I killed the screen before she could reach for it and looked up at her.
“I haven't even asked you anything yet. No need to rush into an explanation.”
Angela's hand froze in midair. Her throat bobbed.
“Don't overthink this.”
“Whatever happened between Carter and me, that's ancient history.”
“Once the baby's born, I'll take you on a trip. You've always wanted to see the Northern Lights in Iceland, right?”
“Besides, if there were really something going on between us, we'd have a kid in middle school by now. You think it would've waited until today?”
She reached for my hand. I pulled away, just enough.
I looked at her and let a small smile form.
“Yeah. You're right.”
Angela blinked, caught off guard. She took it as surrender, and the tension in her voice eased.
“See? Don't keep spiraling over nothing.”
“Carter's always running his mouth. He posts whatever he wants without thinking. Don't stoop to his level.”
I nodded. My voice came out flat, without a single ripple.
“It doesn't matter to me anymore.”
Angela frowned slightly, clearly reading it as me being petty.
She glanced at the time, then grabbed her car keys.
“Alright, stop sulking.”
“I've got things to do this afternoon. I'll be back later and we can have dinner together.”
The door clicked shut. The room went quiet again.
I stared at the mango mousse cake on the table, then slowly picked up my phone and sent my lawyer a message：
“Go ahead and start the proceedings.”
At three that afternoon, I sat in a consultation room at the hospital.
Sunlight through the window was sharp enough to sting.
The doctor finished reviewing the file, looked up at me, and spoke evenly：
“Mr. Swanson, terminating a pregnancy requires the mother's own consent.”
“As the husband, you can accompany her and sign some of the paperwork, but you can't make that decision for her.”
I nodded.
I'd known before I came.
It was Angela's body.
Even if I hated her, even if I no longer wanted this child, it wasn't my place to put her on that operating table.
But I came anyway.
Because I needed to hear it said out loud, clearly, before I could kill the last scrap of hope still breathing inside me.
The doctor slid the papers back across the desk and softened her voice：
“If the two of you are just having marital difficulties, I'd suggest working on the relationship first.”
“A child shouldn't be caught in the crossfire.”
I lowered my eyes. My fingers curled tighter, knuckle by knuckle.
It wasn't crossfire.
I finally understood that once this child was born, Angela and I would never be able to cut clean.
My phone buzzed against the table.
The screen lit up. A message from Angela：
“Babe, I just picked out a gold locket for the baby.”
“It's so delicate. He's going to love it someday.”
I stared at those two lines until my vision blurred.
I thought of the day we found out she was pregnant.
When the lab results were placed in my hands, Angela went still for a second, and the next her eyes were red.
She threw her arms around me and laughed in the middle of the living room like a kid.
“I'm going to be a mom?”
“Lucius, I'm going to be a mom!”
That night she lay against my shoulder and talked for hours.
Said she wanted the nursery painted pale blue. Or maybe soft yellow.
Said I should be the one to pick the name.
Said no matter how busy things got, she'd always come home on time for me and the baby.
I believed every word.
I thought this child would warm all the places between us that had gone cold.
But now the same woman was texting me photos of gold lockets while leaving traces of ambiguous nights all over Carter Simmons' social media.
Sincerity and betrayal, living behind the same face.
I pressed the screen dark and said quietly to the doctor：
