Chapter 3

In the half-month after returning from New York, Ashley became incredibly cautious.

She took care of all the housework, came home on time, and reported every little detail.

She bought pregnancy guides and prenatal education books, and in the evenings, leaning against the headboard, she'd caress her still-flat stomach and read stories in the gentle voice she used as a psychologist.

"Our baby will definitely be the happiest child in the world."

Her eyes sparkled, just like they used to.

But shadows, they always followed.

Her phone started receiving missed calls from unknown numbers.

She'd glance at it, annoyed, then hang up and block the number.

"It's probably him, using different numbers. He's like a persistent shadow."

She explained, but a flicker of something imperceptible crossed her eyes.

Then came burner account requests on social media, validation messages pouring out his heart:

"Dr. Ashley, I know I shouldn't disturb your happiness, but without you, my world is bleak; I can't even pick up a paintbrush..."

She rejected the request right in front of me, but her fingertip lingered on the message for a moment.

That day, after her prenatal check-up, the baby was healthy, its heartbeat strong.

I tried to immerse myself in the slight joy of becoming a father, walking out of the hospital arm-in-arm with her.

Her phone rang again. It was Dr. Pete, Lucas's new attending physician.

"Dr. Ashley, sorry to bother you. Lucas is severely resistant to treatment. He mentioned some... details about his childhood abuse that only you know, which are crucial for diagnosis. Could you perhaps..."

Ashley walked aside, speaking in a low voice for a long time.

When she returned, her forehead was deeply furrowed, and her face looked troubled.

"Work stuff?" I asked, that flicker of joy in my heart shrouded in a thin mist.

"Yeah, just a minor issue." She tried to put her arm around me, but her arm felt stiff.

That night, I woke up thirsty, and the space beside me was empty.

A faint light came from the living room.

Ashley sat on the sofa, staring at her phone screen, her fingers gently caressing her stomach, her face pale in the glow of the screen.

It was Lucas's Ins burner account, updated just ten minutes ago:

"If the care was fake, what was the warmth before? This world might as well plunge into complete darkness."

She was so engrossed that she didn't even notice me approach.

In that moment, I suddenly remembered my junior year of college when I had acute gastroenteritis, vomiting and diarrhea. She had watched over me then, staying up all night.

But now, she was watching over another man's sorrowful ramblings.

A strong sense of unease settled in my heart.