Chapter 3

I felt pretty helpless about the whole thing.

Her love for me had seemed so passionate and intense, yet she was afraid of getting pregnant with me while wanting to give Michael an heir.

She claimed to be a germaphobe, wincing whenever others touched her.

Yet there she was, intimately entangled with her "best friend" in our marital bed.

Michael saw me covering my face and sneered, "You better not claim you have cancer, too. She checked your electronic medical records right away. They were clean."

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I did have a cancer report in my hand, but it wasn't mine.

Suddenly, the lights went dark, and a group of people emerged singing with a cake. Turns out this was another birthday surprise. "By the way, today is also Mr. Harris' birthday. Perfect timing to celebrate together."

The employees thought it was quite a coincidence, but my smile became strained as my heart sank. Every year, Amelia made such a huge deal of this anniversary, even bringing Michael along.

Now I could see clearly who the real celebration was for.

The employees gathered around, chattering excitedly about how Amelia had made this three-tiered cake herself despite being pregnant and how she'd specifically chosen flavors she knew I liked.

"Mr. Jones likes strawberries but not strawberry-flavored cake! Mrs. Jones really pays attention to every little detail about Mr. Jones."

Several younger employees squealed dramatically, "She's so in love with Mr. Jones!"

"They're making us single people jealous again, doing this every year."

As I cut the cake surrounded by everyone, my feelings were a complicated mess.

After the crowd dispersed and my emotions settled, I realized I didn't dare to bring up our marriage issues just yet. I just wanted to give us both time to think things through.

But as soon as I started to leave, Amelia came running after me in panic, hugging me so tightly that the cuts on her fingers began bleeding again.

"I was too rushed making your chicken soup this morning," she said. Her hands, once as smooth as pearl, were now covered in scars from seven years of cooking for me.

My heart softened. She'd grown up pampered by her father, yet here she was, cooking meals for a poor guy like me.

"I just need some time to clear my head." I tried to reassure her.

"Charlie!" she cried out, clutching my arm with tear-filled eyes. Her emotions were so intense that she doubled over, holding her belly and sobbing, "Charlie, it's all my fault. Please don't be angry."

Then she slowly sank to the ground and passed out.

Following our family doctor's advice, I took her home to rest. Suddenly, the nurse on the phone apologized to me.

"We sent you the wrong electronic report today. I accidentally recorded the cancer diagnosis on your health check report. Please refer to the paper version instead and bring your wife in for an examination as soon as possible."

After hanging up, I received screenshots from the nurse on my phone.

On the electronic report she sent today, it was written in black and white that I had terminal cancer.

No wonder, no wonder they could ask so precisely whether I had cancer, too.

No wonder they could produce a fake report so quickly.

The cold wind from the balcony chilled me to the bone as I opened my other phone, which was connected to the listening device in the room.

I heard Amelia, who was supposed to be unconscious, speaking softly to someone else.

"Don't you want to know what it feels like to be pregnant?"

In the end, a bitter smile crept across my lips.