He Scorned My Pregnant Face, Then Went Mad With Regret

At eight months pregnant, Duncan Gilbert gave me a necklace and fastened it around my neck with his own hands.

I couldn't stop touching it, and for once I felt like taking a selfie.

Duncan watched me edit the photo, then said, almost idly,

Doesn't it get boring? Lying to yourself like this.

My hands went still.

He pointed at the slimmed-down version of me on the screen.

"Hair falling out, all puffy, and those dark blotches on your face."

"You've got that pregnant look all over you. No matter how much you edit, you'll never look as good as a young girl's raw, unfiltered photo."

I gripped the phone tighter.

I thought of the press-on nail I'd found in his coat pocket the night before, while doing laundry.

Last week he said he was working late, so I went to bring soup to the office, and the front desk told me he'd left at six.

Last month he was late to the prenatal checkup, and when he finally rushed in, there was a faint, sweet fruity scent clinging to his collar.

So it wasn't just pregnancy making me paranoid.

I closed the editing app. My voice was calm.

"Who is she, this young girl?"

He blinked, then let out a soft laugh.

"Don't they say pregnancy makes you slow for three years? You're still as sharp as ever."

"She's an intern at the company."

"She's thin-skinned, so don't go giving her a hard time."

His fingertips brushed the necklace at my throat.

"As long as you behave, I'll never let anyone take your place as Mrs. Gilbert."

The baby kicked me from inside.

I stroked my belly gently and lowered my eyes.

"I understand."

...

I unfastened the necklace from my neck and dropped it into the bottom of the drawer.

Just like that, I didn't like it so much anymore.

Duncan went quiet for a moment, then a soft laugh echoed through the bedroom.

"Angry? Because I said you don't look good?"

"I'm just being honest. If you finish editing and then see how far off it is from the real you, you'll only feel worse."

"As for that girl, don't worry. You'll always come first in my heart."

"Let's sleep." I turned off the light and lay down on the bed.

He turned it back on, exasperated. "Marianne Matthews, get up and soak your feet before you sleep."

I pulled the blanket over my head.

He sighed, and in the end he lay back down too.

Tears soaked into the pillow soon enough, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

The next thing I knew, my calf seized up in a hard cramp.

Duncan heard me cry out in pain and sat up at once.

He pulled my calf toward him with practiced ease and began to massage it.

"I told you to soak your feet and you wouldn't listen. Cramping again, aren't you."

His head was down, his voice rough with sleep, but his hands were gentle.

My calf had been knotted tight as stone, and slowly the aching eased.

I looked at the top of his head, and my nose stung.

"If she got pregnant, would you be this good to her too?"

His hand paused. His voice came low.

"Don't overthink it. I won't let her get pregnant."

He slipped a calf sock onto my leg so I wouldn't get cold and cramp again.

He patted my shoulder lightly. "Sleep now."

When I woke the next morning, Duncan had already left for the office.

On the dining table, as always, was the pregnancy breakfast he'd made.

I bit into a piece of French toast. It tasted like wax.

I opened my phone and messaged Florence Walker, a woman at the company.

What's the deal with that intern of Duncan's?

She replied with an exclamation mark.

If you'd waited any longer to ask, I was about to come find you.

It turned out Duncan and that intern had been an open secret at the company for a long time.

Before meetings, she'd straighten his tie in front of everyone, like no one else was there.

During lunch breaks, he'd keep her in his office to eat with him, and through the door left ajar the staff could see him doting on her, eating whatever she fed him.

At work dinners, he'd take her drinks for her, laughing as he smoothed things over. "She just graduated, she can't handle that much."

I listened to one long voice message after another, and my heart went cold.

The last thing she sent was a photo.

It was a full set of high-end pearl jewelry.

Necklace, bracelet, ring, earrings, all matching, the pearls fine and warm with luster.

It was her birthday yesterday. Mr. Gilbert threw her a celebration at the office and gave it to her in front of everyone.

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then I got up, went back to the bedroom, and dug out the necklace he'd given me the day before.

Same design style, same setting.

Only my pearls were smaller, their shine duller.

So his sudden gift of a necklace wasn't him finally coming to his senses.

