Chapter 1
At the party, my best friend suggested a reaction test. Send our boyfriends a message saying, [I'm pregnant.]
Less than ten seconds after I sent the message, David Quinn transferred 30,000 dollars to me.
Everyone started joking, "Claire, he really loves you."
But I was the only one who saw the note on the transfer. [Same old rule: make sure it's taken care of.]
We'd been together for seven years, and I'd had two abortions for David.
After the second abortion, the doctor told me it would be hard for me to get pregnant again.
David was busy with work that day and didn't come to the hospital, and I never told him what the doctor said.
When it was Joanna Young's turn, she looked pale and said her husband usually didn't check his messages.
One of our drunk friends didn't buy it, snatched her phone, and sent the message herself.
The reply came instantly, and Joanna's husband's gentle yet anxious voice echoed through the room. "Honey, don't move. Mom's picking up our son. I'm coming to get you right now."
Joanna hung up in a panic, not even daring to look at me.
It turned out David didn't hate kids. He just didn't want to have a child with me.
I accepted the 30,000 dollars and finally replied to my mom's message, which she'd been asking about for three months. [Mom, come pick me up tomorrow.]
David already had a family. It was time for me to return to my own.
*****
Barely thirty seconds after the room fell silent, Joanna hurried after me.
She caught up to me at the end of the hallway. "Claire, I'm sorry."
She didn't try to make excuses. Her whole demeanor was apologetic.
She said, "Tonight was never supposed to happen. I never wanted you to find out, and I swear I didn't mean to hurt you."
I glanced at the ring on her finger.
After college, we drifted apart, only chatting occasionally in our group chat.
She'd posted pictures of her kid and breakfast for three, but never once showed her husband's face.
I used to think she was just being private.
"When did you find out about me?" I asked.
Joanna's lips tightened, but she didn't answer.
She reached out as if to grab my hand, but stopped halfway. "My son is five now. He's not a little kid anymore. He understands things.
"Today, when I told him I was going out with friends, he asked me why his dad wasn't coming to pick me up.
"Claire, whatever happens between us adults, we can figure it out. But the kids are innocent."
The hallway light caught her eyes, rimmed with red, but she didn't cry.
"You were always the one David leaned on. I know that," she said.
She sounded a little self-deprecating, but maybe she was trying to make me feel better.
"Can we keep what happened tonight just between us? At least don't let my son find out," she said.
"When you say 'others,' does that include me?" I asked.
Joanna stiffened.
The door to the private room swung open, and someone peeked in.
Joanna shifted, putting herself between me and those nosy looks from inside.
Her move was graceful and thoughtful.
It almost felt like I was the one who needed protecting.
My phone buzzed.
David had just sent over the address of a private women's clinic, with an appointment for tomorrow at 2 PM.
He'd attached the driver's number, a few notes, and a little reminder.
He texted, [Don't skip breakfast tomorrow. You always get low blood sugar after these things.]
He remembered.
After my first abortion, I woke up in the recovery room. He was right there by my bed, helping me drink some warm sugar water. Every time I winced, he'd stop and ask if I was hurting.
That day, he told me he'd never let me suffer like that again.
But then there was a second time.
And now, here I was, facing the third time.
He still remembered I'd get low blood sugar, but he never asked if I was hurting, or scared, or if I wanted to keep it.
He didn't even care enough to ask.
For David, pregnancy always had the same ending.
I turned off my phone screen.
Joanna's voice softened even more when she saw me. "David always acts fast. Don't take it the wrong way. He does care about you."
I glanced at her.
She'd unconsciously folded her hands over her stomach.
There was nothing there, but she was already used to protecting that spot.
"You should go back," I said.
Joanna didn't move. "Claire, David promised this wouldn't mess up your life."
My fingers slowly curled into a fist. "It already has."
I walked past her and stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, Joanna was still frozen in place.
When I got back to my place, I didn't even bother turning on the lights.
For seven years, David had quietly taken care of so many problems for me.
Suspicious charges on my bank card, arranging rides for my mom when she showed up in town unexpectedly, every little repair at home, even the insurance renewals I always forgot, he'd handle it all before I even said a word.
Over time, I started to see his decisiveness as reliability.
I sat down on the living room carpet and logged into an old bank account I hadn't touched in ages.
The first transfer was six years ago, the night before my first time at the clinic.
It was 30,000 dollars.
The note said, [Take care of yourself, and don't think too much.]
The second transfer happened four years ago, on the morning I had my second abortion.
It was 30,000 dollars.
The note said, [Handle it first. We'll deal with everything else when you get back.]
Tonight, he sent another 30,000 dollars my way.
The note was, [Same old routine: clean it up.]
Same amount, same timing, always within ten minutes after I texted him. Even the bank account was always the same.
I used the first 30,000 dollars to buy him a watch.
Back then, I honestly believed that money wasn't meant as compensation and that it was his awkward, guilty apology for being so unprepared when he first found out I was pregnant.
I never touched the second 30,000 dollars.
I watched those numbers sit untouched for four years, hoping it meant David still owed me an explanation.
Now, with the third transfer tonight, my account balance hit 60,000 dollars.
The cold light from the screen brushed my fingertips.
It wasn't guilt, and it wasn't a promise. It was another expense in his ledger.
At 1 AM, the door unlocked.
David walked in, hung his coat by the door, and bent down to straighten the slippers I'd kicked aside.
"Why aren't the lights on?" he asked.
He crouched down beside me, reaching out to feel my forehead.
I turned my head away, and his hand missed.
"Did I startle you?" He withdrew his hand. "I rescheduled your appointment for the morning, so you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I'll handle things with your mom."
I closed the bank app. "Are you so used to this because I always went along with it the last two times?"
David was silent for a couple of seconds.
"Claire, haven't we always had an understanding about this?" he said.