I'm an Ordinary Woman Who Only Knows How to Love Ordinarily

1: 1

My husband was always telling me what an ordinary, boring person I was. Every day, all I did was cook and hunch over the toilet with morning sickness.

So every single day, he talked to the baby in my belly. When you grow up, baby, you have to be like your Auntie Gwyneth Henson. Smart, brave, brave enough to ski, brave enough to go out and see the world all on your own.

My smile froze for a second, and I couldn't help asking him,

"So if Gwyneth and I both fell into the sea, who would you save?"

Timothy James thought about it, then let out a scornful little laugh.

"Charlotte Pruitt, you really are so ordinary. Gwyneth would never ask me a question like that, because nature's mountains and lakes and seas don't raise that kind of narrow-minded love."

"She's not like you. She's a bird, free, soaring across the open sky."

Right on cue, a photo of Gwyneth popped into our three-person group chat.

She'd just finished a trip to Antarctica, standing in front of a glacier, laughing into the wind.

Timothy snatched up his phone at once and typed back, dead serious.

Beautiful. Be free for me too!

When the screen went black, I saw my own reflection in it.

Pale face, swollen feet under a big loose maternity dress, stretch marks all over my belly and waist.

For this family I'd quit my job, given up every bit of my social life. All that was left of my days were prenatal checkups and shopping for baby things.

But the person Timothy admired had always been someone like Gwyneth, free and dazzling.

I didn't cry, and I didn't ask again.

I just lowered my head, resting my hand on my belly, and it hit me, clear and certain.

This ordinary marriage of mine and Timothy's had already reached its end.

Only after Timothy finished replying did he notice I'd gone quiet.

He set the phone down and pressed his hand back against my belly.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Charlotte. That's so tacky."

I asked him back, "Then what do you think isn't tacky?"

He blanked for a moment, scraping the bottom of his mind, hunting for a few things he could count as my good points.

"Fine, you're steady, you can keep the house running, and that's enough. I don't expect you to understand anything else."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but the words went into me like sharp thorns.

The phone chimed again.

Gwyneth said in the group chat that she'd cut her trip short and could be home tonight.

Timothy replied instantly.

Come have dinner at our place. A welcome-home dinner.

Only after the message was sent did he glance my way, like he was doing me a favor.

"Gwyneth's been in Antarctica over a month. She definitely won't be able to stomach eating out."

"Make a few dishes she likes tonight, and stew a pot of pork rib stew. That's your specialty."

My stomach turned.

Since getting pregnant I couldn't stand the smell of cooking oil, and I'd been throwing up for a whole month straight. This baby had been a hard, hard pregnancy.

"Can we go out to eat instead?"

"I'm not feeling well today."

The smile on Timothy's face thinned.

"She sat on a plane for over twenty hours straight and didn't complain about being tired once."

"You're only three months along. How is it that every day it's either dizziness or wanting to throw up?"

"The doctor already said it. A pregnant woman can't just lie around. A little housework is good for you."

With that, he lowered his head and went back to chatting with Gwyneth.

That afternoon, forcing down the nausea, I went into the kitchen.

The moment the sweet-and-sour glazed ribs hit the pan, the oily smoke hit my face, and I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom.

There was nothing in my stomach.

I hung over the toilet dry-heaving for a long time, until the tears were wrung out of me.

Timothy passed by the doorway and stopped for only a few seconds.

"Let's just hope the kid doesn't turn out sickly and feeble like you."

I'd barely opened my mouth to say something when his phone rang.

Gwyneth was already downstairs.

Timothy turned on his heel at once.

"When you're done throwing up, remember to rinse your mouth. What a state, all sloppy and unkempt. I'm going down to get her first."

After the door shut, I knelt alone on the cold tile.

And suddenly I remembered the day the pregnancy test came back positive.

Timothy had held that test result and stared at it for a long time.

A man who was always so calm, and yet the rims of his eyes had slowly gone red.

He'd crouched down and kissed my belly, his voice trembling.

"Lottie, quit the bank job."

"Out early, home late every day, dealing with all those clients. I don't feel right about it."

"From now on you just focus on the baby. I can support you and the child."

I hated to give up the job I'd done for six years.

But he said we'd only have one child, and a job could be found again anytime.

He said he'd never let me suffer even a little.

I believed him.

But less than two months after I quit, in his mouth I'd become someone who did nothing but lie around all day, someone who wouldn't even make a single meal.

