Chapter 1
On the day of the divorce, Jonathan Reed signed the papers without even a pause.
"I'm in a hurry." He dropped the line and walked out.
I kept the pregnancy report in my bag for three days, but I never got the chance to give it to him.
He said I wasn't worthy of his ambition, that he wanted a wife who could stand in the spotlight.
Ten years later, he stood on an award stage on live television and said, "My biggest regret is not having a child."
I turned off the TV, and my son was holding a certificate for being first in his grade.
"Mom, can I be on TV when I grow up?" he asked.
I smiled and touched his hair, and I looked into the eyes that were exactly like his father's.
*****
Jonathan pushed the divorce agreement toward me.
The paper was stark white, the words jet black.
"Sign it," he said.
His voice had no warmth in it, like the winter rain outside the window.
I looked at Jonathan.
He was my husband, and in a few minutes he would be my ex-husband.
He wore a sharp suit, his hair was combed neatly, and the watch I gave him was still on his wrist.
Everything looked just as I remembered, yet somehow, nothing felt the same anymore.
"I'm in a hurry," he said.
He glanced at his watch, as if that settled it.
I picked up the pen.
The tip hovered over the paper, half an inch from the line where my name was supposed to go.
The folded paper in my bag pressed against my hand, a small square digging into my palm.
It was the pregnancy report I'd gotten three days ago.
I had planned to surprise him on his birthday with it.
Now, it felt like a cruel joke.
I smiled.
Jonathan frowned at me.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked.
I replied, "Nothing."
I lowered my head and quickly signed my name.
Each stroke felt etched into my bones.
He took the agreement, didn't even glance at my signature, and slipped it straight into his briefcase.
"The house is yours, the car is yours, and I haven't touched the money in the account. Call it compensation," he said.
He rattled it off like a script that had nothing to do with him.
I said, "I don't need it."
He replied, "Suit yourself."
He stood up, ready to leave.
He had lived in that house with me for three years, and he walked out of it without a backward look.
"Jonathan," I called out.
I stopped him before he reached the door.
He paused, but didn't turn around.
I asked, "Why?"
The hallway outside the apartment stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Jonathan said, "Emily, you're a good person.
"But you can't keep up with me. I don't want a wife who just waits for me to come home for dinner.
"I want someone who can stand in the spotlight with me. Do you understand?"
I understood.
My world was too small for his ambition.
"I'm leaving," he said.
The door opened, then closed.
His coat was still hanging by the door where he always left it.
The house went hollow all at once.
I sat there for a long time.
The sky shifted from bright to dark.
I took out the crumpled report from my bag and slowly unfolded it.
On the ultrasound image, the tiny sac looked like a star.
I touched my still-flat belly.
Tears finally fell.
I picked up my phone and deleted every trace of Jonathan from it.
Then I booked an appointment at the best private maternity hospital in the city.
I was keeping this child.
He was mine, and I would raise him by myself.