Chapter 4

(Jo’s POV)

When my sister brought me breakfast, I put my phone on silent.

Mark’s name flashed across the screen. I swiped it away, but a few seconds later, it lit up again.

“Mark came looking for me last night,” my sister said. “I only told him you were safe.”

“You don't need to pass messages for him anymore.”

She nodded. I pulled out the ultrasound report.

“Six weeks. I want to keep the baby.”

My sister squeezed my hand. “Then keep it. You can stay in the guest room as long as you need.”

After breakfast, I tucked my old phone into a drawer. I went out to get a new phone number and scheduled a consultation with a divorce lawyer.

That afternoon, I tracked down an email from a London design firm from two years ago.

They had invited me to join a hotel renovation project that required staying on-site for six months.

At the time, Mark said he wanted to try for a baby and asked me to stay.

I turned down the contract, taking on only small, local freelance gigs that didn't require travel. I even gave up the home office to him.

I used to draw my blueprints at the dining table, clearing everything away whenever it was time for meals.

I drafted a new email and attached my portfolio.

My sister asked, “Did he ever know how much you wanted to go?”

“He knew.”

I had even shown him apartments in the area back then.

The next day, the firm replied: their team was actively hiring.

Over the next three weeks, I revised my blueprints, submitted test drafts, and completed interviews.

My first submission received critical feedback, so I took detailed notes and reworked the entire design.

My sister helped me set up a proper desk and lamp in my room.

This time, I didn't have to pack up my drawings before dinner.

Once I received the formal job offer, I carefully calculated my living budget and finalized my start date.

I left the divorce entirely in my lawyer’s hands. I refused to meet Mark or communicate with him directly.

In my fifth week away from home, with all my work visa procedures complete, I flew to London.

My new apartment wasn't big. I set up my computer by the window and pinned my prenatal checkup schedule onto the fridge.

On Friday, my first design proposal cleared the review process.

On my way home, I bought myself a bouquet of fresh flowers.

That evening, I turned on my old phone to look for past chat logs my lawyer needed.

A text arrived from an unknown number.

“Jo, it’s Amy. You’ve already moved out. Why are you still refusing to sign the divorce papers?”

I held the phone, reading the message twice.

Mark was the one who betrayed our marriage, yet in Amy’s eyes, I was the one stubbornly clinging on.

I texted back: “I’m the one who filed for divorce. My lawyer has already contacted Mark.”

She called me immediately.

“Mark told me you just went to stay at your sister’s place for a few days!” Amy blurted out the moment I picked up. “He said he can only process the paperwork once you’ve cleared your head!”

I set down the floral shears. “I’ve already retained a lawyer.”

“But he said you’re refusing to let go!”

I shifted the phone to my other hand, suppressing the rise of anger in my voice. “Then you should ask him why he hasn't replied to my lawyer’s emails.”

Amy paused for a few seconds. “Weren't you two already discussing divorce a long time ago?”

“No. I found out about you two on the night of our anniversary.”

“That night?” Her voice shot up.

I looked at the bouquet, the scene behind the restaurant glass flashing back into my mind.

“He told me there was an urgent matter at work. I went to that restaurant and watched him put a necklace on you.”

Amy said nothing.

“Before he walked out the door, he promised me he’d be back in an hour.”

My grip tightened around the wrapping paper of the flowers.

And back then, I had even straightened his collar for him.

“But he said...” Amy hesitated, her tone uncertain. “He told me that dinner was to discuss divorcing you.”

“He baked a cake, wrote me a card, and said he wanted to spend another fifty anniversaries with me.”

I heard my own voice turn cold and hard.

How on earth had he managed to tell those lies with a straight face?

Silence fell over the line, save for her heavy breathing.

I loosened my grip and tossed the crumpled paper aside.

“Don't ever contact me to rush the procedure again.”

“Wait!” Amy called out urgently. “Did he really not bring up divorce that night?”

“Not a single word.”

“But that morning... at the hospital... he explicitly promised me...” She abruptly stopped mid-sentence.

My hand froze beside the vase. “What were you doing at the hospital?”

A few agonizing seconds passed before Amy answered in a low voice.

“A prenatal checkup. I’m pregnant.”

I raised my head and looked at the appointment card pinned to the fridge.

The test report I’d hidden behind the sofa cushion that day suddenly felt like a sick joke.

I had been anxiously anticipating his reaction to finding out he was going to be a father for the first time.

Turns out, he had already found out that very morning.

“He told me he’d talk to you about the divorce that night,” Amy’s voice leaked through the speaker. “He told me to relax and focus on having the baby.”