Chapter 3
Within five minutes, someone had figured out where I was from the street sign.
A few cars made a detour to come watch the drama.
They filmed me through the rain, but not a single one was willing to give me a ride to the hospital.
I headed for the convenience store on the corner, hoping to get out of the rain.
The moment the clerk recognized me, she pulled out her phone for a quick photo, then stood in the doorway, barring my way. "Don't come in. If people online think we're helping a mistress, the whole store will get slammed tomorrow."
I told her I only wanted to borrow an umbrella.
She glanced at my skirt, stained red with blood, and shook her head. "How do I know you didn't do that on purpose? You were milking your pregnancy for sympathy the whole time on the live stream."
The glass door slid shut right in front of me.
The lights inside were bright, but the rain outside was cold as hell.
I stood right at the edge of the awning and didn't dare to take a single step forward to get out of the rain.
The live stream clip was already blowing up online.
My name, photos, and the address of my cake shop all got exposed online.
Tens of thousands of hate comments flooded the shop's page.
Some people threatened to smash up the shop, while others straight up wished death on me and my baby.
The shop's security system started blaring an alert.
A few masked people were spray-painting "murderous mistress" on the shutter, and someone hurled a plastic bag full of filthy water at the window.
I tried to call the night shift clerk, but then remembered I was the only one left at the shop. We'd cut back on staff to save money.
Right after that, the property management company sent me a notice.
The rental apartment Charles and I had lived in for seven years was actually part of the Goodwin Group's real estate portfolio, and the door code had already been changed.
The notice read: [Since you have publicly admitted you have no relationship with Mr. Goodwin, you must immediately cease unauthorized occupation of Goodwin Realty property.]
I had no home anymore.
I couldn't go back to my shop.
Even the baby bed I'd set up and the clothes I'd carefully washed over and over were all locked up in the Goodwin house.
I opened my banking app.
The secondary card had already been canceled, and my account balance was 4.3 dollars and forty cents.
I tried to apply for a temporary loan, but without my passport, I couldn't get past the verification step.
I scrolled through my contacts for a long time, but in the end, my list was empty.
My parents passed away when I was eighteen.
For years, Charles and Sophie were the only family I had. I gave up all my old friends so I could look after Charles.
It turned out that they knew perfectly well I had nowhere else to go.
That was why they dared to kick me out so ruthlessly.
I closed the app and called for an ambulance.
The storm had flooded the streets, so every ambulance in the area was busy responding to emergencies.
The operator told me to find somewhere to shelter from the rain, and that the ambulance would take at least twenty-five minutes to get there.
My phone was down to eight percent battery.
I called Charles again.
He picked up right away.
The music from the ballroom was playing in the background.
"Charles, I can't get a ride," I said. "My belly hurts so much. I think I'm about to have the baby. Can you have your driver take me to the hospital and send me 1,500 dollars? Please?"
Even when I said 1,500 dollars, it was almost laughable to me.
In seven years, all the gifts he gave me never hit five grand.
When I was six months pregnant, I suddenly craved a box of strawberries, which cost 13 bucks.
He brought them home, washed half for me, and put the other half in the fridge, saying that since we always split everything, his share was strictly off-limits.
The next day, the strawberries went bad, and he still wouldn't let me have them.
Back then, I made excuses for him, saying that people who'd been poor for a long time couldn't help being stingy.
But on that very same day, he sent Sophie 175 thousand dollars so she could buy a bag for her professional image.
The transfer record was trending on social media right now.
People online were calling it proof that the Goodwin heir was showering his wife with love and money.
It wasn't until tonight that I finally realized that he wasn't stingy with money.
He didn't want to spend it on me or our baby.
He paused for a couple of seconds. "You told everyone the baby isn't mine, and now you're trying to use that same kid to squeeze money out of me?"
"I cooperated." Fighting through the pain, I begged him in a whisper. "I said everything you wanted me to say. I won't ask for the Goodwin family's money, and I won't push you to acknowledge me.
"Please, save the baby first."
"Emily." His voice went icy. "You still haven't learned, have you? Whenever things get tough, you always use the baby to manipulate me. Get in touch when you finally realize what you did wrong."
He hung up.
I tried calling again, but he'd already blocked my number.