Chapter 1

My friend Lily sent me a photo.

It was a screenshot of my husband checking into a love hotel in the city.

She sent me a message teasing: "You and your husband sure know how to have fun. Going to a love hotel while pregnant? Be careful!"

I stared at my phone blankly for a moment, then casually opened the SnapChat message my husband had sent me half an hour ago: [I have to go to New York on a business trip for a few days. Go to tomorrow's prenatal checkup by yourself.]

So I replied to Lily seriously: "The one getting a room with him is his mistress, not me."

Lily's call came through quickly.

"Are you sure? I'll send you the location. Come over now. I have a room card."

I said no need.

She sounded anxious: "Why aren't you reacting at all?"

I thought for a moment and said, "Help me send them something. Wish them a good time."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then she agreed.

After hanging up, I canceled my prenatal checkup appointment and confirmed the time for the abortion procedure.

After finishing these tasks, I walked into the nursery.

That room had been gradually cleared out after confirming the pregnancy.

There wasn't much, but everything was new.

Ethan Wade had said the child was very important to him.

At the time, he said it with such certainty.

I had believed him once.

I grabbed scissors and trash bags and began cutting up the brand-new clothes.

When I made the first cut, I knew exactly what I was doing.

I wouldn't be needing these things anymore. The clothes, books, bottles—everything was quickly dealt with.

I also pushed the baby stroller to the door and knocked it over.

Half an hour later, the room was empty.

I made several trips carrying everything down to the building's trash station and threw it all away without hesitation.

At ten o'clock that night, the door lock clicked.

Ethan Wade had come home.

He said he was out of town, but he'd suddenly changed his plans and come back.

He saw me sitting in the living room, lifted his hand to glance at his watch, and frowned slightly: "Why aren't you asleep yet at this hour? Your irregular sleep schedule will directly affect the fetus's nervous system development. I shouldn't have to teach you this basic knowledge, should I?"

As he approached, I smelled a scent that didn't belong to this house.

It was some niche salon perfume mixed with the sickly sweetness of hotel body wash.

I shifted to the side: "You smell different."

His hand paused while loosening his tie, then he tossed his jacket onto the sofa without changing expression: "That's air freshener from a client's car. Don't be paranoid."

While unfastening his cufflinks, he walked straight toward the nursery: "By the way, did the custom baby bed I ordered arrive? Let me check the dimensions."

A few seconds later, his footsteps stopped abruptly.

Dead silence.

"Claire Smith." His voice came from the nursery, carrying a cold edge.

I walked over and saw him standing in the center of the room, his face dark enough to drip water.

"Where are the things?" He turned around, glaring at me with a black expression. "Where's the stroller I ordered and all the baby clothes I bought?"

"I got rid of them," I answered calmly.

He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to me.

"Who gave you permission to get rid of them?"

His tone was angry. "Are you so bored staying home all day that you have to cause trouble? You know how hard I work to support this family. Can't you just give me less grief?"

"The doctor suggested I shouldn't prepare these things too early in the first trimester."

I looked him straight in the eye without changing expression. "I'd have anxiety reactions that could easily trigger false contractions."

"Anxiety?"

Ethan Wade laughed coldly.

"Claire, I think you're too idle. Your hormones are out of balance and making you irrational."

"Other people are happy when they're pregnant. Why do you have so many pretentious problems? You get anxious seeing baby things? Are you sick? Should you get treatment?"

His fingers were ice cold, pinching me painfully.

But I didn't dodge. I just looked at him woodenly: "Better safe than sorry."

He frowned, seeming suspicious that my attitude was somehow different.

Probably because he saw me calm down, or perhaps because he had a guilty conscience.

In the end, he just dropped a line: "I'll have someone buy everything again tomorrow. If you dare throw it away again, go see a psychiatrist."

After speaking, he didn't look at me again and turned into the bathroom.

Soon, the sound of rushing water came from inside.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I took it out. On the screen was a confirmation text from the hospital.

[Ms. Smith, your appointment for pre-abortion examination has been confirmed.]

I glanced at the tightly closed bathroom door, listening to the sound of water inside, and silently deleted the message.