“I don't want the baby. And I want a divorce.”
The message had barely sent before my father's call came through.
His voice was low and cold.
“Finally come to your senses?”
“Your mother and I never thought Angela was right for you.”
“The Pruitt name carries weight, sure, but that girl was put on a pedestal her whole life, and she's kept Carter Simmons attached to her hip the entire time. A so-called 'best friend' with no boundaries.”
“A woman like that is too restless. She was never going to hold a marriage together.”
“We only stepped back because you loved her.”
“Now that you've woken up, it's not too late.”
My mother took the phone, her tone aching but resolute：
“I'm sending someone to pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”
“The divorce attorney is already on his way.”
“As for the baby, I know you can't let go easily.”
“But once that child is born, you and Angela will be tangled together for life.”
“A marriage like this, the sooner you cut it, the better off you'll be.”
The next morning, I woke to the sound of the front door unlocking.
Angela walked in carrying a paper bag, her expression unusually soft.
“You're up? I got you a little cake.”
She pushed the box toward me, her voice sweet like she was coaxing a child.
“Isn't this place your favorite?”
I looked down. Mango mousse.
My stomach turned instantly.
I'm allergic to mango. Bad reactions. The kind where my throat closes up.
I stared at that slice of mango mousse, and a flood of small, razor-sharp memories surfaced.
Carter doesn't eat green onions. She remembered that.
Every time they ordered food, she'd say it before anything else：“No green onions in his.”
Iced Americanos give Carter stomach cramps. She remembered that too.
On rainy days, she'd order him a hot latte ahead of time, with a note for less sugar.
Carter's red-eye flight lands at 1 AM. She remembered that.
I'd seen the reminders on her phone more than once.
【Carter 01：20 landing. Temperature drop. Remind him to bring a jacket.】
Down to the minute.
Meanwhile, the fact that mango could kill me? Three years in, and she still forgot.
She must have seen my face, because her hand froze mid-motion and a flicker of embarrassment crossed her expression.
“I……grabbed the wrong one.”
She quickly dug another box out of her bag, rushing to recover.
“Here, look at this instead. I passed by the store and picked it up for you.”
“You said you liked this watch, remember?”
She opened the box. A beautiful wristwatch.
It was the exact one I'd wanted for a long time.
A few months ago, I would have forgiven her on the spot, eyes stinging with gratitude.
Now, all I felt was tired.
I pushed the box back toward her.
“Just leave it.”
Angela frowned：“You're still doing this?”
I didn't answer. I picked up my phone.
The screen lit up and the group chat notifications hit me immediately.
The same familiar group name, “The Crew”. Caspar Matthews had posted a photo grid.
A man's dress shirt, a woman's skirt, black lace underwear, all scattered across the floor.
The chat blew up instantly.
“Holy shit, who was Carter with last night?”
“Looks like it got intense?”
“Details, details. How many rounds?”
Carter replied, slow and smug：
“Obviously.”
“Nearly killed me.”
“Someone acts all classy and intellectual in public. Behind closed doors? Whole different story.”
A wall of smirking emojis followed.
Then he sent one more message：
“@Angela Pruitt You make it home okay?”
“Did your hubby like the watch you picked out for him?”
I stared at those words. The cold crept into my fingers one joint at a time.
So even the apology gift was Carter's idea.
Beside me, Angela's phone buzzed at almost the same moment.
She glanced down, and the color drained from her face. She lunged for my phone.
