Five months pregnant, the prenatal scan flagged a suspected congenital heart defect in my baby.
I sent the report to my husband, the head of cardiothoracic surgery.
The man who usually took ages to reply answered in a heartbeat this time：
*Do you even need to ask? You don't have an ounce of common sense about having a healthy baby.*
I couldn't bear to let the child go, so I asked him to look at the report more carefully.
He only grew impatient：
*Who told you to be in such a rush to get pregnant?*
*Instead of wasting time on this, get the procedure done, recover properly, and try again later.*
The next second, for the first time ever, he sent me a romantic cash gift through the payment app.
Unwilling to give up, I went to his department, only to catch the back of him as he rushed into the operating room.
He heard me cry out and didn't even turn his head：
“We'll talk when I'm done!”
But I didn't want to wait anymore.
……
I turned to leave, and one of Chester Simmons's interns caught my arm：
“Don't be upset with Dr. Simmons. These past two months he's been run ragged taking care of my mom. Once her surgery's over, he'll finally have time for you and the baby.”
So that was it. For the past two months, all his overtime, all those nights he slept at the hospital for days on end, had been for Claire Delgado's mother.
On the rare night he came home, he dropped straight into bed, too exhausted to even talk to me.
Claire handed me a food container：
“My mom loves the chicken soup you make. She says once she's discharged, she's going to cook you a real meal as a thank-you. You have to let her, okay?”
I looked down at the container, my eyes stinging.
My morning sickness had been brutal, and the only thing I could keep down was the farm chicken my mother shipped to me.
Two months ago, Chester had suddenly started asking me to bring him meals every day.
He made a point of saying to include the chicken soup, or he'd have no appetite.
I teased him about catching my symptoms, and that iceberg of a man pretended to gag a few times and laughed and said yes.
That laugh dazzled me. It made me believe he loved me, and loved the child inside me.
It never once crossed my mind that he wanted the soup so he could pass off my gift as his own.
That he laughed only to cover the lie.
I took the container, turned, and went back to obstetrics, and asked the doctor to schedule the procedure.
Dr. Lawrence looked a little surprised：
“Your husband finished reviewing it already?”
“That can't be right, he never even ordered a follow-up scan. He must've been too busy to look at it for you. Why don't you go to the hospital next door? My old classmate is a cardiothoracic specialist too……”
I gave Dr. Lawrence a bitter smile and turned down her kindness.
It wasn't that Chester had no time to look at it for me. He was simply too busy.
Too busy with his patients, too busy with surgery, too busy caring for Claire and her mother.
A child no one wanted had no reason to come into this world.
After the induced labor, the bleeding wasn't normal, so I had to be admitted.
I was sleeping heavily in the hospital bed when Chester called：
“Aria, where did you go so early? Why aren't you home? You didn't even make the chicken soup!”
I glanced at the time. It was already the next morning.
I couldn't help finding it funny.
He'd been home all night and never noticed I wasn't there.
He only realized it when he was about to head out and needed soup to bring to Claire's mother.
“I'm at the hospital.”
He paused for a beat：
“Another prenatal check today? I'll come keep you company.”
I didn't refuse.
Some things were better said face to face.
Chester came to my bedside, his brow furrowed：
“Aria, beds here are always tight. It's just a prenatal check. How could you use my name to tie up our medical resources like this?”
He looked at how pale my face was and added：
“Don't let it happen again. I'll go handle your discharge.”
I caught his hand and said flatly：
