Oscar had two faces. I was finally starting to see them clearly. That truly hurt my heart.
I pulled my hand away from his grasp, refusing to respond to anything he said. He didn’t seem angry. Instead, he started taking care of me during my hospital stay, acting attentive and gentle.
But I couldn’t shake the unease. Something was definitely wrong. Oscar’s sudden kindness didn’t sit right with me. It felt like the calm before a storm.
In the meantime, his parents quickly found out about the loss of the baby. They were devastated, not for me or the child, but for themselves. They called me in tears, lamenting the loss of their grandson and rushed over to see me.
But I could see that their true concern was whether or not I could still get pregnant.
I overheard them talking with Oscar outside my hospital room. Their voices were hushed, but I caught enough to understand the gist of their conversation. Eventually, Oscar came into the room, his expression carefully neutral.
“Baby,” he began, his voice soft but rehearsed. “My mother said the wedding date should be postponed now that... well, now that you’re no longer pregnant. They think we should increase the dowry by 500,000 yuan to make sure we can afford IVF in the future.”
The doctor had specifically told me to avoid stress, but how could I not feel angry after hearing this? I clenched my arm hard, the pain grounding me, helping me keep my composure.
“Talk about marriage now?” I said, my voice trembling with controlled fury. “I’ve already given 500,000 dollars for the wedding. Where am I supposed to get more money?”
At that moment, Oscar’s parents burst into the room. They didn’t come to comfort me or offer support. Instead, they scolded me relentlessly.
They called me a parasite, accusing me of leeching off Oscar. They said I was a cruel woman who couldn’t even protect my own child. They painted me as ungrateful, heartless, and a disgrace for being unable to bear children.
Not once did they mention Oscar’s faults.
They conveniently forgot that I had been the one to help Oscar get his current job by asking a senior from my university to recommend him to a well-known company. Without me, he would still be unemployed. When Oscar’s parents learned this, they didn’t thank me. Instead, they saw it as proof that I was lucky to have Oscar.
Their entitlement knew no bounds. They expected me to support his entire family, even his extended relatives. During New Year’s and other holidays, I was told to prepare fancy gifts for his nephews and nieces.
I swallowed my discomfort back then, convincing myself it was worth it because of their supposed kindness.
But now, Oscar sided with them.
“Baby, my mother is right,” he said, his tone annoyingly calm.
“You should listen and talk it over with your family.”
I stared at him, my heart breaking with every word.
“Let’s break up,” I said.
He didn’t take me seriously.
“Don’t be silly,” he replied with a nervous laugh.
“I’ll stay with you during this time.”
I turned my head away, repeating my words firmly, “Let’s break up.”
Oscar refused to accept it. He looked almost desperate, reminding me of how things used to be.
“Where am I going to find another woman like you?” he asked, as though that should make me change my mind.
“You’re beautiful, you take care of me, and you’ve done so much for me and my family.”
It sounded logical, almost reasonable. But I wasn’t swayed this time. My resolve was set.
I contacted my parents and told them I’d be returning home. Watching the fallen leaves outside the hospital window, I finally felt a sense of peace. Oscar stayed by my side during my hospital stay, acting like a doting partner. But I was no longer fooled.
