His anger flared instantly.
“Claire, get it through your head! You’ve been with me for ten years–you’re used goods. Do you really think anyone else would want you?”
He sneered, adding, “Don’t forget, you’re still carrying my child!”
Then, almost casually, he threw in, “Fine, we can divorce. But you’ll have to get rid of the baby first.”
He knew my health was fragile, that conceiving this child had been a near miracle. He also knew how much I loved children and yearned for a complete family. He was certain I wouldn’t dare give up this hard–won pregnancy.
But what he didn’t know was this: while he and Anne had been frolicking on their romantic getaway–cuddling on endless stretches of blue ocean, locking love tokens on scenic bridges–our child was already gone.
I watched him with a faint sense of amusement as he smugly assumed he still held all the
cards.
“Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if we divorced and made room for her?”
“Claire, don’t be so disgusting! How many times do I have to tell you? She’s gravely ill. I’m just fulfilling her dying wish!”
Anne pulled out a small gift box from her bag and timidly offered it.
“Claire, I really only see Evan as a friend. Please don’t misunderstand. Look, I even
brought you a gift!”
Evan affectionately patted her head, looking pleased.
“See how thoughtful Anne is, Claire? Why can’t you be more like her?”
When he noticed I’d paused my packing, he assumed I was hesitating, unwilling to let go of the baby. His tone grew even more triumphant.
