Chapter 2

"Mrs. Shaw, you're awake?"

I opened my eyes to a blinding white overhead.

The doctor stood by the bed, medical chart in hand.

"You have a fractured right arm, soft tissue damage in your left leg, inhalation injury, abdominal trauma, multiple abrasions and lacerations. You're out of danger now."

My lips were dry, my throat so hoarse I could barely make a sound.

"During emergency treatment, we discovered you were six weeks pregnant."

"But I'm very sorry—the baby couldn't be saved."

I stared at the ceiling, a ringing in my ears.

Pregnant.

I'd actually been pregnant.

Three years of trying to conceive, every treatment I'd tried.

Each disappointment, I'd comfort myself that next time would work.

But now, I'd finally conceived.

And the child was gone.

And the one who killed him was his own father.

I turned my head, picked up my phone from the bedside table, and dialed Ethan's number.

It rang for a long time before he answered.

The private room music was loud, glasses clinking and people laughing all mixed together.

Violet's voice was piercingly close.

"Ethan, come help me cut the cake."

I gripped the phone, my voice hoarse:

"Ethan, I'm in the hospital."

"So what?" His tone was perfunctory. "Are you done making a scene?"

"I was pregnant."

The other end went quiet for a second.

I continued:

"The baby's gone."

The next second, he actually laughed coldly.

"Emma, you're really something."

"First harassing my colleagues, then making false reports, now you're even making up pregnancy and miscarriage?"

"Why don't you exaggerate a bit more and say you almost died?"

I closed my eyes:

"I jumped from the second floor."

"Keep performing." He scoffed. "It's Violet's birthday today. You won't be happy until you've ruined it, right?"

My voice was soft:

"Just come to the hospital and see for yourself."

"I don't have time for your drama."

After saying that, he hung up directly.

I put down the phone and opened social media.

Violet had just posted a new update.

In the photo, she sat in front of a birthday cake smiling radiantly, Ethan standing behind her, his hand on her birthday hat, his eyes as tender as if he were looking at a treasure.

The caption read:

[Someone said they'd spend every birthday with me from now on.]

I looked at it for two seconds, then exited and messaged Lisa.

[Help me draft divorce papers.]

She replied instantly.

[You're finally ready to let go?]

I replied:

[The sooner the better.]

Chapter 2

"Mrs. Shaw, you're awake?"

I opened my eyes to a blinding white overhead.

The doctor stood by the bed, medical chart in hand.

"You have a fractured right arm, soft tissue damage in your left leg, inhalation injury, abdominal trauma, multiple abrasions and lacerations. You're out of danger now."

My lips were dry, my throat so hoarse I could barely make a sound.

"During emergency treatment, we discovered you were six weeks pregnant."

"But I'm very sorry—the baby couldn't be saved."

I stared at the ceiling, a ringing in my ears.

Pregnant.

I'd actually been pregnant.

Three years of trying to conceive, every treatment I'd tried.

Each disappointment, I'd comfort myself that next time would work.

But now, I'd finally conceived.

And the child was gone.

And the one who killed him was his own father.

I turned my head, picked up my phone from the bedside table, and dialed Ethan's number.

It rang for a long time before he answered.

The private room music was loud, glasses clinking and people laughing all mixed together.

Violet's voice was piercingly close.

"Ethan, come help me cut the cake."

I gripped the phone, my voice hoarse:

"Ethan, I'm in the hospital."

"So what?" His tone was perfunctory. "Are you done making a scene?"

"I was pregnant."

The other end went quiet for a second.

I continued:

"The baby's gone."

The next second, he actually laughed coldly.

"Emma, you're really something."

"First harassing my colleagues, then making false reports, now you're even making up pregnancy and miscarriage?"

"Why don't you exaggerate a bit more and say you almost died?"

I closed my eyes:

"I jumped from the second floor."

"Keep performing." He scoffed. "It's Violet's birthday today. You won't be happy until you've ruined it, right?"

My voice was soft:

"Just come to the hospital and see for yourself."

"I don't have time for your drama."

After saying that, he hung up directly.

I put down the phone and opened social media.

Violet had just posted a new update.

In the photo, she sat in front of a birthday cake smiling radiantly, Ethan standing behind her, his hand on her birthday hat, his eyes as tender as if he were looking at a treasure.

The caption read:

[Someone said they'd spend every birthday with me from now on.]

I looked at it for two seconds, then exited and messaged Lisa.

[Help me draft divorce papers.]

She replied instantly.

[You're finally ready to let go?]

I replied:

[The sooner the better.]