Chapter 3

"Ethan, you told me the company booked you a standard room."

I stood in the middle of the executive suite, slowly looking around.

Two sets of clothes were hanging on the balcony to dry.

A stack of pregnancy magazines sat on the coffee table, their pages dog-eared. On the bathroom sink, two toothbrushes—one blue, one pink—sat in the same cup.

Ethan stood by the door, not daring to come in.

Hope, on the other hand, made herself right at home. She changed into comfy slippers and walked straight to the fridge.

She pulled out a bottle of Greek yogurt.

"Make yourself at home, sweetie. The sofa is a bit firm, you should use a pillow."

"How long have you been living here?" I asked.

"A little over two months. Ethan came a week early to set everything up."

"Set what up?"

She pointed her yogurt bottle at the nightstand.

A silver photo frame held a black-and-white ultrasound photo. Below it, a line of text was written in marker:

*Baby Cooper, 20 weeks. All healthy. Daddy loves you.*

It was Ethan’s handwriting.

I had never seen anything like this in our own home.

My own prenatal reports were saved in my phone, and he had never even bothered to look at them.

"Chloe?"

When I snapped back to reality, a notebook had been placed in my hand. I opened the cover. Again, it was Ethan's handwriting.

*Our Journey: Hope and Cooper’s Growth Diary.*

The first page was a hand-drawn timeline.

*Week 16: Felt the first kick today. Hope said it felt like a little fish kissing her belly.*

*Week 18: Accompanied Hope to her anatomy scan. Everything is perfect. Treated my wife to a nice dinner to celebrate.*

*Week 20: Took maternity photos. I almost cried when Hope put on the red dress.*

He called her "my wife."

Every page was written in excruciating detail. It contained more words than he had spoken to me over the phone during his entire trip.

During my seven months of pregnancy, his updates from this city had always been just one word: "Fine."

Ethan shuffled a few steps into the room.

"Chloe, that notebook... Hope made me write it."

"If she asked you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too?" I closed the notebook with a snap.

Hope finished her yogurt and wiped her mouth with a tissue.

"Sweetie, don't make it hard on him. A man caught in the middle has it the worst."

"I only care about myself and my baby," Hope continued. "Ethan promised he would be there for the delivery. He can't back out of that."

"He seems to have promised you a lot," I said coldly.

"Not that much." She counted on her fingers. "Every prenatal visit. The luxury postpartum retreat is booked. He’s paying for all the baby clothes and gear. Oh, and this."

She picked up her phone and showed me her Amazon purchase history.

A high-end stroller. A car seat. A newborn set. A postpartum recovery package.

Transaction after transaction. It added up to over five thousand dollars. The cardholder's name was Ethan. All purchased within the last two months.

Last month, Ethan told me his quarterly bonus was delayed. He asked me to cover my own medical bills first.

I believed him. I even transferred fifteen hundred dollars to his account, telling him to buy himself some decent winter clothes.

That money was probably sitting right there in her Amazon cart.

Hope was observant. Seeing the change in my expression, she smirked and tapped her phone.

Three seconds later, my phone vibrated.

Her account updated. No photo this time, just text:

"The first wife saw the baby diary my husband wrote for me. She couldn't say a single word."

Ethan rushed over to grab the notebook.

"Chloe, it’s not convenient to talk here. Let's go home."

Suddenly, his phone rang.

Hope glanced at the screen and smiled. "Answer it, Ethan. It's your mom. She was upset when you missed her call yesterday. She wants to talk about baby names today."

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