Chapter 1

On New Year's Day, I stood alone in line at the hospital for my prenatal checkup, my belly large and heavy. All around me, couples waited together.

My husband said there was an emergency at the company and had to go back. He barely touched his dinner.

A woman in black tights stood right in front of me, complaining to a friend in a sharp, grating voice.

"So annoying," she said. "I just got pregnant, and now he wants me to get rid of it. Says his pregnant wife will find out and cause a scene.

"But seriously, he's so good in bed. Every time we're done, I can't even walk. I forgot to take my pill.

"He said his wife looks like a cow right now. She makes him sick. My tiny waist is what he likes to hold."

I touched my own swollen legs without thinking. My chest ached. Tears filled my eyes.

The woman pulled a stack of cash from her bag and fanned it with a smirk.

"This is his hush money," she went on. "He said it was for the hag's delivery, but now he wants to spend it on me instead. Told me to buy some good supplements."

The envelope looked familiar. It was the one I had withdrawn my hospital deposit from yesterday.

And written on it, in my own handwriting, were the words: [A gift for our baby.]

I stared at that envelope.

I'd put it together myself, using an old office envelope to save money.

Yesterday, eight months pregnant, I hauled myself all the way to the bank counter to avoid the transfer fee.

It was 6 thousand dollars in total. I said this money was for the hospital deposit when the baby was born.

This morning, before I left the house, I tore through every drawer but couldn't find it anywhere.

I called my husband, Richard Payne, and he said there might have been a break-in. He told me not to worry and said he'd call the police later.

And now, the "thief" was standing right in front of me, her nails painted a bright red, idly flicking through the stack of cash like it was nothing.

Sophia Lane stuffed the cash into her designer bag and said to her friend, "Let's go. I need to get my nails done, and tonight I have to accompany him to a gala."

I steadied myself against the wall, my legs so swollen that I had to take a deep breath with every single step.

I grabbed my phone and called Richard.

The phone rang for ages before he finally answered.

On the other end, I could hear the melodious sound of a cello and the crisp clinking of glasses.

"What's wrong, Helen? I'm busy crunching numbers right now," Richard said, his voice gentle and reassuring as always.

"I saw the money I saved for my prenatal checkup," I said, my voice shaking as I thought of Sophia's back disappear down the hallway.

Richard went silent for a moment.

In the background, a woman piped up in a soft, sweet voice, "Mr. Payne, does this collar look crooked to you?"

It was Sophia.

Then I heard the soft sound of clothes rustling, and Richard's voice got muffled. It sounded like he had put his hand over the phone.

After a few seconds, his voice came back clear, sounding a bit resigned. "Come on, Helen, don't make a big deal out of a little cash."

"That's the emergency money for the baby's birth," I said.

"I know," he sighed, sounding like he was coaxing a stubborn child. "Sophia's family ran into an emergency, so I lent it to her to help out. Why are you suddenly so hung up on money?"

Why was I so hung up on money?

That was the money we'd scraped together over a whole year.

To save up that cash, while pregnant, I dragged myself to three different markets to compare prices for discounted eggs.

"She used that money to get her nails done. That's your idea of an emergency?" I asked.

There was a long silence on the other end. Then I heard the click of a lighter. He must've lit up a cigarette.

"Helen, sometimes you have to put on a show in the business world. Sophia's my right hand. If she looks sharp, it makes me look good when I bring her to events," he said. "It's all for the company, for our family."

His reasoning was always so flawless that it left me with nothing to say.

"Wait for me at home and make some ravioli, okay?" he added. "You know, all those fancy dishes out there can't compare with your homemade ravioli."

Right after he said that, I heard a waiter's respectful voice in the background. "Mr. Payne, your Romanée-Conti is ready."

Compared to a bottle of red wine worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, my 6 thousand dollars was nothing.

He hung up on me.

I watched as my phone screen slowly faded to black, and in its reflection, I saw my own face, puffy and tired-looking from pregnancy.

And right at that moment, the baby kicked me hard.

It hurt like hell.

I didn't go home to make ravioli.

I went straight to the ticket counter.

Richard claimed he was working late on a business trip in the next city. Since he was doing this for the family, I figured as his wife, I ought to go pay him a surprise visit.