Chapter 1

I pushed open the convenience store door, and cold wind immediately hit my neck. I had barely taken two steps when Gary's voice rang out behind me.

"Carrie Crawford! Have you caused enough of a scene yet?"

I turned around and saw him running toward me in long strides. He had not even changed out of his fuzzy house slippers.

"How old are you? Running away from home like a child?

"Six months pregnant, and you're still this temperamental! What if something happens to you out here in the middle of the night?"

If this were before, I would have fought back without hesitation, and we could have argued loud enough for the whole street to hear. However, today I just listened in silence. I was too exhausted to fight anymore.

He soon finished his tirade. Probably because of my unusual quiet, his anger slowly died down, and his expression softened. He sighed and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer into his embrace.

"Alright, it's cold outside. Let's go home."

Back home, the heat enveloped my body. Gary crouched down to change my shoes for me, then looked up at me.

"Are you hungry? What do you want to eat? I'll make it for you."

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."

He frowned. "You didn't eat anything all night out of spite. How could you not be hungry? Even if you're not hungry, the baby still needs to eat."

Without waiting for my response, he walked straight into the kitchen. Before long, he came out carrying a bowl of pasta loaded with shrimp, scallops, and chunks of lobster tail, piled so high it was almost comical.

Gary was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had never lifted a finger in the kitchen before. However, ever since I got pregnant, he refused to let me order takeout and would not hire help. He stubbornly insisted on personally handling my three meals a day.

The problem was that his cooking was truly terrible. His idea of seasoning food was to boil it in water, with at most a sprinkle of salt. Meanwhile, I loved bold flavors and could not enjoy anything without spice.

"Is it good?" he asked, sitting across from me and watching me eat.

I nodded, twirled some pasta onto my fork, and gave a flat hum in response. The seafood had a strong, briny smell that mixed unpleasantly with the watery, underseasoned sauce.

Wave after wave of nausea rose in me, but I forced down my disgust and slowly swallowed it down, bite by bite.

Gary's phone suddenly rang sharply.

"Emergency at the company," he said while grabbing his coat and car keys. "Stay home and behave. Don't go out again."

He slammed the door shut with a bang and left.

I put down my fork and looked at the bowl, which was still more than half full. My stomach could no longer hold back the churning. I rushed into the bathroom and vomited violently over the toilet.

After I finished throwing up, I leaned against the cold tile wall as tears spilled out uncontrollably. I did not want to live this bland, nauseating life anymore.

I immediately pulled out my phone and ordered a spicy curry and Buffalo wings. The delivery arrived quickly, and I ate with complete satisfaction. This was the most comfortable meal I had eaten since getting together with Gary.

Afterward, I crawled alone into our wide double bed and slept dreamlessly.

Gary did not come home all night and did not send a single message. The next morning, he finally called back with his usual commanding tone.

"I left an important document in the study. Bring it to the York Resort Hotel right away."

I did not ask questions. After finding the document, I took a cab to the hotel. However, I was stopped by security at the grand entrance.

"Sorry, ma'am. This is a members-only establishment. You need an internal invitation to enter."

I pulled out my phone and called Gary. I called once, and then twice, but no one answered.