It was that after giving her a whole expensive set, he'd pulled a single freebie off the top and tossed it to me like charity.

Marianne, come by the office and see us. Those of us who've been here from the start miss you too.

I turned off the phone and sat down at the vanity.

The woman in the mirror looked dull and worn.

The symptoms of pregnancy had worn me down until I had no heart for grooming, and it had been a long time since I'd paid any attention to how I looked.

Every day I wore loose maternity clothes, hair tied back any old way, no energy even for toner and lotion on my face.

I'd struggled with it too, and it was Duncan who held me and murmured softly,

"However you change, you're just as beautiful to me."

In the space of a few short months, his verdict on me had become "hair falling out, all puffy, dark blotches" and "that pregnant look all over you."

I dug out the makeup gathering dust in the corner.

Half an hour later, I finished my lipstick, pressed my lips together in front of the mirror, and it was as if I saw the old me again.

I went out and took a cab to the office.

On the way, I messaged the lawyer.

"May I ask, for a divorce during pregnancy, what do I need to prepare?"

They replied:

"If the husband is at fault, I'd advise against tipping him off. Quietly hold on to any relevant evidence."

I walked into the office carrying the afternoon drinks.

The veteran staff spotted me and crowded around, delighted.

This was the company I'd built alongside Duncan from the very beginning.

From a single office to a whole building, I'd poured in no less than anyone else.

Later I got pregnant and slowly stepped back from running things, but the bond with the old employees was still there.

Florence, who'd been keeping me in the loop, jerked her chin toward the CEO's office.

I understood, handed out the drinks, told everyone to get back to work, and pushed the door open myself.

The first thing I saw was Duncan sitting at his desk.

A girl with a delicate face was leaning close to his ear, her lips almost touching it as she spoke.

I stood in the doorway for a few seconds.

Neither of them noticed me, and they held that whispering pose as if no one else existed.

I knocked on the door.

They both looked up.

Duncan saw me with makeup on, and something startled and admiring flickered in his eyes before his expression shifted.

The girl stayed in that intimate pose, looking puzzled.

"And you are?"

My voice was level. "I remember you. Brooklyn Fox."

Three months along, when I wasn't showing much yet, I'd come by the office once too.

In the corridor I'd run into her, silently crying over a rsum from our company.

I asked what was wrong, and she said the company discriminated by gender, that the CEO wouldn't hire female assistants.

I looked at her rsum and went to talk Duncan into keeping her myself.

His pen didn't stop signing the documents.

"No. You're already insecure during the pregnancy. I don't want to make you overthink."

Warmth spread through me. "It's enough that you care. I won't read into it."

"That girl really does meet the requirements. Don't let this give the company a bad name over something like this."

Only then did he grudgingly nod.

Five months later, the Duncan who'd said he didn't want me to overthink was so close to the girl I'd personally placed in the company that their breath tangled together.

Brooklyn froze, then quickly straightened up, putting distance between herself and Duncan. "It's you."

Her eyes landed on my heavily swollen belly. "You've changed... quite a lot."

Duncan's voice dropped low. "What are you doing here?"

Looking at the wariness in his eyes, a sharp ache went through me.

"I went out for some air, thought I'd drop off milkshakes on the way."

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and set the drinks on the desk.

"I'm heading out, so I won't keep you two."

His face eased. He stood up. "I'll walk you out."

While we waited for the elevator, he slipped an arm around my waist, familiar and easy.

"You didn't make a scene back there. You did well."

"So you've figured it out? Starting to act like a proper wife now."

My fingers curled, but I still couldn't help asking:

"Why cheat? Why her?"

He paused slightly, then reached up and ruffled my hair.

"Marianne, I'm a normal man. I have needs like anyone else."

"You're still pregnant. I don't want to hurt you."

"Be good. It's all just a game. She's the one you picked, so I didn't resist it as much."

With a ding, the elevator arrived.

I closed my eyes. "You don't need to see me down. I'll go by myself."

I stepped inside and watched his figure turn away in a hurry and disappear beyond the elevator doors.

The elevator went down to the first floor.

