A week later, I was finally released from the hospital and went back home.
Lucas had hired a nanny and a professional postpartum caregiver. They were someone who supposedly specialized in looking after pregnant women and new mothers. But when I saw the caregiver, it turned out to be none other than Veronica.
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Veronica wasn’t here to help me, but she was here to monitor me. Clearly, she was afraid that I had run away with the baby.
Lucas even emptied out our master bedroom and gave it to Veronica.
“Pregnant women should stay in smaller rooms. It’s cozier and safer for both mother and child,” he said.
Then, he added smoothly, “The caregiver will need the big room to store all the baby items.”
I bit back the anger that was burning inside me and walked toward the narrow stairwell. Supporting my back, I lay on my side and let my tears fall silently. I had been foolish enough to believe our marriage still meant something.
That night, the baby reminded me it was time to eat. I got up slowly, pushed the door open and froze. On the second-floor landing, Lucas and Veronica were kissing, completely lost in each other.
Their voices echoed through the huge, quiet house. When they finally stopped, Veronica nipped playfully at his lip. Their shamelessness made me feel embarrassed for them.
I cleared my throat softly.
Lucas immediately pushed her away and said, “Go make a healthy dinner for the lady of the house.”
Veronica frowned, asking, “Why would I know how to cook?”
Lucas chuckled and tried to please her as he responded, “Just something simple, darling.”
After that, my husband quickly left as he claimed that had an urgent company meeting.
I sat down at the dining table, waiting for the so-called “nutritious meal” that Veronica was preparing. Five minutes later, she slammed a cup of instant noodles in front of me. The boiling water splashed on my hand, but I stayed quiet.
“Eat up, Ma’am. You’re pregnant, but I still have to wait on you?” she asked as she sneered, dropping her fake sweetness.
“Be grateful I gave you abalone-flavored noodles,” she added while rummaging in the fridge.
My heart ached, but I ate in silence. Meanwhile, Veronica feasted on my Greek yogurt salad bowl and Kobe beef steak that were meant for me. I gently rubbed my belly to calm the uneasy baby and secretly recorded everything with my phone.
After dinner, she ordered me to clean up. I washed her dishes, threw away the scraps and returned to my little corner by the stairs. My stomach felt heavier than ever, ao I could barely keep myself upright.
Once I confirmed that my phone had saved the recording, I finally allowed myself to close my eyes and rest.
Sometime past midnight, I woke to the sound of shouting downstairs.
“I told you I wanted imported macarons delivered within an hour! These taste like spoiled cream!”
“Only a dog would eat this garbage!” Veronica shouted angrily.
“Alright, alright, my lady. I’m sorry. Please go rest,” Lucas said, escorting her upstairs like a servant.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door.
“I brought you a macaron from your favorite brand,” Lucas said gently.
The stairwell was so small that I only had to sit up to open the door. I looked down at the half-eaten macaron in my hand and felt nothing at all. It was clearly Veronica’s leftover, which was something she didn’t want.
Holding it up, I asked lightly as I pretended to wonder, “Honey, what’s this? Did the bakery have a rat problem?”
Lucas’s face went grim in an instant.
“There’s no rat, you pregnant women are just too paranoid!” he shouted impatiently.
The fact that he hid it broke my heart.
