending.

It was cheap, insignificant—just like I was in his eyes.

And in that moment, I finally saw the truth. The truth of Julian’s hypocrisy.

The blindfold I had been wearing for so long was ripped away, and I was awake. Completely awake.