Spent Eight Years Learning I Don't Belong

Elizabeth's POV

I replied with a simple "Okay", then closed the chat window with my husband, Nathan Hart, and put his tablet back in the study.

Messages kept popping up in a group chat called "The Dirty Dozen" with Nathan, his friends, and his childhood sweetheart, Sonia Calloway.

They had already booked the campsite and were assigning each person to their tents and deciding who would be getting the ingredients.

Someone asked Nathan which tent he would sleep in.

Sonia quickly replied with a giggling emoji. "Of course Nate's sharing the big tent with us! Otherwise, who's going to keep night watch?"

Nathan quickly replied, "Stop assigning me things."

Then, the rest of them in the group immediately began teasing the two of them.

"Relax, Elizabeth isn't here. She won't see."

Nathan didn't refute it. He just sent a screenshot of a 1,200-dollar transaction—he'd covered the campsite fees for all 12 of them.

I stared at that screenshot and suddenly remembered that just half an hour ago, he was on the phone telling me the company was short on funds and asking me to cover the mortgage this month. I agreed readily.

Worried about stressing him out, I didn't even tell him that I had gone to the hospital today.

The examination report stating that I was six weeks pregnant still sat neatly folded in my bag.

When the doctor smiled and asked why my husband wasn't there with me, I made excuses for Nathan, saying he was busy on a business trip and didn't know about the surprise yet.

Looking at it now, I figured it was a good thing he didn't know. Otherwise, this child might just end up becoming the latest joke in their group chat.

My phone buzzed once with a voice message from Nathan. "Hey Liz, can you marinate those wings in the fridge for me tomorrow? The client likes how you prepare them. I'll come pick them up on Friday."

I tapped on the group chat.

Sonia had just sent a shopping list, and the last item read, "Nathan will be in charge of the barbecue. His wife's a decent cook, so he can have her marinate the ingredients in advance."

Someone replied, "I guess, in a way, she'll be there with us too!"

The screen was filled with laughing emojis.

I stared at it for a long time, then replied to Nathan, "Got it."

He quickly sent a kiss emoji. "You're the best, Liz!"

At 11:00 pm, the door lock clicked. Nathan walked in with a bag of the strawberry cake I loved, his shirt carrying an unfamiliar smell of cigarette smoke.

"Weren't you in Larkfield?" I asked.

He bent down to take off his shoes without even looking up at me. "The client postponed the meeting at the last minute, so I rushed back."

"And this weekend?"

"I'll have to work overtime," he answered all too naturally, without even batting an eyelid.

I nodded and put the cake in the fridge.

Nathan then came and hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Why aren't you eating it?"

"My stomach's been acting up."

"You've been really sensitive lately."

He let go of me and casually turned on the TV. "By the way, Mom asked us to go over for dinner tomorrow. She's been nagging about wanting a grandchild again, but just bear with it and don't take her seriously, okay?"

I touched the examination report in my bag and asked softly, "Nathan, do you want kids?"

He watched the ball game on TV and answered offhandedly, "Of course. Sooner or later, we'll have to have children. But once we have kids, we'll have to make sure they speak Westmerean. I can't have my children speaking with a Briaric accent like yours. It'd sound horrible!"

He laughed after saying it. But I didn't.

I suddenly remembered our wedding day.

My parents had made a ten-hour journey by train to attend it. They couldn't speak proper Crestorian, so when they went from table to table to greet the guests, Nathan's friends mimicked my parents' accent, making the whole table roar with laughter.

Dad didn't understand what was going on and just thought everyone was being friendly, so he kept raising his glass and clinking it with theirs. At the time, I told myself they were just joking around.

But after eight years of learning Westmerean, only now did I finally understand that in all these years, they had never welcomed me.

Nathan fell asleep quickly after taking a shower.

Lying beside him, I took the examination report out of my bag.

In the lower right corner was the date of my next prenatal checkup, which I had booked in advance. It was set to be at 9:00 am on Monday.

I had originally planned to get Nathan to go with me to the checkup. But now, I opened the hospital's appointment app and canceled the prenatal appointment. Then, I booked a gynecology outpatient slot instead.