Chapter 2 · Lament for the Lost Child, Too Late for Regret

I stared at James, deadpan, and almost laughed out loud at how brazen he looked.

"James, this is the obstetrics and gynecology floor," I said.

Holding up the slip of paper in my hand, I was surprised at how calm I sounded.

"I'm here for an appointment," I added.

James paused for a moment, his eyes flickering over the paper in my hand.

He didn't really see what was written on it, only instinctively letting out a sigh of relief. "Since you're here for a prenatal check-up, just finish it and go home."

He said this in a low voice, making sure only I could hear.

Then he added, "Don't mess around here.

"Olivia's not in good health. She can't handle any stress."

I looked at him, and the last flicker of hope inside me faded away.

Just then, Olivia walked over.

She stood beside James, looking delicate and understanding, almost fragile.

Olivia said softly, "Ms. Lane, please don't misunderstand James.

"My stomach was feeling a bit off today, so he took some time to bring me to the doctor.

"If it bothers you, I won't ask him for help anymore."

James immediately frowned, pulling Olivia behind him and standing between us protectively.

"Olivia, no need to explain to her," he said.

He shot me a warning look, saying, "Emily, I've told you before, Olivia and I are just friends.

"Why do you always have to assume the worst about people?"

I watched him in silence.

This was the man I'd given my heart to for five years.

Once, he really was a good man.

The year we got married, I accidentally cut my hand.

James, who was such a neat freak that he wouldn't even step foot in the kitchen, was so worried about me that his eyes turned red.

He awkwardly learned to wash vegetables, chop meat, and cook fish soup for me.

He said, "Emily, from now on, I'll handle the cooking. Your hands are meant for art, not this kind of work."

But then he took over the family business and got busier and busier.

He never set foot in the kitchen again.

And now, for another woman, he could force himself to peel open a pineapple, the fruit he despised most, even though the smell made him gag.

But for me, the one carrying his child, he didn't even have the patience to ask how my check-up went.

"I'm not misunderstanding anything," I said.

I looked away and shoved the form into my bag.

"You two go ahead. I'm leaving," I said.

I turned and walked toward the elevator.

There was no hysterical argument, no tears shed.

James seemed a bit surprised by how I reacted.

He hurried after me and grabbed my wrist. "Emily."

His tone softened a bit, but there was still that sense he was doing me a favor, like he was tossing me scraps from his high horse.

He said, "Yeah, I messed up today.

"How about this? You go home and rest for now. I'll try to get out of my evening plans and come home to have dinner with you.

"Tell me what you want to eat, and I'll have Lorraine get it ready for you."

He was convinced I was just throwing a tantrum.

He was sure that as long as he tossed me a little treat, I'd come running back to him, eager and obedient.

I pulled my hand free and looked him straight in the eye.

"No need.

"I'm not really hungry," I said.

The elevator doors slid open just then, and I stepped inside.

James stood outside, watching the elevator doors close, his brow furrowed.

"Seriously, Emily, that's enough," he said.

He'd finally lost his patience, his voice going cold and sharp again.

"I'm already letting you off easy. Don't push it," he added.

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his impatient face.

I leaned against the elevator wall and took a deep breath.

At 1:30 PM, I arrived right on time at the entrance to the operating room.

The nurse went over my info again.

"Emily Lane, right? Still no family here?" she asked.

I nodded. "I can sign it myself."

The nurse sighed and handed me the consent form.

I picked up the pen and signed my name firmly in the bottom right corner.

Each letter was written slowly and forcefully, as if I was pouring all the strength I had into it.

I was determined to erase the madness of the past five years, along with the fetus inside me, once and for all.

As the anesthesia flowed into my veins, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders like never before.

Goodbye, James Carter.

Chapter 2

I stared at James, deadpan, and almost laughed out loud at how brazen he looked.

"James, this is the obstetrics and gynecology floor," I said.

Holding up the slip of paper in my hand, I was surprised at how calm I sounded.

"I'm here for an appointment," I added.

James paused for a moment, his eyes flickering over the paper in my hand.

He didn't really see what was written on it, only instinctively letting out a sigh of relief. "Since you're here for a prenatal check-up, just finish it and go home."

He said this in a low voice, making sure only I could hear.

Then he added, "Don't mess around here.

"Olivia's not in good health. She can't handle any stress."

I looked at him, and the last flicker of hope inside me faded away.

Just then, Olivia walked over.

She stood beside James, looking delicate and understanding, almost fragile.

Olivia said softly, "Ms. Lane, please don't misunderstand James.

"My stomach was feeling a bit off today, so he took some time to bring me to the doctor.

"If it bothers you, I won't ask him for help anymore."

James immediately frowned, pulling Olivia behind him and standing between us protectively.

"Olivia, no need to explain to her," he said.

He shot me a warning look, saying, "Emily, I've told you before, Olivia and I are just friends.

"Why do you always have to assume the worst about people?"

I watched him in silence.

This was the man I'd given my heart to for five years.

Once, he really was a good man.

The year we got married, I accidentally cut my hand.

James, who was such a neat freak that he wouldn't even step foot in the kitchen, was so worried about me that his eyes turned red.

He awkwardly learned to wash vegetables, chop meat, and cook fish soup for me.

He said, "Emily, from now on, I'll handle the cooking. Your hands are meant for art, not this kind of work."

But then he took over the family business and got busier and busier.

He never set foot in the kitchen again.

And now, for another woman, he could force himself to peel open a pineapple, the fruit he despised most, even though the smell made him gag.

But for me, the one carrying his child, he didn't even have the patience to ask how my check-up went.

"I'm not misunderstanding anything," I said.

I looked away and shoved the form into my bag.

"You two go ahead. I'm leaving," I said.

I turned and walked toward the elevator.

There was no hysterical argument, no tears shed.

James seemed a bit surprised by how I reacted.

He hurried after me and grabbed my wrist. "Emily."

His tone softened a bit, but there was still that sense he was doing me a favor, like he was tossing me scraps from his high horse.

He said, "Yeah, I messed up today.

"How about this? You go home and rest for now. I'll try to get out of my evening plans and come home to have dinner with you.

"Tell me what you want to eat, and I'll have Lorraine get it ready for you."

He was convinced I was just throwing a tantrum.

He was sure that as long as he tossed me a little treat, I'd come running back to him, eager and obedient.

I pulled my hand free and looked him straight in the eye.

"No need.

"I'm not really hungry," I said.

The elevator doors slid open just then, and I stepped inside.

James stood outside, watching the elevator doors close, his brow furrowed.

"Seriously, Emily, that's enough," he said.

He'd finally lost his patience, his voice going cold and sharp again.

"I'm already letting you off easy. Don't push it," he added.

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his impatient face.

I leaned against the elevator wall and took a deep breath.

At 1:30 PM, I arrived right on time at the entrance to the operating room.

The nurse went over my info again.

"Emily Lane, right? Still no family here?" she asked.

I nodded. "I can sign it myself."

The nurse sighed and handed me the consent form.

I picked up the pen and signed my name firmly in the bottom right corner.

Each letter was written slowly and forcefully, as if I was pouring all the strength I had into it.

I was determined to erase the madness of the past five years, along with the fetus inside me, once and for all.

As the anesthesia flowed into my veins, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders like never before.

Goodbye, James Carter.