Chapter 1

The hospital hallway reeked of disinfectant.

I sat on a plastic chair outside the physical examination department and checked the text Richard Lane sent me. [Claire, head straight home after your checkup. I've asked the housekeeper to make tomato soup this evening.]

Although he was sixty-three years old, he was still as thoughtful as ever.

I replied with [Okay] and slipped my phone back into my bag.

Thirty-eight years into our marriage, I, Claire Lane, had to admit I'd landed pretty well.

Richard was one of the city's top real estate tycoons and the head of Lane Holdings, with assets of nearly 1 billion dollars.

Back in my younger days, I worked as a college lecturer. Then Richard told me our family had more than enough money and urged me to settle in as a wealthy housewife, so I quit my job.

The only pity was not having children.

But he'd been the one to bring it up all those years ago. "Claire, I don't want kids. Wouldn't it be perfect if it's only the two of us for the rest of our lives?"

It was the summer of 1986, our second year as a married couple. He wrapped an arm around my waist when he said that, his tone gentle enough to sound like a romantic poem.

I'd hesitated at first, but Richard could talk his way into anything.

He went on about how a child would take away the love he had for me, and that he only wanted to spoil me exclusively for the rest of his life.

I bought into it and stopped taking birth control pills. There was no point in harming my health if neither of us wanted a baby.

Thirty-seven years passed like that.

"Mrs. Claire Lane, please come in." A nurse called my name.

I grabbed my bag and walked into the exam room. The attending doctor was Mary Burton, a woman in her early fifties with gold-rimmed glasses.

She stared at the ultrasound report and slowly frowned.

*****

"Mrs. Lane, this—" She held up the imaging film and studied it against the lamp for a long while. "Did you get your fallopian tubes tied?"

I was stunned for a moment. "No."

Mary took off her glasses and fixed her gaze on me. "That's impossible. Both your tubes show obvious signs of surgery. And it's not the usual tying. They were cut and burned. This procedure could be pretty thorough.

"Based on how well the tissue healed, this operation happened no less than twenty-five years ago."

My head suddenly started spinning.

Mary continued, "Try to think again. Did you have any gynecological procedures? Sometimes small surgeries are added during a hospital stay—"

"It was 1997," I blurted out.

That year, I was thirty-six and ended up in the hospital for appendicitis. Richard was there with me every step of the way.

My recovery was slow, but he said I was naturally weak and brought in the best caregiver to look after me.

Mary put her glasses back on and lowered her voice a bit. "Mrs. Lane, I need to ask you something important. Did you agree to this surgery of your own free will?"

Silence hung in the exam room for a full ten seconds.

"From the method used, this doesn't look like a standard sterilization done with your knowledge and consent. The approach is too extreme. Normally, no doctor would pick such an irreversible treatment for a thirty-six-year-old woman who'd never given birth," Mary said.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

It was 1997 when I had my appendectomy. Richard signed the surgical consent form in person.

I could still picture his face as he put pen to paper. He felt sorry for me and was nervous, squeezing my hand and telling me not to be afraid.

It turned out that he wasn't only signing off on the appendectomy.

"Mrs. Lane?" Mary called out.

I got to my feet, my legs feeling wobbly. "Dr. Burton, could you print a separate copy of this test report for me?"

She stared at me for a few seconds and then nodded. "Also, if you need help, I can get in touch with the hospital where you had the surgery back then to get your medical records."

I folded the report and tucked it into the innermost zipped pocket of my bag. "Thank you. I'll handle it myself."

As I stepped out of the hospital, the June sun was so glaring that I could barely keep my eyes open.

My phone buzzed again. It was still Richard. [Claire, how did the check-up go? Everything okay?]

I stared at the contact name on the screen: "Richard" marked with a little red heart emoji next to it.

Thirty-eight years had passed. I'd never changed his contact nickname once.

[Everything is fine.] I hit send. Standing at the hospital entrance, I suddenly felt like the sunlight in this city had never been so harsh.