An ordinary, drab, worn-out housewife.

I lifted a hand and wiped away the tears that had streamed down my whole face without my noticing.

And I couldn't help asking myself, in my heart, Charlotte, is it worth it?

2: 2

Half an hour later, laughter drifted in from the hall.

Timothy came in dragging Gwyneth's three suitcases for her, her windbreaker slung over one arm.

Gwyneth caught sight of the full table and let out an exaggerated cry.

"Lottie, I hereby crown you head chef!"

"All that time abroad, I got so sick of plain Western food I could gag."

Timothy set her luggage down and laughed at that.

"Knew you'd be craving real food."

"Lottie's got no ambition anyway. Cooking, washing dishes, that's about it. No comparison to you."

They both laughed.

I stood where I was, my fingers slowly curling into fists.

"My job. You're the one who told me to quit it."

The laughter in the living room stopped for a beat.

Timothy frowned at me.

"So? What's your point? I told you to quit, I didn't tell you to laze around the house all day."

"Besides, the state you've been in every day, do you really think you could've kept that job?"

He was right. These months of pregnancy had been harder on me than anything I'd known.

I couldn't say for sure I'd have held up if I'd still been working.

Gwyneth quickly took my hand.

"Lottie, Timothy just worries about you."

"And a woman doesn't have to have a career. Taking good care of the family, that's already something to be proud of."

Her tone was sincere.

But hearing it hurt worse than mockery.

Gwyneth could win international awards, travel the world, surf, jump out of planes.

And I'd quit my job, carried a child, pushed through morning sickness to put a whole meal on the table.

The highest praise I could earn was head chef, and taking good care of the home.

Over dinner, Gwyneth pulled out her tablet to show Timothy the project proposal she'd just finished.

The two of them went from overseas markets to funding plans.

I'd watched this scene for seven years.

Back in school, they were the twin stars, the brightest the place had.

They'd won the startup competition together, made the cover of a finance magazine together.

And I was just an ordinary bank clerk.

When they pulled all-nighters revising a project, I was the one delivering the food.

When they stood on stage giving interviews, I sat in the audience, holding their phones and their coats.

I used to think that as long as Timothy took my hand and came home to me in the end,

whether or not I stood beside him didn't matter.

It wasn't until this moment that I saw it.

Marriage had given me the title of wife, but it had never let me into his world.

When Gwyneth got to the funding plan, I couldn't help reminding them:

"The policy in this industry seems to have shifted lately. The banks have been tightening their approvals."

Timothy didn't even lift his head.

"You've been out of work two months. Your information's long out of date."

"Gwyneth and I will handle this. You don't need to worry about it."

But Gwyneth looked at me and said with a smile:

"Lottie, there's no need to rush to prove yourself like this."

"There's nothing wrong with being a homemaker."

Only then did Timothy raise his head.

"She's always like this. Scared she can't keep up with us, so she forces herself to take it all in."

"There's really no need."

He ladled a bowl of soup for me and set it in front of me.

"Everyone's abilities are different."

"You just focus on taking good care of the baby. That's the biggest help you can give me."

I looked at the soup in the bowl, scattered all over with the cilantro I never eat, and my stomach began to turn again.

I said nothing more, only lowered my head to confirm the Wednesday morning prenatal checkup.

Last time, Timothy had suddenly needed to drive Gwyneth to the airport, and promised he'd come with me the next time for sure.

But I didn't ask him again whether he still remembered.

3: 3

That Wednesday, Timothy left before dawn.

Gwyneth's venture had landed a new round of funding, and there was a celebration dinner that night.

Before he left, he heated a glass of milk for me and reminded me,

"Don't forget your folic acid supplements."

"Once the checkup's done, send me the results."

"Gwyneth just got back. She'll probably drink too much tonight, so I have to look after her."

I watched his back as he reached the door and answered softly.

"Okay."

At the hospital, halfway through the scan, the doctor suddenly stopped.

"We've found the reason you keep feeling sick and dizzy."

"The fetus's brain tissue hasn't developed normally. There are signs of miscarriage."

I stared blankly at the shape on the screen, already taking on an outline.

It was as though sound had cut out around me.

Ten minutes ago, I'd still been guessing whether the baby was a boy or a girl.

Ten minutes later, the doctor was telling me this child never had a chance to come into the world.

Under the violent swing of emotion, a sharp pain tore through my lower belly.

Blood soaked through the hem of my dress within moments.

