My best friend invited me to stay over at her place, but while preparing for pregnancy I forgot to bring my folic acid.
“Kelly, where do you keep your folic acid? I’ll take two pills.”
She handed me the bottle. When I opened it, I realized that although it was the same brand, the pills inside looked completely different.
My folic acid was always prepared by my husband, William Harris.
Clutching my bag, I rushed home and slipped quietly through the door.
William had always been restrained, only touching me during my ovulation days, even while we were trying to conceive.
But there he was, in our bedroom, losing control in front of a photo of his childhood sweetheart, Sophia Reed.
I silently covered my mouth and retreated to the living room, pretending to look for something.
Hearing the noise, he quickly cleaned up and walked out.
“Anna? Didn’t you say you were staying at Kelly’s tonight? Why did you suddenly come back?”
I masked my panic and replied calmly:
“I dropped the folic acid I brought with me on the way, so I came back to grab a new bottle.”
William smiled as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.
“Our future baby will be so happy knowing that Mommy cares this much.”
Once upon a time, I would have felt blessed by such words.
But recalling the sounds of pleasure he had just made alone in that room, my eyes burned red.
Every time he was with me, he treated it like a cold obligation, utterly without feeling.
He claimed he was born indifferent, yet facing Sophia’s photo could bring him such joy.
I forced a smile and gently pushed him away.
“Alright, where’s the folic acid? I’ll grab it myself.”
The dim light hid my expression.
He guided me to the couch tenderly.
“Small things like this, let your husband handle.”
I nodded, watching his back as he fetched the pills, silently memorizing the cabinet’s location.
William handed me the folic acid, but the seal had already been broken.
I poured out two pills.
Still not the same as Kelly’s.
He brought me some water. I asked tentatively:
“Is this brand of folic acid only made in one formula?”
He nodded.
“Of course. This is already the best and most expensive folic acid on the market.”
“Don’t worry, honey. If I prepared it, it’s safe.”
So I swallowed the pills.
The wall clock was about to strike eleven.
Sure enough, William’s phone rang right on time.
It was Sophia.
I’d been trying to conceive for two months, and she had returned from abroad at exactly the same time.
From her very first day back, every night at eleven, she would call and ask William to sleep beside her.
At first, I argued and even threatened: if William stepped out the door, he shouldn’t bother coming back.
But he always coaxed me gently:
“Anna, Sophia has needed me to stay by her side since childhood. During all those years abroad, she couldn’t sleep without me. Now that she’s back, I can’t just ignore her insomnia.”
When I refused, he promised:
“I’ll only stay with her for three months, I swear. Once the time is up, I’ll never go again.”
“And besides, I told you—Sophia has a phobia of men. Nothing will ever happen between us.”
After hanging up, he kissed my forehead, grabbed his coat, and left.
Tonight, I was glad he went out quickly—because I wanted to see what he had really replaced my folic acid with.
When I opened that cabinet, I tried to comfort myself:
Maybe he secretly swapped it with a more expensive supplement, afraid I wouldn’t buy it for myself.
Inside were several unopened bottles of folic acid. I opened one.
It was exactly the same as Kelly’s.
But behind those bottles, there was another one—unlabeled, no packaging, not even a production date.
