I’m Pregnant, But All I Got Was “Aria Collins? I Despise Such Commodities with a Price Tag.” After he got drunk, I found lipstick marks on his shirt collar that weren’t mine. My heart turned to ashes. I terminated our child. On the day of our divorce, I threw down the agreement: “Mr. Bennett, we’re done.” I left everything in our marital home, including his photos. He asked me with reddened eyes: “What about me? Are you leaving me behind too?” Later, Lucas Bennett stopped me in the pouring rain like a madman, pulling out a crumpled prenatal check-up form: “We clearly had a child…” I stood at the hospital entrance, clutching the test results tightly. The late spring breeze, carrying the scent of hospital disinfectant, rushed into my collar. The ultrasound image burned hot in my palm. Three months. It seemed that reckless, drunken night had truly left me with a gift. As the digital lock beeped, the entryway mirror reflected my upturned lips. In my mind, I rehearsed countless times how I should break the news. “Lucas, I’m pregnant.” I kept repeating this phrase in my head. I walked up to the second floor. The door to the study was ajar, and Lucas’s voice, mixed with the soft clink of ice cubes in his whiskey glass, came crashing down. “Aria Collins? I despise such commodities with a price tag.” Standing outside the study, I suddenly turned into a laughable statue, the wedding ring on my ring finger painfully digging into my bone. Three months ago, when he woke up drunk by my side, his tone was just as cold. “I was just drunk.” My nails dug into the edge of the test results, a tear falling onto the paper. So my three years of patience, the entryway light I left on late at night, even the fresh flowers I deliberately changed to match his mood, were all just price tags on a commodity in his eyes. I heard Lucas getting up from his chair in the study. As I quickly left, I knocked over a vase at the corner. Instinctively, I protected my belly. Lucas frowned at me and said, “Is your gastritis acting up again?” I didn’t answer him, only saying, “I’m going back to my family’s place for a few days.” He didn’t ask why, just walked past me, leaving behind one last word. “Troublesome.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard not to let the tears fall.
I stayed in a hotel for five days, staring blankly at my phone screen every day, but Lucas didn’t call even once. Every day, I practiced in my mind how to tell him about the pregnancy, but I kept asking myself: Does he really want this child? In the evening, my phone suddenly vibrated. I almost pounced to answer it, my heart beating so fast it almost jumped out of my throat. But Lucas’s voice was as cold as ever: “Come back to the family estate for dinner tomorrow night.” I gripped the phone tightly, my throat constricting: “Okay.” After hanging up, I stood in front of a pile of clothes, lost in thought. I chose a loose-fitting beige dress that just covered my slightly protruding belly. The lights at the Bennett estate were warm and bright, with Mrs. Bennett already waiting at the door. She affectionately took my arm: “Aria, why have you gotten thinner?” I shook my head with a smile. Although Lucas had no feelings for me, his aunt and uncle were very kind to me. The dining table was full of my favorite dishes, but I couldn’t taste anything. Suddenly, Mr. Bennett put down his chopsticks, his gaze moving back and forth between Lucas and me. “When are you planning to give me a grandchild?” My hand trembled, and the fork made a crisp sound against the porcelain plate. Lucas said without changing his expression, “Dad, we’re too busy with work right now, we haven’t considered it yet.” Mr. Bennett frowned and said, “No matter how busy work is, you need to consider family…” Lucas interrupted him, saying coldly, “Dad, it’s a crucial time for the company right now. A child wouldn’t be appropriate.” I lowered my head, pushing the rice around in my bowl, tears almost falling into the soup. This meal tasted like chewing wax. I could hardly remember what I had eaten. As we walked out of the estate, the night breeze carried the scent of gardenia. I mustered up the courage to speak: “About the child Uncle just mentioned…” Lucas interrupted me, his voice cold as ice: “I don’t want one.” My heart turned to ashes. It wasn’t because of the company or anything else. It was because he didn’t want it. He didn’t want a child with me. I stood still, watching him open the car door. The taillights drew two glaring red lines in the night, just like the blood marks my nails had left on my palm. I touched my belly, where a life that would never be anticipated by him was growing.
No matter what, staying at the hotel indefinitely wasn’t a solution. Regardless, this was Lucas’s child, and he had to know. I stood at the villa’s entrance with my suitcase, taking a deep breath before swiping my card to enter. A strong smell of alcohol hit me, making me cough involuntarily. Mrs. Wilson poked her head out from the kitchen, still holding a bowl of hangover soup. She lowered her voice and told me, “The master got drunk today.” I nodded, leaving my suitcase in the entryway. Three months ago, on that rainy night, he had barged into my room just as drunk. “I’ll go check on him,” I told Mrs. Wilson. I tiptoed upstairs. The study door was slightly ajar. Lucas was slumped in his leather chair with his eyes closed, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. Given how drunk he was tonight, it clearly wasn’t a good time to talk about serious matters. I stood at the door watching him for a while, but eventually just gently closed it. Back in the master bedroom, I put down my bag and headed to the bathroom to freshen up. The bathroom light was still on, and his dirty shirts were piled in the laundry basket. I sighed, bending down to pick up a shirt to throw in the washing machine. Suddenly, a jarring red caught my eye. I froze, my fingers involuntarily tightening. On the shirt collar, a complete lipstick mark was clearly visible, a bright red lipstick, glaringly obvious. I stared at that lipstick mark, suddenly recalling the scene from three months ago. That day, he had come home just as drunk, reeking of alcohol, pinning me against the wall, his hot breath on my ear. Tears fell uncontrollably, landing on the shirt and spreading into a small wet patch. I could only throw the shirt into the washing machine with trembling hands and press the start button. I crouched on the bathroom floor, my heart feeling like it was being cut by a knife. So in his eyes, I was no different from those women. As long as he was drunk, anyone would do. I stood up, leaning against the wall, my legs weak. The person in the mirror was pale, with swollen red eyes. Suddenly, the bathroom door was pushed open. Lucas stood swaying in the doorway, his shirt wrinkled beyond recognition. He squinted at me, his brows furrowed tightly. “You did the laundry for me?” His voice was hoarse. The washing machine’s end-of-cycle alert broke the silence. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and responded to him. “Mm.” Then I left the bathroom without looking back at him again. I went to the garage, sat in the car, trying hard to calm myself. My hand caressed my belly, and I smiled. “Mommy will take you away from this cage.” There were 23 days left until the expiration of my contract with Lucas Bennett.