I didn't get out. Instead I pressed the button for the CEO's floor again.

The moment the elevator doors opened, I saw Duncan pulling Brooklyn into the stairwell.

I opened the camera on my phone and slipped it toward the gap where, in his hurry, he hadn't quite closed the door.

The girl's voice was thick with tears. "Mr. Gilbert, is she here to stake her claim?"

Duncan brushed light kisses over her tears and gave a soft laugh.

"What are you talking about? The claim was always hers."

"But she's already accepted that you have me. Don't worry so much."

Brooklyn's voice dropped lower.

"Once her baby's born, are you going to stop having time for me?"

He stroked her cheek. "Why worry about something that hasn't happened?"

The girl bowed her head, and the tears came in big, heavy drops.

"My little crybaby, I never said I was giving you up."

He sighed, drew her into his arms, and murmured to her softly.

Listening to his gentle voice through the door, I reached up and wiped the wetness from the corner of my eye.

I put my phone away, turned, and stepped into the elevator.

It was already eleven at night when Duncan got home.

He flicked on the light, and there I was, sitting on the couch, staring at nothing.

He came over and crouched down in front of me.

"Why are you sitting in the dark? Have you eaten?"

My eyes settled slowly on his face.

"No."

"When I'm not here, you don't even take care of yourself."

His tone was exasperated, and he gave the box in his hand a little shake.

"I brought a cake back. Come on, eat."

The concern in his eyes didn't look fake. I only shook my head.

"I don't want other people's leftovers."

Half an hour earlier, Florence had sent me a video and a screenshot.

At the cake shop downstairs from the office, Duncan was feeding a bite of dessert into Brooklyn's mouth.

The girl's eyes were red and swollen, but a smile lingered at the corner of her mouth.

The screenshot was a post she'd put up.

The person who loves you won't let your bad mood carry into the next day.

The photo was a four-square grid.

A selfie of her flashing a peace sign at the camera.

A staged shot of the dessert.

A photo at an amusement park.

A candid of him carrying several shopping bags.

He'd stayed with her, coaxed her, right into the middle of the night.

And handed me a cake with the frosting caved in, just to be done with it.

"What's this fit about, out of nowhere?"

"Fine, don't eat it. Drink some milk and go to bed."

His voice went cold. He poured a glass of milk and walked into the bathroom.

"By the way, don't go to the office so much from now on. Brooklyn's sensitive. She reads into things."

I watched the bathroom door shut and let out a bitter laugh.

An eight-months-pregnant wife, and a mistress at his side day after day. Which one of them was really the sensitive one, reading into things.

After that day, I stopped going to the office.

But Florence's photos and videos never stopped.

He took her to every kind of business dinner, pushed her full-time hire through early, gave her an office of her own.

The old-timers had seen it all before. The newer ones talked.

Florence said that ever since I'd shown up that time, ever since everyone had seen my belly, the way they looked at Brooklyn had changed.

The gossip kept growing.

Until today, when coworkers were in the restroom discussing the jewelry set he'd given her, and ran into her coming out of a stall, her eyes red.

She bowed her head and hurried out, and behind her the mockery only got more brazen.

I hear she gave that whole jewelry set back to Mr. Gilbert, untouched.

I made no comment.

So what if she gave it back?

The Duncan who used to send me a check-in video wherever he went, who never let anyone but me sit in his passenger seat, was never coming back.

He came home from work that evening with a dark look on his face.

"Marianne, didn't I tell you to leave her alone? And yet you actually got those coworkers to freeze Brooklyn out."

I stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent. She gave back everything I got her, cried until her eyes swelled up."

His voice sank, edged with a faint, subtle disappointment.

"Marianne, I thought you were different from those women who are jealous down to the bone."

"She just graduated. She came to this city all alone with nothing to her name, nothing at all."

"And you don't even have to work, you want for nothing. Can't you give her a little room? What kind of thrill do you get out of bullying someone weaker than you?"

I laughed at the absurdity of it.

He'd told me with his own mouth that she was just a game to him. And now he'd already started aching for her.

Duncan's face darkened. "What's funny? Did I say something wrong?"

