Chapter 1

At twelve weeks pregnant, I saw my husband's old shirt on his female assistant.

The cuffs had been torn.

I'd sewn them back together, stitch by stitch.

Edward Carter used to cherish that shirt, always saying it was the first thing I ever sewed for him.

But now, Samantha was lounging on his office couch in that shirt, her legs bare, grinning as she waved at me.

"Mrs. Carter, please don't misunderstand. It rained last night and my clothes got soaked, so Mr. Carter handed me this shirt to wear," Samantha said.

She said it so casually, like I was the one intruding.

Like I was the outsider in my own husband's office.

I set the prenatal checkup report on Edward's desk.

He barely glanced at it before draping his jacket over Samantha's shoulders.

"Go wait outside for me. Don't catch a cold," he said.

I stood there, my fingertips pressed against my stomach.

It was still so flat.

Flat enough that nobody would ever believe there was a baby growing inside.

As Samantha walked past me, she let out a soft laugh.

"Mrs. Carter, you really shouldn't try to trap him with the baby. Men hate that," she said, her voice dripping with mock concern.

Edward heard her, but he just frowned.

"Grace, Samantha's young, she doesn't know any better. Don't make a big deal out of it," he said.

Suddenly, I remembered the day he found out I was pregnant.

He'd crouched in front of me, carefully pressing his ear to my stomach.

"Grace, I'll learn to be a good husband and a good father," he'd said.

That was only two months ago.

Now he can't even remember when my prenatal checkups are.

I picked up the checkup report he'd buried under his paperwork.

The corners were crumpled.

Just like my worn spring blouse, so old it barely held together.

So thin, it couldn't hold onto any warmth when the wind blew.

*****

In the end, Edward didn't bother coming with me for the checkup.

He just sent the driver.

The driver stopped at the hospital entrance and looked back at me. "Mrs. Carter, Mr. Carter said there's an emergency at the office. He'll pick you up later."

I nodded, holding onto the checkup report as I stepped out.

The wind slipped in through my cuffs, and I glanced down at my hands.

My sleeves hung empty.

I'd sewn seven stitches into that old shirt Samantha had walked off wearing.

Edward had promised he'd never throw it away, no matter how worn it got.

But now, it wasn't tossed aside.

He'd given it away.

When the nurse called my name, I was still staring at my phone.

Edward hadn't messaged me at all.

But Samantha had posted on her social media.

In the photo, she was lounging in Edward's office, wearing that old shirt, with a bowl of hot oatmeal on the table.

The caption read:

[He acts all strict, but he's actually really caring. Says my stomach's weak, so he won't let me leave until I finish everything.]

Our mutual friends were commenting underneath.

[Mr. Carter is so attentive.]

Samantha replied with a shy emoji.

I stared at that photo for a long time, so lost in thought I didn't even hear the nurse call my name the first time.

The nurse called out again, "Grace, where's your husband?"

I slipped my phone into my bag and forced a smile. "He's busy."

The doctor glanced at the screen, her voice gentler now. "It's important to keep your emotions steady during the first trimester. Have you had any bleeding lately?"

I shook my head.

But honestly, I had.

This morning, as I was getting dressed, I saw a light pink spot on my panties.

I couldn't bring myself to say it.

It felt like if I kept quiet, maybe the baby would be safe.

When the checkup was over, the doctor handed me the report.

"The baby's heartbeat is still there, but you're showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. Go home and stay in bed, don't overwork yourself, and try not to let anything upset you," she said.

I clutched the report, my voice barely a whisper. "What if I keep getting upset?"