My hand shook on the steering wheel, tears blurring my vision, forcing me to wipe them away repeatedly. I watched the Bennett family villa grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, finally disappearing into the night. The mechanical female voice of the navigation system announced “City Women’s and Children’s Hospital,” as if reading out the verdict for my marriage to Lucas Bennett. The hospital’s fluorescent lights stung my eyes. The nurse handed me the surgical consent form. I stared at the paper, my fingers trembling so much I could barely hold the pen. I looked up at the waiting area. A poster of a baby was on the wall, those clear big eyes seemed to be watching me. I closed my eyes, remembering how Lucas looked at me every time, with coldness, mockery, and disdain. I signed my name on the consent form, the pen tip scratching across the white paper as if cutting through my flesh and blood. The light in the changing room was stark white. I changed into a hospital gown, the fabric rubbing against my skin causing slight pain. Lying in the operating room, as the anesthesia was pushed into my veins, I heard the metallic clash of instruments. Suddenly, I remembered the scene from our marriage registration day. That day, I was full of joy, finally able to become husband and wife with the person I liked. But Lucas wore sunglasses, impatiently tossing the signing pen to me. Perhaps I should have understood then that this marriage was a mistake from the very beginning. In the ward, morning light leaked through the gaps in the curtains. When I sat up, a wave of intense nausea hit me. I dry heaved at the bedside, tears falling. I touched my belly with trembling hands; there was nothing there anymore. I had thought that three years of marriage would at least earn me a bit of affection from Lucas Bennett, but I was wrong. What I got from him was contempt, disdain, and his infidelity to our marriage. I was thoroughly tired of the Bennett family’s cage. A week later, I left the hospital. As I drove across the river bridge, I rolled down the window and threw out my wedding ring without hesitation. The platinum band traced a silver parabola in the sunlight, and as it plunged into the river, I felt as if I had let go of a great deal. Only 15 days left until I leave the Bennett family.
When I pushed open the villa door, the sensor light in the entryway immediately lit up, the glaring light making me squint instinctively. Lucas was sitting on the living room sofa, holding a finance magazine. I noticed faint dark circles under his eyes. Seven or eight empty coffee cans were scattered at his feet, like some bizarre warning line. Seeing me return, he closed the magazine with a sound like a judge’s gavel. “Where have you been all these days?” I bent down to change into slippers, feeling a dull pain in my lower back from the abortion surgery. “Dealing with some personal matters.” I returned to my room and sat at the dressing table. The drawer was stuck; I yanked it hard, and a photo album slid out, hitting my foot. I sat on the bed and opened the album. The first photo was from our wedding. I was wearing a white wedding dress, a happy smile on my face, while he stood beside me, expressionless, looking at the camera. Flipping further, there was a candid shot of me secretly looking at his profile during a birthday party. In the photo, he was on the phone, his brow furrowed like a distant mountain, while my hand holding the cake was white with nervousness. The album was full of photos of us together, and photos of him. But none of just me. In every photo, there was an unbridgeable distance between us. When there was a knock on the door, I flipped the album face down on my lap. “Come in.” Lucas entered with a bag that seemed to contain medicine. “We’re out of gastritis medicine at home. This is for you.” I didn’t say much, just a flat, “Oh, thanks.” He stood at the door like a statue, his shadow stretched by the light, crawling up to the foot of my bed. Seeing he wasn’t leaving, I frowned and asked, “Anything else?” He shook his head and then left the room. I went over and picked up the medicine he had brought me, throwing it all in the trash, along with the photo album. In 10 days, in this villa, I would only need to take myself away.
Today is a special day, the day of my divorce from Lucas Bennett. I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel, overlooking the central axis of River City. The glass curtain wall reflects my image, with fiery makeup and carefully styled curled hair. Surprisingly, Lucas hasn’t called me once today. I thought he would be more eager than me, after all, these three years of marriage were nothing but an unwilling contract for him. Never mind, the divorce agreement is already in my hands, I’ve signed it, now I’m just waiting for him to sign. I pick up the documents on the table and walk out of the hotel in 4-inch stilettos. Walking into the office building of Bennett Group, my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors shows a white silk shirt and a black pencil skirt. The rhythm of my heels hitting the ground is quick and powerful, announcing my good mood today. Along the way, employees greet me. “Good morning, Mrs. Bennett.” “Mrs. Bennett, you look beautiful today.” I smile and respond to everyone, even joking with them a bit. In the past, I always walked by with my head down, afraid of disturbing others. Standing in front of Lucas’s office door, I take a deep breath and knock. “Come in,” his deep voice comes from inside. I push the door open. He’s looking down at some documents, his brow slightly furrowed. Hearing footsteps, he looks up, his frown deepening when he sees it’s me. His voice carries obvious impatience: “What are you doing at the company?” I don’t speak, just walk to his desk and place the divorce agreement in front of him. My finger lightly taps the place for his signature. He looks down at the document, then back up at me. For a moment, I actually see a hint of bewilderment in his expression. I tuck my hair behind my ear, smiling as I say, “Mr. Bennett, we’re done.”
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