Chapter 3

That night, I stumbled home, barely holding myself together, and Albert didn't even notice a thing.

"Bethany, come with me to meet a client next Tuesday," he said.

"A client?" I repeated.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling awkward and troubled.

Back when his business was just getting off the ground, he'd have me use my looks to entertain clients—drinking with them, charming them into signing contracts, or pulling in investments.

"You need to get ready for this one. This client is really important," he said. "Oh, and wear that most expensive dress, okay?"

I looked at Albert's pleading face, didn't say a word, and just walked back to the bedroom.

It was the only dress he ever bought for me.

It was a misty blue knee-length dress, made of silk crepe de chine that shimmered with a delicate pearlescent sheen as I moved.

I never wore it—just kept it hanging in my closet, too precious to ever take out.

He'd been sleeping in the study for days and was totally absorbed in his new project.

Honestly, it made it easier for me to handle the aftermath of the miscarriage alone in the bedroom, without anyone noticing.

Sometimes, when he came in to grab his clothes, he'd wrinkle his nose at the sharp, acrid smell, looking downright disgusted.

"Bethany, what's wrong? Did you get diarrhea or something?" he'd ask.

I was crouched in the bathroom, face pale as death, and just shook my head. "No, I'm fine," I replied.

Albert didn't notice how pale I looked or the cold sweat on my forehead.

He just glanced at the bathroom tissues, and any doubt he had disappeared right away.

He waved his hand in the air, like I was contagious or something.

Back then, my health was a mess and I was miserable, but he never even bothered to notice.

Honestly, even if he thought I just had a stomach ache, he still pushed me to go out and entertain clients over drinks.

What kind of husband does that?

I knocked on his study door, making an excuse. "Albert, I haven't been feeling well these past few days."

Albert just figured I was in a bad mood because it was that time of the month. As soon as I walked in, he flashed a big smile and pulled out a chair for me.

"Come on, honey, have a seat," he said, gently helping me down. Then he crouched at my feet, lowering himself so much it was almost pitiful, his hand warm and dry as it covered mine.

His voice was so earnest, it nearly made my heart ache.

"Bethany, can you help me out this one last time?" he asked softly.

I was really hesitant. There was no way to avoid drinking at a client dinner, but the doctor had said absolutely no alcohol for a week.

I hesitated, not answering right away. He lowered his voice, coaxing me gently, "Bethany, don't worry. I'll cover for you with most of the drinks. Just sip a couple, alright?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to protest, but my heart softened and I finally agreed, "Okay."

I naively thought he'd have my back, that I'd just need to drink a couple of glasses and everything would be fine.

But that night, things took a turn for the worse.

The clients kept forcing drink after drink on me. Then a greasy old man actually thought I was some bar girl. He threw his arm around my shoulders and started pawing at me.

I raised my voice, telling him I was Albert's wife, and he immediately let go.

Albert stood up as if he had no choice, his face full of embarrassment. With an awkward smile, he tried to brush it off as just a misunderstanding.

In the end, the pain in my stomach was so intense that just as I was about to leave, I blacked out and hit the floor hard. Everyone at the table freaked out.

As I hit the floor, for a split second, I actually saw real worry flash across Albert's face.

All I could think was, God, please don't let me screw up his deal.

After they called an ambulance and rushed me to the nearest hospital,

Albert got absolutely ripped apart by the doctor.

"What kind of husband are you?" the doctor barked. "Your wife just had a miscarriage less than a week ago, and you let her drink? Are you out of your mind? She could've died."

The doctor ripped into Albert, and he was left speechless, completely blindsided.

He grabbed my hand at the bedside, his voice shaky, barely holding it together. "Why... why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't want him to feel guilty, so I took all the blame myself and made it seem like it was my own choice.

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry," I said, gently running my fingers through his hair. He'd gone so gray from all those years grinding away at his business, and it honestly made my heart ache for him.

With a raspy voice, I asked, "Did you land the deal?"

Albert kissed the back of my hand and nodded. "Yeah, we got it. The clients said after seeing you push yourself so hard, there was no way they could turn us down."

After that, Albert hardly ever took me along to meet clients anymore.

After the miscarriage, I started aging noticeably. He told me to just stay home and rest, and had his female assistant take over the drinking and entertaining at those dinners. Back then, I didn't think much of it.

But I never expected it. He ended up hooking up with his assistant, Joslyn Barlow.

He even sent her abroad in secret to give birth, and now their baby's already 100 days old.

Albert never knew that after I lost our first child, I was tormented by nightmares every single night. In those dreams, my baby girl would come looking for her mom, asking me over and over, 'Why were you so heartless?'

Every night, I'd wake up with my pillow soaked in tears. My friends kept telling me to freeze my eggs。

That way, if he ever changed his mind, I could still give him the family he wanted.