Troy came home early that evening. No overtime. By six, he was back. Rain-soaked, he tossed his coat straight into the washing machine and walked into the study, where I was painting. A faint smile played on his lips as he stepped up behind me, leaning in for a kiss.

I dodged him again.

"Felicia, have you been avoiding me these past few days?" His eyes flickered to my stomach. "Is the baby behaving? You haven't had much morning sickness lately."

Of course, there was no more morning sickness. Because there was no baby.

I let out a cold chuckle, then froze. A vivid red mark stained his neck. Even though he'd washed his coat, the cloying scent of cheap perfume still lingered.

My voice was calm, almost amused. "Step back. You're making me nauseous again."

Feigning sickness, I left the study and locked myself in the bathroom. Finally, I could exhale. How pathetic was this marriage that I'd resorted to pretending?

Later that night, as we lay in bed, Troy suddenly said, "Felicia, how about I take you to your check-up tomorrow?"

My gaze shifted to his phone on the coffee table. I smiled, but my words were indifferent. "Doubt you'll have time. Louise booked a couples' hotel for you two tomorrow."

His face darkened. He grabbed his phone, typing furiously. Almost immediately, Louise called, her voice thick with sobs. "Mr. Angelo, I was wrong! Please don't block me!"

Troy snapped, "I told you, if you ever said anything inappropriate again and upset my wife, you'd be fired!" He hung up and turned to me, his expression full of false sincerity.

"Felicia, she was drunk and talking nonsense."

I almost laughed. Did he really expect me to buy that?

Before I could speak, his phone buzzed again. A video. Louise stood in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin, her figure enticing. A group of men loomed in the background. Through her fake tears, she whimpered, "Mr. Angelo, please... they've been following me... I'm scared."

Troy shot to his feet. "Felicia, I need to step out for a bit."

I smiled, my voice light. "Go ahead. Saving a life comes first."

Relieved, he grabbed his keys and bolted. No coat. No hesitation.

I simply sat back down and picked up my brush. This wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

He didn't return until past midnight. By then, I had framed my painting and gone to bed. Half-asleep, I felt him wrap an arm around me.

"Felicia, I know you're upset. But don't worry. I'm firing Louise. Once I hand things over at the company, I'll be home with you full-time during the pregnancy. How does that sound?"

If my eyes weren't shut, I might've laughed out loud. Did he really believe his own lies? Or did he know I was pretending to sleep, hoping I'd fall for this act like always?

The next morning, I slept until ten. When I turned over, I saw Troy standing in the doorway, wearing an apron.

"Awake, sleepyhead? Come have breakfast."

I sat up, startled. He didn't go to work?

The table was covered with an extravagant spread, pancakes, fresh fruit, bacon, scrambled eggs, even fresh orange juice.

Troy pulled a velvet box from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a diamond the size of a pigeon egg. His voice was soft, almost pleading. "Felicia, I know I've neglected you. You went through over ten rounds of IVF for me. You endured the morning sickness, the pain... From now on, I want to make it up to you."

I didn't take the ring. Instead, unease settled in my chest.

Why now? Had he figured out I was planning to leave?

That day, he stayed with me. We ate breakfast together. Watched a movie. Visited an art exhibition. For a moment, I almost believed we were back to those early years. When he used to hold my hand, whispering promises of forever. But it was too late for that now.

At dinner, I made my move. "Let's go to that restaurant with the long lines tonight."

He smiled. "Of course."

Maybe he had forgotten what day it was, our sixth wedding anniversary. It would be our last meal together.

But in the end, he didn't show up.

Louise called again, and Troy, predictably, chose to leave.

"Felicia, don't misunderstand," he said in a rush. "She's threatening to jump off the company building. I have to go calm her down."

I had already checked his phone. There was no jumping. Louise had sent a message: I'm pregnant. If you don't give me a proper title, I'll jump, with our baby. If I go down, I'm taking you with me.

I didn't argue. Didn't fight. Didn't beg.

That night, he never came home.

By morning, I was gone.

I packed my bags, left behind what needed to stay, and placed a note on the coffee table. Then, I boarded my flight, leaving the city behind.

When Troy finally returned, he even adjusted his expression before stepping inside, as if rehearsing his apology.

But when he opened the door, the house was empty. Cold. Silent.

"Felicia? Felicia!"

He searched every room, growing frantic. Then, he saw it, the note on the coffee table, next to a small glass jar.

Inside was a tiny, almost fully formed embryo.

The letter read:

Troy, by the time you read this, I'll be long gone. Don't bother looking for me.

Your child is gone. I've signed the divorce papers.

Wishing you and Louise a long, happy life together.

Farewell forever.

Troy froze. The blood drained from his face. His hands trembled as he reached for the jar, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.