"Just give me a few more days."
When she returned to the hospital room, I had just ended the call.
She caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips, something she hadn’t seen in a long time. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her chest tightened.
But she had already promised Knox she'd go with him to pick out a crib.
There was no time to ask who I had been talking to. Maybe she thought it was that cousin who dropped by from time to time. After all, ever since marrying her, I’d been left with no friends of my own.
Snatching up her documents, she turned without looking back and said coolly, "Milo, there’s something at the office. I’ll come again tomorrow."
Tomorrow came and went. So did the day after, and the day after that. But she never showed up.
Instead, through mutual friends, I kept receiving clips of her with Knox.
She brought him to parties, dinners, and high-profile events, like a girl newly in love, eager to parade her man before the world.
The day I was discharged from the hospital, she posted a nine-photo grid on social media.
At sunset, she stood atop a romantic hot air balloon, passionately kissing Knox.
I left a comment. [Wishing you both a lifetime of love and a baby on the way.]
Ten minutes later, she called.
I didn’t pick up.
Half an hour later, after handling the discharge alone, I passed by the entrance of the obstetrics department, only to see her and Knox standing there.
At the consultation desk, I overheard a young nurse say brightly, “Ms. Deveraux, your husband really dotes on you. He never lets you come alone. Even during your ultrasounds, he warms the coupling gel himself so it doesn’t feel cold on your belly.”
The mothers waiting nearby all looked on with envy.
For a fleeting moment, I thought we once had a child, too. But she had ended that pregnancy behind my back.
That very day, Knox sent me a voice message, “Giselle lost a bet to me. From now on, she’s only allowed to have children for me.”
I hadn’t even responded yet; not a minute later, she called.
No explanations. No questions.
Just curses. She called me petty. Unbelievably stupid.
And then she screamed, “Milo, a loser like you has no right to have children with me. If I ever do have a baby, it’ll be with someone with better genes!”
…
Snapping back to reality, I was about to walk away when she suddenly strode over, her face cold as ice.
“Why are you just standing there like an idiot?”
I lowered my gaze, instinctively trying to explain, “I wasn’t following you two. It really was just a coincidence. Sorry to bother you.”
“Wait.”
She frowned as she spoke, and I noticed a flicker of jealousy in Knox’s eyes.
Tightening his hold on her waist, Knox smiled and said, “Mr. Thatcher, I really appreciate your blood donation. Without you, I’d probably still be lightheaded. President Deveraux, why don’t we invite Mr. Thatcher to come home with us?”
She gave Knox a satisfied glance before replying, “The kindest man in the world, whatever you say, Knox.”
I had originally planned to grab my luggage and leave, so I didn’t object to his ‘kind’ invitation.
Inside the spacious black car, just as Knox had hoped, I soon spotted a lacy pair of women’s underwear wedged in a seat gap.
“Huh? This. Why is this still in the car? Giselle, I must’ve forgotten to take care of it.”
Knox looked flustered as he grabbed the panties, quickly tucking them into his inner pocket.
She playfully punched his chest a few times, all while subtly observing my reaction.
But when she saw that I wasn’t angry at all, that same sense of frustration she had felt back in the hospital room crept up on her once again.
“Milo, ever since you got in the car, you’ve been glued to your phone.”
