Chapter 4

Michael hung up, stood up, and grabbed his keys. Without even glancing at me, he said, "Olivia's got a stomachache and she's home alone. I need to bring her medicine."

"It's late and she's all alone. She shouldn't be by herself," he added, then turned and headed for the door without waiting for my reply.

I watched him walk away. "Michael, let's get a divorce," I said.

He didn't even slow down. "We'll talk when I get back," he replied.

Michael didn't come home that night.

The next morning, as soon as I opened my eyes, my stomach lurched. I rushed to the bathroom and retched over the toilet, bringing up nothing but sour acid.

I pushed myself up against the wall, stared at my pale face in the mirror, and something hit me: my period was already more than ten days late.

I took the day off, skipped breakfast, and went to the hospital, where the strong smell of disinfectant made me feel nauseous.

I sat alone on a bench with my registration slip, and an hour later I walked out with a test result that read positive.

The doctor told me to get an ultrasound for confirmation, so I took the request form and joined the line at the end of another hallway.

I was surrounded by husbands supporting their wives and mothers-in-law with their daughters-in-law, but I was the only one alone.

The ultrasound came back showing six weeks. I stared at it, leaned against the wall, and slowly sank to the floor.

Tears streamed down my face, and I didn't wipe them. When my legs went numb, I pushed myself up and walked back to the doctor's office.

The doctor adjusted his glasses and asked, "Made up your mind?"

I placed the report on his desk and said, "Doctor, I don't want this baby."

He paused, glanced at my records, and said, "This is your first pregnancy, right? Don't you want to discuss it with your husband? You're young, don't rush."

I shook my head and said, "No need to discuss."

He sighed, pulled out a consent form, and said, "Have your family member come sign this."

I said, "I'll sign it myself."

I picked up the pen and signed my name in the family member section.

I walked out of the operating room after dark, still groggy from the anesthesia, with a dull ache in my lower abdomen.

I rang the doorbell and my mother-in-law answered, giving me a dirty look and saying, "Look who finally shows up. Where have you been all day?"

I said nothing and headed for the bedroom, while she shouted after me, "Cat got your tongue? I'm talking to you. You think you're so high and mighty when you can't even have kids?"

I shut the door and locked it. At ten that night, someone knocked. It was Michael.

"Honey, open up and let me explain," he said. "I didn't mean to stay out. Olivia got really sick, her stomach was acting up. So I took her to the emergency room and stayed all night," he said.

I walked over and opened the door. Michael stood there and flashed a pleading smile the moment he saw me.

He reached for my hand and said, "Come on, don't be mad. She's a colleague. I couldn't let her suffer, could I?"

I stepped back and pulled Olivia's ultrasound report from my bag, unfolding it and slapping it on the nightstand. "Olivia's. Eight weeks. BPD 0.6 inches," I said coldly.

Michael's smile froze. Without a pause, I placed my own report next to hers and said, "Mine. Six weeks. A gestational sac."

Michael's face went pale. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

Finally, I took out the signed consent form and laid it over the two reports. "This one's mine too," I said, looking at him. "It's gone now. Michael, let's get a divorce."