Chapter 1

1: 1

To carry on the Gilbert line, I put myself through hell and finally got pregnant through IVF.

Then, three months ago, Dale came to me holding a prenatal screening report marked high risk, wrapped his arms around me, and wept:

"Honey, this baby has Down syndrome. If he's born, he'll only suffer."

"Let's do it for his sake. Let's terminate. Please?"

Once again, I fell for Dale's tears, and I let them wheel me into the operating room.

Until today, just as I'd recovered from the miscarriage, when I came across a post: "What's your partner's get-out-of-jail-free card?"

One comment, from someone calling herself a mistress, shot to the top of the trending list:

"He was scared some little brat would fight me for his attention someday, so he paid to forge a prenatal screening report and tricked his wife into aborting the IVF baby."

The photo attached showed a large hand with sharp knuckles curled around her waist.

Looking at that hand, at the scar identical to the one my husband got in the earthquake, I felt like I'd dropped into a pit of ice.

So the child I'd lost was nothing but a con to keep his mistress happy.

I didn't make a scene. I just booked the divorce.

On my way to file the paperwork, the last message came from him:

"Honey, I'm bringing home your favorite chicken soup after work."

But Dale, the child you killed with your own hands will never get to taste it again.

……

"Honey, drink the soup first. It gets fishy when it goes cold."

Dale pushed the bowl in front of me and reached out to touch my forehead.

"Why didn't you answer my messages today?"

"My phone was on silent."

"Where did you go?"

"Out for a walk."

He tucked the loose hair behind my ear.

"The doctor said your body hasn't recovered. Don't stay out too long."

"Okay."

"Listening to me again."

Dale smiled a little, lowered his head, and spooned out the chicken leg from the soup.

"I had Mom buy an old hen just for this, stewed it four hours. It used to be your favorite."

I picked up a piece of chicken.

A layer of cilantro floated on the surface.

Ten years together, and he'd always known I didn't eat cilantro.

"Why aren't you drinking it?"

"It tastes a little strange."

"Might be Elaine Pruitt's recipe."

His hand paused for half a second, then smoothly added another spoonful of soup to my bowl.

"Back where she's from, that's how they stew it during postpartum recovery. She says it helps you heal faster."

"She knows about that too?"

"Her sister just had a baby."

Dale took my hand, his voice gentle.

"Ruby Fox, don't read into it. Elaine knows we lost the baby. She feels awful about it too."

I looked at the scar on the back of his hand.

In the photo, this same hand rested on Elaine's waist, the old wound showing just below the watch.

Nine years ago, in the earthquake, he'd shielded me with his body and been cut by falling glass.

While they stitched him up, his face went white with pain, and he was still soothing me.

"Don't cry. It's just a scar."

"From now on, whenever you see it, you'll remember I saved you."

I remembered it for nine years, all right.

"Why does Elaine feel awful?"

"She's soft-hearted."

Dale pulled his hand back and picked up his phone.

"After that report came in, she went with me to see several doctors. The day of your operation, she asked about you more than once."

"Didn't you say you were outside the operating room with me the whole time that day?"

"I was."

"Then how did she ask you?"

"By text."

"Did you reply?"

"Ruby."

He set the phone down, a trace of helplessness on his face.

"I know it's hard, losing the baby. But you can't grab hold of every woman and interrogate her."

"I was just asking."

"Good, then."

He touched my face again.

"What I worry about most is you getting stuck in your own head."

The phone screen lit up.

The contact name read Elaine.

"Dale, did you put the cilantro in the soup? I bet she can't even taste it."

Dale quickly flipped the phone over.

I bent my head and took a sip.

The taste of cilantro caught in my throat, the same as the blood I'd tasted waking from the anesthesia.

"Is it good?"

"It's good."

"Told you the recipe works."

He was visibly relieved.

"Elaine even said, if you like it, she'll teach me to make it every day from now on."

"Don't trouble her."

"It's no trouble. She really cares about you."

Dale took a tissue and wiped the soup from the corner of my mouth.

"Ruby, once you're well again, we'll have another one."

"Can we still?"

"Of course."

He answered without the slightest hesitation.

"The doctor said you only have trouble conceiving, not that you can't. We still have three embryos. Worst case, we do another transfer."

"You'd really put me through all that again?"

"This time was an accident."

Dale lowered his eyes, his voice thick.

"I wanted to keep the baby more than anyone. But a child like that, born into the world, would be mocked his whole life."

"Hate me, resent me, whatever you want. I couldn't watch you and the baby suffer."

He'd said all of this many times before the operation.

Back then I'd held his hand, begging him through tears to run the test one more time.

He'd held me tight and said he'd already asked every specialist.

"Ruby, I'm the baby's father. I'd never hurt him."

And now he could still say it without so much as a flicker.

"Dale."

"Hmm?"

"What if the report was fake?"

His knuckle knocked over the spoon.

The porcelain spoon dropped into the bowl, and the splash of soup landed on his shirt.

"How could it be?"

"I'm only saying if."

"There's no if."

He pulled out a tissue and wiped his shirt, avoiding my eyes.

"How could a report issued by the hospital be fake?"

"True enough."

I picked the cilantro out of the bowl, one strand at a time.

"The baby's gone. Fake or real doesn't matter anymore."

"I'm just glad you can let it go."

Dale wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on the top of my head.

"I'll be with you my whole life."

His phone buzzed again.

Elaine had sent a photo.

The photo showed a set of black lace lingerie.

"Dale, I've got my reward on."

Dale killed the screen and dipped his head to kiss my hair.

"Something came up at the hospital, a meeting."

"You're not coming home tonight?"

"I'll try."

"If it's too late, don't bother."

He pinched my cheek, his smile deepening.

"So our Ruby finally knows how to feel sorry for her husband."

After the door closed, I poured the bowl of chicken soup into the trash.

Pressed at the bottom was half a shopping receipt.

Black lace set. Payer: Dale Gilbert.

Date of purchase: the afternoon I had my abortion.