My wife is six months pregnant, but she insists on a business trip out of town. I begged her not to go. For the baby’s sake. She reassured me, saying if she earns more now, I’ll have it easier. While helping her pack her underwear bag, a phone I’d never seen before fell out. The screen flickered. A private message popped up. “You’re such a dirty girl. Even knocked up and you still can’t behave?” I stared at the contact name for five seconds. The contact was saved as “Master.” And I was saved as “Chump.” … The bathroom door opened. I panicked and shoved the backup phone back to the bottom of her suitcase, burying it under layers of clothes. Steam poured out. Samantha stepped out wrapped in a towel, her face flushed pink from the heat. Her skin was pale. Pregnancy had made her curvier. Her cheeks had a rosy glow. By all appearances, she was the picture of a happy mother-to-be. She walked over, reaching out to touch my forehead. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” I instinctively stepped back, dodging her hand. Samantha’s hand froze mid-air. A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well.” I forced out a smile uglier than crying. “Had a nightmare. I’m worried this trip will be too much for you.” Samantha relaxed and lowered her hand, giving me a playful eye-roll. “I told you it’s fine. The client is really nice. Why are you more nervous than me?” She sat on the edge of the bed and started drying her hair. Looking at her swollen belly, that thorn in my heart twisted again. Five years together. That’s my wife. Carrying my child. I still couldn’t give up. I wanted to give her one last chance. If she’d turn back now, for the baby’s sake, maybe I could pretend I never saw that phone. “Honey, do you really have to go?” I crouched in front of her, looking up, my voice already begging. “I’m not afraid of hard work. I can deliver food. Drive for Uber.” “As long as you stay home and rest, I’ll do anything.” “Please don’t go. Okay?” Samantha stopped drying her hair. She lowered her eyes and sighed. “Babe, I already signed the contract with the client. If I back out now, we’d owe three times the penalty fee.” She adjusted the towel wrapped around her body, shifting to expose her calf. I stared at that spot. Above her knee, there was a coin-sized bruise. Purplish-blue. For the past two months, she’d been locking the bathroom door. She wouldn’t even let me in to deliver clean clothes. The occasional glimpse of her arms and thighs always showed unexplained bruises. Last week, it was on the inside of her left thigh. The week before, her arm. Every time I asked with concern, she had perfect excuses. “The bathroom’s so slippery. I bumped into something.” “Hit the corner of my desk. You know how clumsy pregnant women get.” I believed her. My heart ached for her. I covered our entire bathroom with non-slip mats. I bought foam bumpers and padded every sharp corner in the house. I wished I could turn myself into cotton and wrap her in it. Turns out I really am cotton. A wad of cotton people use to wipe their ass. What kind of bump leaves a mark on the inner thigh? What kind of slip produces bruises that look like finger marks from someone squeezing hard? I stared at her calf. My stomach churned. Samantha seemed to notice my gaze. She pulled the towel down to cover her leg. She walked over and naturally wrapped her arms around my neck, smelling of body wash. She buried her face in my neck and nuzzled. “Babe, blow-dry my hair for me.” “I leave early tomorrow morning. I want you to spend more time with me.” If this were yesterday, I would’ve thought this was a sweet burden. Now I just felt disgusted. Every hair on my body stood on end. I stiffly picked up the hair dryer, running my fingers through her hair. Hot air roared, covering my rapid breathing. What am I to her? A sucker who provides a paycheck and a stable life? “How many days this time?” I turned off the dryer. My voice was so cold it scared me. “Three days. I’ll be back Sunday.” Samantha turned around and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing my hand to her belly. “You’re gonna miss us, right? Me and the baby?” My hand rested on the curve of her stomach. “Yeah. I will.” Six months along. Is it even mine?
