Five months into my pregnancy, my husband Kenneth Fernsby had missed four consecutive prenatal appointments for the sake of his precious first love, Shannon Rowe.
And now, the fifth time–he stood me up again.
His voice was laced with cold irritation over the phone. “The kid isn’t just my responsibility. Can’t you handle this alone as the mother? Will it die without me?”
I didn’t respond. My gaze was fixed on the hospital lobby screen showing footage of him smiling tenderly at Shannon.
A soft hum was all I could manage.
Kenneth sensed something off, but I hung up before he could probe further.
A nurse approached after gossiping about Kenneth’s extravagant fireworks display for Shannon.
“Ms. Parker, prenatal exams are this way-”
I shook my head. My voice stayed flat. “Cancel my appointments. Schedule an abortion for next week.”
Later, Kenneth found me sitting dazed by the roadside.
On the giant screen across the commercial plaza, a video of Kenneth and Shannon was playing.
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the fireworks, appearing like a loving couple.
Kenneth suddenly blocked my view with his cold expression and yanked me to my feet.
“What the hell are you doing sitting out here at night? So I missed your appointment–big deal! Why can’t you just be more reasonable for once?”
I froze slightly. Over the past two years of our marriage, the phrase I had heard the most was “be reasonable.”
Wanting to see his phone? I was being unreasonable.
Do you want to go with him to public events? Still unreasonable.
Even asking him to come to a prenatal checkup–he called that unreasonable too.
In the past, I would’ve groveled with apologies.
But now, staring at my swollen belly, I was done being reasonable.
When I brushed past him silently, Kenneth snapped.
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
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“The photo studio.”
Kenneth froze when he heard that.
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The only two things I had ever asked of him were to accompany me to prenatal checkups and take maternity photos.
Yet, he hadn’t remembered either.
Guilt flickered across his face as he drove us to the photo studio.
“I’ve been… distracted lately. Cut me some slack.”
I almost laughed–he had an excellent memory.
He remembered Shannon’s birthday, her favorite snacks, and even the release dates of each of her works.
There were dozens–maybe hundreds–of them.
His amnesia only applied to me.
While I was lost in thought, he drove us to the destination.
As I looked up, my blood turned to ice. It was Shannon’s studio.
I’d known since she returned to New York that Kenneth had handpicked this location for her.
Decade Romance–the shop name memorialized their ten–year love story.
They were childhood sweethearts separated when Shannon chased her European dreams.
In a fit of frustration, Kenneth married me. But two years into our marriage, Shannon came back.
After one rain–soaked encounter, Kenneth forgave her–and the two resumed their old love story in full view of the
world.
Overnight, I became the third wheel.
But this half–cooked marriage… I no longer wanted to swallow it down.
My hand clenched tightly around the car door, but before I could refuse, Kenneth had already pulled me inside.
Shannon immediately came forward to greet us. She had an elegant figure, her long black hair tied into a casual bun, which was both graceful and effortlessly chic.
Compared to my haggard face and swollen limbs, we were like heaven and earth.
The assistant, who clearly had seen Kenneth often, grinned and said, “Here to see Shannon again? You’re basically her boyfriend at this point.”
Kenneth stiffened, shooting me a panicked glance.
Shannon let out a soft “ah” and turned to scold the assistant, “Don’t talk nonsense. This is his wife.”
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She then turned to smile at me. “Don’t mind her. She’s young and speaks without thinking.”
After that, she began showing me dresses.
Throughout it all, I remained indifferent. Shannon glanced at me several times, and when she saw that I wasn’t giving her the reaction she wanted to see, the corner of her mouth curled in subtle mockery.
My eyes settled on a long gown in front of me. It was pearl white–serene and elegant.
Just as I was about to try it on, Kenneth reached out and stopped me.
He said in a low voice, “Pick another one.”