The doctor's face changed, and she had the nurse wheel over a chair at once.

"You're already bleeding. This baby can't be saved. We have to terminate the pregnancy as soon as possible, or the mother could be in danger too."

Before I could truly take in that the baby couldn't be saved, the consent form to terminate was already in front of me.

Before I signed, I made only one request.

"Can I call the baby's father first?"

The phone rang a long time before he picked up.

The other end was full of the noise of the celebration venue being set up.

Timothy asked impatiently, "Checkup done?"

I gripped the phone hard.

"Timothy, something's wrong with the results."

"The doctor says the baby has anencephaly. We have to right away"

"Charlotte, I don't have time to listen to you read out prenatal checkup results. If it's nothing, just take a cab home first."

He cut me off.

"Gwyneth's launch is about to start. Everyone's waiting on me."

Before I could finish, the call was already gone.

The nurse looked at me with pity.

"Can't your family get here?"

I stared at the dark screen for a long time before I shook my head.

It struck me then that this child had never wanted to come into the world.

She didn't want to be like Auntie Gwyneth. She didn't want to arrive into a home with no love in it.

She didn't even want me, her ordinary mother.

I closed my eyes and lay down on the operating table.

When I opened them again, I was already in the recovery room.

The nurse saw me wake and let out a breath.

"You hemorrhaged during the procedure. Thank goodness we caught it in time."

"You can't leave on your own right now. Someone from your family has to come."

She held the phone out to me.

I looked at Timothy's number for a long time, then dialed it anyway.

It rang for more than ten seconds before he answered.

His voice was even more impatient than before.

"What is it now?"

I looked at the blood bag by the bed, still draining, my voice so weak it was almost inaudible.

"The surgery's done."

"I hemorrhaged, and the baby's gone. Can you please come?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

Then came his cold laugh.

"Charlotte, an hour ago you were reading me prenatal results."

"Now it's a miscarriage and a hemorrhage?"

"You'd make up a lie like this just to drag me away from Gwyneth's celebration? Do you have no shame?"

I forced out an explanation.

"I'm not lying to you!"

The nurse couldn't stand to hear any more and took the phone.

"Sir, Ms. Pruitt just came out of a procedure to terminate her pregnancy. She hemorrhaged during it. She needs someone with her."

Timothy said coldly,

"I don't know who you are."

"This is between me and my wife. Please don't help her put on a show."

Gwyneth's voice came through from the other end.

"Timothy, come cut the cake, everyone's waiting for you."

Timothy's tone softened at once.

"Coming."

Before hanging up, he left only one thing.

"Charlotte, using a baby to fight for attention is vicious. Lying about a baby's life is more vicious still."

"When did you turn into this?"

The line went dead in my ear.

The nurse's face went white with anger.

"That's the baby's father?"

I watched the sky darken bit by bit outside the window and shook my head gently.

"Not for much longer."

At midnight, I was still on an IV.

A group video call from the three of us suddenly popped up on my phone.

I thought Timothy had finally remembered to ask how the day had gone.

But when it connected, it was Gwyneth in the frame.

She'd probably had too much to drink and hit the group call by accident.

The phone had been set down on the liquor cabinet, the camera aimed right at the couch a little way off.

Gwyneth tilted her head up at Timothy and suddenly smiled.

"Timothy, I regret it."

"All these years, I've been to so many places."

"Snow-capped mountains, deserts, Antarctica. I used to think that was the life I wanted."

"But today, seeing the things you bought for the baby, I suddenly wanted a home too."

"I don't want to drift alone anymore."

Timothy looked at her, and a pain I'd never seen before surfaced on his face.

It was a long while before he asked hoarsely,

"Why are you only saying this now?"

Gwyneth's eyes reddened.

"What if I hadn't left the year I graduated college?"

"What if I'd told you then that I was willing to stay? Would you have married me?"

Timothy didn't answer right away.

But his silence had already told me the answer.

Gwyneth asked again,

"Would you?"

"Yes."

One word, and it tore the seven years between him and me to shreds.

I gasped for air in great, painful breaths, barely able to breathe.

When the nurse came to change my dressing, she knocked the phone by accident.

The video call cut out.

I didn't call back.

I just lay quietly on the hospital bed, watching the fluid in the blood bag drip into my body little by little.

The child he'd wanted to be like Gwyneth was gone.

And I didn't have to be an ordinary housewife anymore.

After I checked out and got home, Timothy still wasn't back.

