Chapter 2

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Stop nagging already.”

I looked up at Dario and realized he hadn’t even heard what I said.

He brushed me off with a grunt, his fingers flying across his phone screen, lips curled into a faint smile.

He grabbed a towel and half-heartedly rubbed the water from his hair, then turned toward the door.

“Pick your own anniversary gift and send me the bill.”

With a loud slam, the door shut behind him. I stared at it, feeling strangely calm.

I had already lost hope in this marriage, but for the sake of the child growing inside me, I knew I had to sit down and talk to Dario.

By 3 a.m., he still hadn’t returned.

Too restless to sleep, I decided to go find him.

Now that my mind was made up, I refused to endure this farce a second longer.

Just as I reached the parking garage, I saw Dario walking in, head down, smiling gently as he recorded a voice message.

He murmured something about “baby” and “I’m home”, his voice dripping with affection, the kind of sweet talk a smitten teenager might use.

Words he had never said to me.

I froze, forgetting to hide.

He barreled into me in the stairwell, nearly knocking me over.

The moment he recognized me, his smile vanished, and his face darkened.

He didn’t help me steady myself. Instead, he quickly locked his phone and glared at me with anger.

“I just went to the office for a bit. Was this little stakeout necessary?

“What? You don’t trust me now?” His voice climbed, a classic tactic.

“God, how pathetic can you get? Why not just implant a GPS tracker in my skull while you’re at it?”

What a joke.

It was always like this. He made the mistake, yet somehow he managed to shift the blame onto me every single time. And I, the fool, would end up questioning myself.

I didn’t bother to argue. “I have something to tell you. Let’s talk at home,” I said flatly.

I turned to leave, but pain shot through my wrist as Dario yanked me back with brutal force.

His grip was so strong and sudden that I fell to my knees, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

A sharp, blinding pain rippled through me, leaving me frozen in place.

Instinctively, I clutched my belly, my voice barely a whisper.

“Hospital… take me to the hospital.”

Dario looked down at me, irritation clouding his eyes.

“It’s just a fall. Is that really necessary? Get up. You’re not a child. Stop pretending to be so fragile.”

But the pain kept getting worse. I couldn’t even form words anymore.

Maybe it was the sweat pouring down my face, or the fact that I couldn’t raise my head, but for the first time, a flicker of panic flashed across Dario’s face.

He finally bent down and scooped me into his arms.

“Fine, I’m sorry. But if you hadn’t walked away mid-conversation, this wouldn’t have happened. There’s medicine at home. I’ll take you back.”

He laid me on the sofa after we got home, and then looked for the medicine box.

After a while, he returned and asked, “Where did you put the ointment?”

I looked at him weakly.

“You took it,” I said, my voice hoarse.

A few days ago, Fran had caught a mild cold.

Without a second thought, Dario had taken the entire medicine box I’d carefully prepared for myself and handed it over to her.

Perhaps he remembered because a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes as he looked at my pale face.

“I’ll take you to the hospital now,” he said.

But just as he grabbed his car keys and helped me toward the door, his phone lit up.

A WhatsApp message with the ID “Fran the Fairy” appeared.

[Thanks for the Birkin, Dario! I’m obsessed!

[You stayed so late with me… Will Clea be mad? I know she has a temper.

[My stomach hurts again without you here with me…]

Dario’s expression changed instantly.

Guilt flickered in his eyes as he glanced at me.

I clutched his hand. “I’m pregnant. Please, just take me to the hospital—”

But suddenly, he flung my hand off with a force that stunned me.

“You’ve really lost it,” he spat. “Faking a pregnancy to compete with a girl half your age?

“After all these years, suddenly you’re pregnant? Right when Fran needs me? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

His gaze raked over me as disappointment clouded his face.

“Look at yourself! Suspicious, jealous, and always imagining the worst.

“You’re nothing like the thoughtful woman you used to be. You grew up on the streets, Clea.

“You could never compare to someone like Fran, who has wealth and grace.

“If you have the energy to make up lies, you’re clearly not that sick.

“Stay home, reflect on yourself, and clean up the place before I get back. And don’t call me.”

The door slammed shut behind him as silence swallowed the room.

Then I felt a wet warmth between my legs.

The life inside me was slipping away.

With the last of my strength, I reached for my phone and called my best friend, Lina Lester.