Chapter 4

I smiled and nodded, not sparing Charlie a single glance.

I did not ask why the two of them showed up at the hospital together, either.

When he reached out to grab my hand, I instinctively stepped back.

His hand froze midair.

Before he could say anything, I cut him off. "I'm heading home. I'm exhausted."

Without waiting for his response–or his attempt to stop me–I turned and left.

He was still in a suit, looking like he'd rushed straight out of some formal banquet.

I knew things were weighing on his mind, unfinished business he did not deal with.

So I did not try to hold him back.

I did not expect him to come home so early that night.

I was curled up on the sofa, munching on an apple, when the door opened. He walked in briskly, as if planning to head upstairs for a quick shower.

I called out before he could leave the room.

"Charlie. I agree to what you said."

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at me.

I set the fruit plate aside and met his gaze–those dark, unreadable eyes.

"The condition you mentioned. If the baby's a boy, we'll call it even."

The fingers at his side trembled slightly.

He inhaled slowly and stepped closer.

"Olivia, what exactly are you trying to say?"

I straightened my back, keeping my tone steady.

"When the baby's born, if it's a boy, we go our separate ways. No more contact. It's better if we never see each other again."

His expression changed instantly, as though he could not quite process what he just heard.

"You mean, you don't want this child?"

I nodded. My throat tightened, and I forced down the ache rising in my chest.

"You're successful. Even divorced, there'll be plenty of women lining up to marry you. Like that delicate Ms. Walters, she'd suit you perfectly."

He fell silent.

The silence stretched so long it made my skin crawl.

I could not help adding, "You were the one who brought this up first. Don't tell me you're backing out now?"

The house was unbearably quiet.

We stood there, neither of us looking at the other, the air thick and frozen.

After what felt like forever, he gave a small nod. His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

"Fine."

It was exactly the outcome I asked for. And yet, for some reason, I did not feel any lighter.

He spoke again, his voice slightly hoarse.

"And if it's a girl?"

My mind faltered for a split second, but I forced myself to answer casually.

"Then we'll just have another one."

I said it as lightly as if we were discussing dinner plans.

He lowered his head and stood there for a while, saying nothing more, before turning and going upstairs.

The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became.

Annoyed at him.

Annoyed at this unborn child.

Most of all, annoyed at myself for having fallen for someone so infuriating.

I packed a few things and moved into the guest bedroom.

In the middle of the night, I woke up thirsty and stumbled out of bed to find some water. When I checked my phone, I saw a message from Rachel, sent two hours earlier.

[Hahaha! This afternoon, Charlie ditched his meeting and stormed out. No one could stop him.]

[Your mother-in-law was crying on the side, saying, At least the boy still has some humanity left in him.]

I stared at the screen for a long moment, unsure how to respond.

So I changed the subject instead.

"What's going on between you and Henry? Why does he tell you everything?"

No reply.

Back when I used to sleep in the master bedroom, there would always be a glass of warm water waiting by the bed. He left it there for me.

Now that I was in the guest room, there was no such treatment.

I had to drag myself to the kitchen for water.

As I passed the staircase, I noticed a faint sliver of light seeping out from the attic door.

I hesitated, then walked over.

The moment I pushed the door open, I froze.

Charlie was kneeling before a small Buddhist altar. His back was straight, posture reverent beyond belief.

In a low voice, he murmured, "Merciful God, please bless me with a daughter. If my wish is granted, I vow to rebuild your temple and recast your golden statue."

I stood there, stunned.

Did he get it backwards? Were we not hoping for a son?

However, the devotion in his voice, the earnestness in his expression–none of it looked fake.

He truly wanted a daughter.

At the doorway, I unconsciously placed my hand over my stomach.