I packed my own things into a suitcase, and I set the divorce papers, signed, on the dining table.

Then I bought a ticket to Norway to see the northern lights.

4: 4

This was a wish I'd had since I was twenty.

Over seven years, Timothy and I had booked plane tickets three times.

The first time, Gwyneth sprained herself skiing, and he drove through the night to take care of her.

The second time, Gwyneth's project was shortlisted for an international award, and he canceled our tickets to go abroad with her for the ceremony.

The third time, right before we were supposed to leave, Gwyneth got dumped and drank herself sick, and he stayed up with her the whole night.

Every time, Timothy said he'd make it up to me later.

But I waited seven years, and that so-called later never came.

When I reached the airport, there was an hour left before boarding.

I'd just finished checking my bag when I saw Timothy and Gwyneth.

Gwyneth wore a white down jacket, and Timothy was bent over her, fixing her scarf.

Gwyneth held up two tickets, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

"Back in college we promised we'd go to Iceland together to see the northern lights. I can't believe it dragged on this many years."

Timothy ruffled her hair.

"This time I won't break the promise."

My phone buzzed at exactly that moment.

A message from Timothy:

The company scheduled a business trip last minute. I'll be gone a few days.

Stay home and think about what you've done. We'll talk when I get back.

I looked at him across the crowd and gave a small, mocking smile.

The airport announcement began calling for boarding.

I put my phone away, pulled my suitcase, and walked toward my own gate.

From today on, they could go see their northern lights.

And I would go live a life without them in it.

Just as I was about to step into the boarding corridor, a sharp shout came from behind me.

"Charlotte!"

I stopped and glanced back.

Timothy had already pushed through the crowd, striding right up to me.

His eyes dropped to my suitcase, and his face went dark in an instant.

"You actually chased me all the way to the airport?"

I didn't answer.

But he acted like he'd finally caught me in the lie, the corner of his mouth twisting with contempt.

"Last night you said you'd miscarried and were hemorrhaging, and today you can drag a suitcase after my flight."

"Charlotte, don't you think this act is a little too fake?"

I looked at him quietly.

So he couldn't see any of it. Not why my face was this pale, not why it took everything I had just to stand upright.

All he saw was me, getting in the way of his time with Gwyneth again.

Gwyneth came over too, wheeling her bag.

"Lottie, did you find out we were going to Iceland, so you wanted to come along?"

She let out a sigh, playing at helplessness.

"Timothy's only keeping a promise we made back in college."

"You're still carrying the baby. A long flight isn't safe. Don't gamble with your body just to make a point."

At that, the look Timothy gave me turned even more disappointed.

"I said business trip on purpose, because I was afraid you'd read too much into it."

"I never thought you'd not only lie to me about a miscarriage, but go digging into our itinerary and chase me to the airport."

He reached for my suitcase.

"Go home now. When I'm back from Iceland, I'll take you to the hospital for a checkup."

I turned aside, out of his reach.

"No need."

Timothy's face went completely cold.

"Charlotte, don't push your luck."

"Faking a miscarriage, faking the hemorrhaging, chasing me to the airport, and now putting on this look like you've suffered some terrible wrong."

"Aside from watching me and Gwyneth, do you really have nothing else to do?"

Every word overlapped with the accusations from the phone last night.

I used to think that as long as he saw me with his own eyes, he'd realize I wasn't lying.

But now I finally understood.

A person who doesn't believe you will only see another performance, even with the truth standing right in front of him.

The announcement started urging passengers on the Iceland flight to board.

Gwyneth tugged at Timothy's sleeve.

"Timothy, why don't you take Lottie home?"

"We can see the northern lights another time."

The more she gave way, the more certain Timothy became that I was the one being unreasonable.

"Look at Gwyneth, then look at yourself."

"She thinks of you at every turn, and you're ready to ruin the trip she's waited seven years for."

He checked the time and ordered,

"Go home first. And stop joking about the baby."

"Say things like this too often, and when something really happens, no one will believe you."

I suddenly laughed.

So it turned out a curse could come true straight from his own mouth.

Timothy didn't understand my laugh.

He shielded Gwyneth and walked toward the other gate.

Gwyneth turned her head, a faint winner's smile at the corner of her lips.

They vanished into the crowd soon enough.

Just like every time before.

As long as Gwyneth spoke up, Timothy was certain I'd stay right where I was, forever.

But this time, I didn't wait.

I switched off my phone, turned, and walked into my own boarding corridor.