"Every man in our circle has mistresses and kids on the side. I've only got Brooklyn."

"Marianne, don't be so ungrateful. I've loved you plenty."

The rims of my eyes went red, and all at once I thought of the Duncan who'd confessed to me at eighteen, so sure of himself.

"Marianne, you're the only one I'll ever have in this life. I will never betray you."

Now, from that same mouth, only eight years later, I'd become "ungrateful."

Disappointment washed over everything. I looked at him without flinching.

"Duncan, is that really what you think I am?"

His expression froze, and he looked away.

"Even if you didn't do it, it started with you."

Exhausted, I braced a hand on my belly and stood. "The baby's been moving all day. I'm tired. I don't want to fight with you."

He frowned. "Does it hurt that much? Should we get you to the hospital?"

"No need." I walked into the bedroom without looking back.

I'd slept until the middle of the night when a sharp pain tore at my scalp.

I jerked awake and dropped to the floor, and when I looked up I saw Duncan's face twisted with rage.

"Did you expose Brooklyn online?"

My lower belly cramped hard. I forced out three words. "I didn't."

"You didn't? Then who did?"

He smashed the water glass on the nightstand and rounded on me.

"The whole internet's calling her a homewrecker. Do you know she was so humiliated she wanted to jump off a building?"

"If I hadn't been on the phone calming her down while I called the police, she'd be a corpse right now!"

I stared blankly at the man in front of me, out of control, and my heart felt like it was being sawed back and forth with a dull blade.

Back when we were starting out, living in that run-down inner-city district, a drunk once blocked my way and said filthy things to me.

Duncan grabbed a brick off the ground and charged at him, got pinned down and beaten until his nose bled, and still clung to the man's leg.

"Anyone who talks to her like that again, I'll fight them to the death."

The man who'd once fought for me with red-rimmed eyes was now the one throwing dirt on me.

I couldn't help asking, "Duncan, why have you become like this?"

His face grew even uglier. "Don't change the subject. Post a clarification right now and apologize to her."

I held my belly, clenching my jaw. "I did nothing. Why should I apologize?"

He looked at me coldly. "You don't want those coworkers suspended, do you?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"They've been with us since the startup days. Without them, you'd never have made it this far."

He gave a cold snort. "Seniority doesn't excuse workplace bullying."

"Do it, now. Don't make me say it twice."

I closed my eyes, took out my phone, typed a message, and posted it.

Duncan opened the app, checked it carefully line by line, and reposted it from his own public account.

Rumors end at the truth. I have retained a lawyer to gather evidence and will pursue whoever spread these lies.

Cold sweat slid down from my temple. I was shaking all over from the pain. "Is that enough? My stomach hurts. I need to go to the hospital."

He took my phone and looked down at me.

"Don't play the victim. You went way too far this time. Sit here and think about what you did."

"I'm going to check on Brooklyn. You'd better pray she's fine, or tonight's debt, I'll charge to you with interest."

The door locked from the outside.

I dragged myself up and pounded on it with everything I had.

"Duncan, let me out. My stomach really hurts. Take me to the hospital, now!"

The footsteps at the door paused.

His voice was low. "I'll call a doctor to the house. You can stay confined for two days."

The footsteps faded.

I broke down, screaming, "Duncan, come back! You can't leave our baby like this..."

Nothing stirred at the door.

A warm rush spilled out beneath me.

Stiffly, I lowered my head, and saw with despair the red trailing across the floor.

I felt clearly that something was draining out of my body, and my heart died completely.

...

After spending the whole day with Brooklyn, Duncan felt inexplicably uneasy.

He dropped her home and turned to go.

"Where are you going?" Brooklyn called after him.

He didn't stop walking. "I'm going home for a bit."

Her voice took on a hurt edge. "Didn't you say you'd stay with me for two days?"

He pulled open the car door. "Be good. I'll come see you tomorrow."

He hurried home, only to find the lock had been pried open.

The front door hung wide open, the apartment dead silent.

"Marianne? Doctor?"

No one answered.

He walked step by step to the bedroom, his legs going weak for reasons he couldn't name.

The light came on.

The dark red stain soaking the carpet stabbed at his eyes.