Chapter 3

I scheduled my prenatal checkup for this Friday. I let Andrew know in advance and asked him to make time to go with me.

He agreed right away, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to smooth things over between us.

I believed him. Or maybe I was only clinging to a pathetic fantasy.

But on Friday morning, right before I was getting ready to head out, he called.

"Honey, I'm sorry. There's an emergency meeting at work, and it's really important. I can't get away." He sounded genuinely sorry.

"Maybe you could go to the checkup on your own? Or I can come with you another day?"

I stood in the hallway, phone in hand, staring at my pale, exhausted face in the mirror. I almost laughed at how pathetic I looked.

"Fine," I said flatly. And with that, I hung up.

Alone, I made my way to the hospital.

The OB-GYN department was packed on the weekend. Everywhere I looked—hallways, waiting areas—there were couples together.

Husbands fussed over their wives, bringing them water, whispering reassurances, making sure they were comfortable.

And me? I was on my own.

I stood in line alone, handled the payments myself, and gripped my ultrasound form, waiting for my name to be called in the chilly corridor.

Watching other pregnant women being treated like precious treasures by their husbands, I felt a mix of envy and sadness. Loneliness and helplessness washed over me.

Finally, it was my turn.

I lay down on the exam table, with the cold gel smeared across my stomach.

As the doctor placed the probe on my skin, my hands balled into fists.

On the screen, a tiny bean-shaped figure flickered, pulsing with life.

"Look, your baby is healthy, and his heartbeat is strong," the doctor said gently.

Before I knew it, tears spilled down my cheeks, surprising myself.

This was my baby, the only soul in this world connected to me by blood, completely and utterly mine.

Clutching the precious ultrasound printout, I stared at that tiny life, and told myself that I had to be strong, for my baby. From now on, I was not alone anymore.

By the time I got home, it was already afternoon.

Exhausted, I fumbled for my keys and unlocked the door.

The moment I opened it, I froze in place.

Right in plain sight on the hallway floor were a pair of women's high heels that definitely weren't mine, and a pair of pink kids' sneakers.

From the living room, I could hear Andrew and a woman talking and laughing together.

My home had been invaded while I was gone, and I hadn't even realized it.

I walked in and saw Emily wearing my slippers, bossing Andrew around. "Andrew, move that pothos to the balcony. The doctor said Lily's a bit allergic to pollen."

And her daughter, the so-called "depressed" Lily, was holding my cat, Muffin, pulling hard on his tail with both hands.

Muffin let out a pained whimper, struggling desperately to get free.

"Stop it!" I shouted.

Something inside me snapped. I stormed over, shouting, and yanked Muffin out of Lily's arms.

Muffin, terrified, shook me off and darted under the sofa like a flash.

Lily was startled by my sudden move. After a couple of seconds, she let out a piercing cry and started bawling her eyes out.

Emily, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, darted over and scooped Lily into her arms, turning toward me with a tearful, apologetic expression. "Sophie, please don't be upset. Lily, she loves animals. She didn't mean any harm."

Before she could finish, Andrew stormed over. He shoved me aside without looking at me. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the shoe rack, and a wave of pain shot through me.

He crouched down, nervously turning Lily's hands over and over, checking them for any injury.

"Why are you making such a fuss with a child? Lily, did the cat scratch you? Let Daddy see your hands," he said.

His voice was filled with worry and tenderness, as if Lily were the real victim here.

I leaned against the cold shoe rack, watching this whole scene unfold. The irony was almost unbearable.

The girl who supposedly needed her father's love because of "depression" was now bawling her head off, full of energy. She didn't look depressed at all.

And as for me, Andrew's wife, carrying his own child, he pushed me aside and didn't bother to look at me.

My gaze slowly drifted away from their touching father-daughter act and landed on the display cabinet in the living room.

A Delft vase used to sit there. It was the only keepsake my late mother left me, the only piece of her I had.

Now, the shelf was bare. On the floor lay a heap of pale blue-green pottery shards.

I felt like my blood rushed to my head, and I started trembling all over.

Lily was hiding in Emily's arms, sobbing, but from behind her mom's shoulder, she gave me a triumphant, taunting look.

In that instant, everything clicked. All that talk about allergies, loving animals, and accidents—it was all a lie.

They did it on purpose. They were declaring war on me, staking their claim to this family.

Emily was still putting on her fake act. "Oh, Sophie, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault for not watching Lily. She knocked over the vase by accident. Please don't be mad. Tell me how much it cost, and I'll cover it for you."

Cover it for me? Did she really think money could replace my mother's keepsake and bring back the only thing I had left of her?

I felt like I was a balloon blown up to the max, only one poke away from exploding.

All the pain, anger, disappointment, and that icy numbness I'd bottled up—everything burst out at once.

I slowly pushed myself up from the floor, every move sending sharp, needle-like pain through my lower back.

I didn't bother with Emily, and I didn't look at the bawling kid.

My eyes were fixed on Andrew, the man I once loved. He, my husband, was standing with his back to me, completely absorbed in soothing another woman's child.

With all the strength I had, I pointed at the door and spoke each word slowly and deliberately, my voice hoarse and cold as ice.

"Andrew, take them and get out right now. Get the hell out of my house!"