The girl’s name was Lilly Brock.
A long time ago, I saw her once.
On the day when I had a premonition of being pregnant, Ryan took me to the hospital for a check–up.
Because he was too excited, he accidentally scratched Lilly’s electric bike when he parked.
I urged him to take the girl who lived across the hospital back home first, and I took his phone and added the girl’s contact information.
That night, the girl refused the compensation and asked him, “Is your wife beautiful or am I
beautiful?”
Ryan scolded her, “Are you sick?”
“You were not even as good as one of her toes.”
This book was probably the gift he gave to the girl, followed by a several–thousand–word reflection and commitment letter, along with intermittent words of gratitude.
My temples throbbed, and my gaze shifted downward.
For a brief moment, I could only hear the sound of my own heartbeat, pounding as if it was about to explode.
Ryan viewed me as the matchmaker.
“Lilly, the luckiest thing in my life was when Bella got pregnant. I took her to the hospital and then I
met you.”
I tightly held onto the paper with both hands and continued flipping through it.
When I was experiencing the worst morning sickness, Lilly said, “I’m so young, aren’t you afraid I won’t want you?”
Ryan immediately ordered an engagement ring and personally put it on her finger.
He even lied about having a broken bone and accompanied Lilly to have a wedding abroad, taking seven sets of wedding photos.
I was worried that he would rush home and not take good care of himself, and within just a month, he lost twenty kilograms.
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Chapter 4
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When I was six months pregnant, Lilly complained to Ryan that he had let her down, questioning why love between two people had to be divided into halves.
He handed over the exclusive black card belonging to the president’s wife to the girl.
“I clearly loved you more.”
“After all, my wife didn’t have my black card.”
And I was in my ninth month of pregnancy, about to give birth that night.
Lilly asked him, “Your wife is going to have a baby, are you happy?”
Ryan replied, “Well, I guess I wanted to try your little mouth tonight.”
***
A few seconds later, my stomach churned and I couldn’t stop myself from retching.
I pulled open the drawers one by one.
My headband, my badge, the tie and watch I gave him, even my perfect score test paper from high school, he kept them all intact.
I searched everywhere and finally found the marriage certificate he had hidden at the bottom of the
drawer.
In front of a bright red background, I wore a low–quality headscarf and stiffly leaned on his
shoulder.
We were too nervous at that time, and the expressions on our faces were getting more and more
serious.
At that time, Ryan whispered promises in my ear.
“Bella, when we have paid off our debts, we will go take wedding photos.”
“My Bella, you were definitely the most beautiful bride in the world.”
What did the wedding look like?
Neither Ryan nor I have ever had a wedding.
The wedding photos should have been very beautiful, right?
We didn’t even have a formal group photo.
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A message from an unknown contact suddenly popped up.
“Hello, I’m Ryan’s girlfriend.”
“He said he wanted to marry me.”
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“If you don’t get divorced, how can I get married?”
Lilly’s latest update began one minute ago,
Ryan pinned the person beneath him, lightly gripping the girl’s slender and beautiful neck with one hand.
“Call it out, I want to hear it.”
“Good girl, Lilly, have a baby with me, and I will marry you, hmm?”
And ten minutes ago, Ryan sent me three messages: “Bella, I have to stay at the office and work overtime tonight. You and Jane go to sleep first, don’t wait for me.”
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The two adorable butter bear emojis below are ones I have never used before.
It was late at night.
There were flickering lights outside the window.
I suddenly opened my eyes.
The brilliant fireworks bloomed and converged into several large characters as they fell.
“Bella, happy seventh anniversary.”
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“By the way, Bella, were the fireworks beautiful last night? I personally designed them. There were many times when I couldn’t help but tell you, but when I thought about it being a surprise for our seventh anniversary, I held back.”
He lifted his head, his gaze full of sincerity.
I pursed my lips, covered my stomach, and suppressed the nausea that was about to surge up again.
He, however, thought that I had a stomachache and poured me a glass of warm water.
Then he picked up the bok choy and walked quickly into the kitchen with three steps and two steps.
“Bella, breakfast will be ready soon. Have some hot water to warm your stomach first.”
I didn’t reply, Ryan only thought I was very upset.
Not long after, he pushed a plate of hot spaghetti in front of me and pursed his lips tightly.
“Bella, after all these years, your stomach still hasn’t recovered, it’s all my fault back then…”
When he mentioned it again, I was taken aback.
In the fifth year of marriage, the company touched the interests of other companies.
At the dinner party, a table full of people deliberately made things difficult for Ryan, coincidentally, he had a fever and couldn’t drink alcohol after taking DayQuil.
That was the first time I saw a look of despair on his face.
He laughed so ugly that it was worse than crying, “Bella, I really wanted to give up.
“I couldn’t hold on anymore, I felt so tired.”
I understood the importance of the company to him more than anyone else, so I asked him to leave and apologized to everyone at the table, then opened a bottle of high–proof white wine.
Before this, I did not drink alcohol.
My stomach problem started after that.
When Ryan found me in the restroom cubicle, I was holding my stomach in distress, banging my head against the wall due to a persistent headache.
He burst into tears in an instant, almost crawling to my side,
“Bella, I didn’t want the company anymore, I just wanted you to be with me, as long as you were safe.”
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