Once that thought took root, I couldn’t bury it. “The client—man or woman?” I tried to sound casual, turning to fold clothes. “A man. Some old guy in his fifties. So annoying.” Samantha complained as she stood up to grab the storage bag. My heart jumped to my throat. She opened the bag, checked it, but didn’t dig to the bottom layer. “These are maternity sets. So comfortable.” She muttered to herself, sealed the bag, and put it in the suitcase. I turned to pour water, avoiding her eyes. Afraid I’d lose it and slap her across the face. “Babe, did you pack that pregnancy oil? I’ll need it there too.” She smiled and walked over, hugging me from behind, her hand rubbing her belly. “The baby just moved. You wanna feel?” Her chest pressed against my back. I felt no warmth. Just a snake wrapped around me. She lied. Without hesitation. Like it was nothing. That kind of composure doesn’t develop overnight. I gripped the water glass. My knuckles turned white. “Yeah.” I took a sip of water, but all I tasted was bitterness. “Get some rest. You have a flight tomorrow.” I pulled away from her embrace, got into bed, and lay with my back to her. That night, I listened to her breathing, eyes open until dawn. In these five years, how much else has she been hiding from me? Her so-called business trips—what the hell has she really been doing? Six a.m. Samantha got up. She put on light makeup. Said she needed to look fresh for the client. She wore a loose trench coat that hid her baby bump. She looked almost girlish. I stood on the balcony, watching her wheel her suitcase to the door. “Babe, I’m leaving. I’ll text you when I land.” She turned at the entrance, blowing me a kiss. I leaned against the doorframe, expressionless, and nodded. “Safe travels.” The moment the door closed, I grabbed my car keys and bolted. I’d already called in sick. Even if the sky fell today, I wasn’t going to work. To avoid being spotted, I didn’t take my usual car. I borrowed my neighbor Rick’s beat-up van, saying I needed it to help a relative move stuff. Samantha didn’t take the subway. She hailed a cab at the gate. I followed from a distance, keeping two car lengths behind. The cab got on the highway, but it wasn’t heading toward the airport. My hands strangled the steering wheel. My knuckles went white from the pressure. I knew this route. It led to the city’s most exclusive wealthy district. Half an hour later, the cab stopped in front of “Skyline,” a private club. I knew this place. Members-only. Annual fees start at hundreds of thousands. Rumor had it they offered every kind of service. Total privacy. Samantha got out of the cab but didn’t go straight in. She stood at the entrance, looking around, then pulled out her phone to text. I parked across the street in the shade, cracking the window open. Even from a distance, I could see the anticipation and excitement on her face. Two minutes later, the club’s main door opened. A tall man in a black suit walked out. The moment Samantha saw him, she jogged over—completely ignoring her six-month pregnancy. She hooked her arm through his with practiced ease. His hand went straight to her waist. Samantha giggled and playfully hit his chest, pressing her body closer. I sat in the car, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head. I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and frantically snapped photos. Who the hell is this guy?
I can barely recognize this face anymore. We first met five years ago. A rainy night. Outside a convenience store. She’d been kicked out by her landlord for not paying rent. She was curled up in a corner, soaked to the bone. I held my umbrella over her and brought her back to my tiny rental. That night, I cooked her instant noodles. She cradled the bowl and drank every drop of broth. She looked up, eyes red, full of trust. “Liam, can I be your wife? Let’s never be apart.” After I got paid, I’d buy her roasted sweet potatoes from a street stand. She’d break one in half and feed it to me, her mouth smudged with ash, her eyes crescent moons when she smiled. That was Samantha when she was with me. Simple, poor, but her eyes shone. She’d hold me from behind, her face pressed to my back, arms around my waist. “Liam! I want to be with you forever!” Three years married. Five years together. I treated her like a princess. I gave her my whole paycheck. Did all the chores. Never forgot a holiday gift. We’d traveled to every corner of the country together. After she got pregnant and her feet swelled, I massaged them for half an hour every night. When she craved the pizza from across town at midnight, I’d drive there without a second thought. I held her in the palm of my hand. And she trampled me into the dirt. I don’t understand. I really don’t. Wasn’t I good to her? Why did Samantha become like this? Just as they were about to enter the building, I sent Samantha a text from my own phone. “Honey, did you get to the airport? Did you get your boarding pass?” Less than a minute later, she replied. A photo of her in an airplane seat. Blue sky and white clouds outside the window. She held a cup of orange juice. No makeup. If I weren’t standing outside the club right now, I would’ve believed it completely. The photo was obviously Photoshopped ahead of time. Or an old one from her gallery. Then came a voice message. I played it. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Just sat down. The baby kicked me. Babe, make sure you eat well, okay?” “Bad signal. I’m turning my phone off. I’ll text you when I land.” I listened to that voice message over and over. She’s got one man on her arm while pacifying the fool at home. Does she get off on playing two men like this? I let out a cold laugh. But tears betrayed me, streaming down my face. I wiped my face and pulled up the tracking app on the backup phone. Last night, while she slept, I’d installed a hidden GPS program on that phone. I didn’t dare check the chat history. Afraid I’d lose control and strangle her on the spot. Even if she was just sexting people online, for the baby’s sake, I could play dumb. The red dot blinked. The location showed she was in the building right in front of me. Moving fast. The dot finally stopped on the 8th floor.
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