Chapter 1
After the pre-pregnancy checkup reports came back, the doctor frowned at my husband's results and asked, "Why is it so low? Did you follow the three-day abstinence rule? When was the last time you had sex?"
I replied, "Four days ago."
But Michael Evans stammered, "Yesterday."
*****
Michael replied, "Sorry, I forgot about the requirement."
The doctor shot us an unreadable look before passing over the report.
He said, "These results aren't valid since you didn't follow the instructions.
"Go home and try again once you've followed the rules."
We hadn't left the exam room before I could start losing my temper, but Michael was faster. He clamped a hand over my mouth and hustled me into a quiet corner.
"Babe, please don't get mad. I couldn't hold back, so I took care of it myself last night," Michael confessed.
I eyed him skeptically, not buying it for a second.
Like I was supposed to believe that.
We'd re-read the checkup requirements together three days ago.
Back then, he was all smiles, pointing at the "no sex for three days" rule and joking he'd die if he had to hold back.
Now, under my stare, he looked downright awkward.
He even started poking fun at himself.
Michael chuckled, "What can I say? Guys are slaves to their instincts.
"You'd already fallen asleep last night, and I couldn't help myself. I didn't expect it would cause such a big problem.
"That was stupid. I promise I'll stick to the rules for the next three days."
For a moment, I had nothing to throw at him.
I couldn't recall him acting out of the ordinary these last three days.
But once doubt took root, it didn't need any help to grow.
That night, while Michael was fast asleep, I started snooping through his phone.
His chat history and texts looked normal.
His call log didn't show anything suspicious either.
I even checked his food delivery and shopping apps, but everything seemed completely normal there as well.
Maybe I was being paranoid.
I barely slept a wink that night.
The next morning, as I was waking up, I heard Michael's voice coming from the living room.
"This is all on you. Now I have to go through that whole checkup again. I already drained my reserves for you," he complained.
Startled, I quickly got out of bed and opened the door. There he was, sitting at the dining table, glued to his phone.
A loud, annoying short video was blaring from his screen.
Lydia Carter, our cook, was busy making soup in the kitchen.
I couldn't help but cast a suspicious glance at both Michael and Lydia.
Neither Michael nor I could cook to save our lives.
My mom passed away when I was young, my dad remarried, and Michael's parents were still working high-powered jobs and hadn't retired yet.
So we hired Lydia to cook breakfast and dinner for us every day.
Lydia was 42 years old.
She wasn't the most remarkable-looking, but she was fair-skinned and had a full, womanly figure.
What made her stand out was her charm, her gift for flattery, and her talent for creating meals that were as nutritious as they were delicious.
I was satisfied with her.
But Michael didn't always feel the same.
He complained she was too nosy and didn't seem to understand half of what he said. She always nagged him, like a mom.
But as soon as I realized where my suspicions were heading, I felt ridiculous.
Lydia was almost the same age as Michael's mother, so she felt like a senior to us.
Unable to shake off my doubts, I asked Michael directly, "Were you talking to someone just now?"
He stared at me, looking lost, and shook his head.
His phone was still blasting some trashy drama commentary.
Maybe I was imagining things, confusing the video with Michael's voice.
Just then, Lydia swung open the kitchen door and started bringing out breakfast.
The first dish she set down was a plate of peeled hard-boiled eggs.
Michael's face went dark in an instant.
"Lydia, didn't I tell you I don't like hard-boiled eggs? Can't you make me some fried eggs instead?" he grumbled.
Lydia set the plate down, giving him a smug, know-it-all look.
"Hard-boiled eggs are the healthiest. When you fry them, half the nutrition is gone. I've got a nutritionist certificate. Trust me, okay? I wouldn't steer you wrong," she said with confidence.
Every few days, the same old debate played out between the two of them.
Michael never passed up a chance to complain about it.
Sure enough, as soon as Lydia went back into the kitchen, he shot me a sour look and grumbled under his breath, "We should get a new lady. She acts like she owns the place and won't listen to anything I say."
I could only give him a resigned smile.
On one hand, I felt ridiculous about suspecting there could be something going on between them.
On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed about it.
Michael had suggested many times that we should replace Lydia, but I kept turning him down. By now, Lydia and I had settled into a comfortable routine, and I couldn't stand the thought of starting over with someone new.
When I'd finally managed to settle my nerves, out of nowhere, Lydia's shriek echoed through the house, right as something crashed and smashed into pieces.