Chapter 1

I sat in the passenger seat, my belly protruding in the seventh month of my pregnancy.

At the highway service area, my husband suddenly dropped me off, saying, "Take a break. I need to pick someone up."

I asked who it was. He replied impatiently, "A female coworker. It's on the way."

I stood there in the service area, watching as he drove away.

Two hours later, he returned with a dainty female colleague.

When he noticed the deserted area and a new text notification on his phone, he was dumbfounded.

*****

The car pulled into the highway service area.

Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to me. "Get out and rest for a bit."

I was stunned, my hand still resting on my belly. "Why?"

"Gotta pick someone up. It's on the way," he said.

He sounded casual, but his eyes were darting.

My heart skipped a beat. "Who are you picking up?"

"A female coworker. Her car broke down," he said, growing impatient. "It's only six miles down the road. I'll be back soon."

I looked at him, feeling heavy and worn out in the seventh month of my pregnancy.

We had already been in the car for three hours, returning to the city from his parents' home.

"Can't I go with you in the car?" I asked.

"The air is fresher at the service area. Why don't you stretch your legs a bit?" he said. Then, he got out, opened my door, and urged, "Hurry up. She's still waiting."

I pulled myself slowly to get out of the car.

The moment I managed to stand, the door was slammed behind me.

Michael hopped back into the driver's seat and rolled down the window. "I'll be back in no more than an hour. Wait here for me."

Before I could respond, he hit the gas and sped away.

I stood there, watching his black sedan disappear down the highway.

The early autumn wind brushed past me, bringing a slight chill.

The service area was bustling. A family of three laughed as they packed snacks into their cars. A couple supported each other as they headed to the restrooms.

Yet, I felt completely alone in the parking lot.

The baby in my belly gave a little kick.

I instinctively cradled my stomach, nearly in tears.

But I forced myself not to cry.

This wasn't the first time he had treated me like this.

Last month, when it was time for my prenatal checkup, he claimed he had a work dinner and asked me to go alone.

I spent three hours at the hospital, getting bloodwork, undergoing an ultrasound, and having my blood pressure taken, all while managing my large belly.

When I finally received the results, the doctor assured me everything was normal.

I sent Michael a message on WhatsApp, and all he replied with was a simple "Okay."

That night, when I returned home, he was still out drinking.

I settled onto the couch, waiting for him. Finally, he came back, reeking of alcohol and perfume.

"How was your checkup today?" his mother, Margaret Reed, asked, peeking out from the kitchen.

"All good," I replied.

"Good to hear that. Mike's busy at work, so you should be understanding," Margaret said before turning back to the kitchen.

I glanced down at the report in my hands, a wave of cold washing over me.

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my phone.

I pulled it out and saw a voice message from Margaret.

"Emmy, Mike mentioned you were taking a break at the service area. You should stretch your legs. It's good for you to deliver the baby," she said.

I didn't respond, and soon after, another voice message arrived.

"Oh, and he said he's picking up a female colleague. Don't think too much of it. It's only work stuff. Mike has always been honest," she added.

I stared at the voice message on my screen, my fingers trembling.

Honest? I opened the payment history and scrolled back to last month.

On September 15th, there was a transfer to "Sophia" for 1,800 dollars.

On September 20th, there was another transfer to "Sophia" for 1,000 dollars.

Each time, the note read: [Paying back.]

But I clearly remembered that his salary account had remained untouched last month.

With my background in finance and three years of managing our household, I was aware of how he spent every dollar.

Those transfers came directly from his personal account.

I took a deep breath and navigated to our chat.

The most recent message was from last night.

Me: [We're heading back to downtown tomorrow. Let's leave early.]

Him: [Got it.]

His reply was cold and distant.

I opened up his Twitter.

Three days ago, he posted a photo.

It captured a silhouette of a man and a woman standing close together at a scenic overlook in the setting sun.

The caption read: [A rare moment of relaxation.]

I zoomed in on the photo, looking at the woman's back.

She was slender, with long hair that fell to her waist.

Among the list of likes, I noticed a name: "Sophia Lane."

Her profile picture showcased a flawless selfie.

I scrolled through her Twitter.

The latest post was from 10 AM this morning.

It read: [My car broke down on the highway. I feel so helpless.]

The post included a photo of a white car parked in the emergency lane.

There were a bunch of comments below.

Michael commented: [Be there soon.]

My hands were shaking even harder now.

So he knew all along.

He didn't drop me off at the service area to rest.

Instead, he ditched me to pick her up.

The baby kicked again, this time with considerable force.

I cradled my belly and carefully lowered myself onto a bench by the roadside.

My mind was completely blank.

*****

I lost track of how long I had been sitting there, but the sky was starting to darken.

I glanced at the clock. It was 5:30 PM.

He had been gone for two hours.

I checked my phone again.

There were no missed calls and no messages to ask if I was okay.

I couldn't help but laugh suddenly.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, yet I continued to laugh.

It had been seven years. We dated for four years and were married for three years.

I thought I married for love, but it turned out I was acting out a solo drama.

I stood up and flagged down a cab. "Take me downtown," I instructed the driver.

"Not waiting for anyone?" he asked, eyeing my belly with concern.

"Not anymore," I replied as I climbed in and shut the door.

My phone buzzed again. It was a message from Michael.

It read: [Almost there. Where are you?]

I chose not to reply.

The car roared to life and pulled away from the service area.

In the rearview mirror, I glimpsed a black sedan turning off the highway and into the service area.

Michael was behind the wheel, and a young woman sat beside him.

She was laughing and chatting with him.

I looked away from the mirror and opened my contacts.

I scrolled down to a number I hadn't dialed in ages. It was Charlotte Evans, a lawyer.

Once my college roommate, she was now a partner at the city's top law firm.

I pressed the call button. "Hey, Charlotte, it's me, Emily."

"Emmy!" Her voice burst through, brimming with surprise. "I haven't seen you for so long. What prompted you to call me out of the blue?"

I watched the road signs zip by outside the window.

"I'd like to ask a question. If I get divorced during pregnancy, who gets custody of the child?" I said, my voice calm.

A brief silence fell on the other end. "Wait for me. Let's meet up and talk."