I Lost Him to a Wedding Night

Thinking about him made my chest tight, so I didn't. I screamed until my voice was hoarse. The festival wound down near midnight. A few handsome guys tried to talk to me, but Ava fended them off playfully: "Taken. Sorry."

My confidence skyrocketed. "See? I'm not short on love."

Ava rolled her eyes. "With your love-struck brain, any decent guy will spin you around. Without a reliable one, a random jerk will play you."

Her boyfriend drove to pick her up and kindly dropped me off at my building.

At that hour, only the 24-hour convenience store was open.

I wandered the aisles at a toiletries display, then, under the clerk's "I get you" look, went to the refrigerated case. I grabbed two cartons of milk and a box of eggs, then pointed at a small packet of Northeast rice. "How much is this?"

The clerk blushed. "That's a free promo."

I blinked. The clerk's face flushed red. A few minutes later I left triumphantly hugging the free rice.

Ethan's place was dark, so I didn't expect him to be home.

Eat with another woman behind my back? Fine—I'll break up with him after dinner.

I stepped in. The door slammed. Somebody grabbed me and spun me around, pinning me against the door. Things clattered to the floor.

"Aaaah—mmph—"

My hand for my phone was suddenly locked behind my back. "Maya, where did you go?"

It was Ethan's voice.

He smelled of alcohol, the room smelling faintly of his drink.

His tall frame pressed me, his lips near my ear, voice laced with punishment: "Where did you go?"

I swallowed and wrapped my arms slowly around his waist, testing the waters. "You drank?"

He buried his face in my neck and said nothing.

He seemed…in a bad mood.

"Ah! No!"

His hand slipped under my clothes and deftly started the zipper of my dress.

"Ethan! I'm tired! I don't want to!"

He froze, breath hot and still. After a long pause his voice was cold. "You're bored of me?"

"Used to not care, now not even the body cares, huh?"

Used?

Used?!

Was Ethan insane?!

He scoffed, tilted my chin, and kissed me without asking—hungry, rough, biting and grinding. "So what, you want to break up?"

Usually I'd flash some righteous anger and say: Yes!

But my instinct screamed: don't provoke the lion. You might get mauled.

I swallowed the words and hugged him, patting his back like I'd comfort a kid. "Did you eat?"

He stopped abruptly, silent for a moment, then in a voice so low I could barely hear: "Four years, Maya. This is the first time you've asked if I ate."

There was a faint note of…pleased surprise in it.

Hearing that made me guilty. Maybe it was true.

"Then did you eat? Stop being dramatic. Say if you're hungry!"

I mimicked the way he'd scold me. It felt cathartic.

He immediately answered, "No."

Then who was he out with?

If he expected me to cook after going out with another woman, fine—I'll do it.

I thought that, then suddenly screamed and shoved him away. "My eggs!!!"

He stumbled back, hit the switch, and the light came on.

I stood exposed in the bright light.

She wore black pumps, a strapless party dress that fluffed out at the waist, a delicate pendant necklace at her collarbone, hair styled into sultry, cascading waves.

And she’d done… innocent-girl makeup. Sweet, pure—completely misleading.

He leaned against the wall. Storm clouds gathered in his gaze as he spoke sharply, “Maya Collins!”

I was crouched on the floor with the broken eggs, cradling the shards, and I looked up carefully. “What’s wrong…”

My best friend always said: when you act fragile, no one can resist.

Ethan rubbed his temple, softened his expression a fraction and gave in: “Fine. Go change your clothes.”

He’d been drinking and had sunk into the couch, eyes closed.

I was sure—if I said one more useless word, he’d toss me out. But I had something I had to tell him.

I stood in the entryway with shopping bags in both hands and mumbled, “I… I twisted my ankle…”

Ethan lay on the sofa, motionless for a long moment. Then he swore under his breath, grabbed me, and dragged me down onto the couch.

I thought he was going to yell at me. Instead, he just held me on his lap, dug through a cabinet, and pulled out a jar of sports rub ointment to massage my foot.

The apartment was quiet; my small complaints escaped in whispers.

I curled my arms around his neck and felt a soft part of me start to pound wildly.

This was the second time.

Ethan’s face was close—hard lines, a strong nose, those especially enticing eyes.

I kept complaining in a tiny voice, “You came home and didn’t even turn on the lights…”

He turned his head toward me and scolded, “Why are you whining so much?”

I angled away to create distance, my cheeks burning.

“You better massage my foot properly. When it doesn’t hurt anymore, I’ll—I'll cook for you.”

Ethan paused, smiled, and gave a soft, “Mm.”

I didn’t ask who that woman was. Now I stood at the stove, following a tutorial, and tossed a handful of free promo rice into boiling water, stirred, then fished the broken eggshells back and dropped them in.

Ethan sat at the table and asked, “What are you making?”

“Sweet rice egg drop soup.”

“Where’s the wine?”

I put the lid on and grinned, “You’ve got some in your belly.”

Ethan: “…”

I clutched a carton of fresh milk, leaned on the counter waiting for the soup to finish, and flipped open WeChat to text my best friend.

“Do you think that woman was his ex?”

Ava: “If he came back in a bad mood, then probably. Ew! Scumbag! Where are you?”

“Cooking for Ethan!”

I even sent a happy emoji. “He finally ate my cooking!”

Ava: “Are you sure he’s not just overly nice because he’s hiding something?”

I: “The guidebook said—understand men! Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

Ava: “Understanding isn’t for this moment! Maya, are you okay?!”

Ava: “Where are you? Talk!”

Me: “Do you put sugar in sweet rice egg drop soup? White or brown?”

Ava: “Get out…”

Of course, the meal turned into a disaster.

Ethan picked a chunk of eggshell from the soup and calmly placed it on a napkin. “It’s fine… not a big deal—”

Crunch.

I heard him chew—sand-like—then smacked my forehead. “Oh no, I forgot to rinse the rice.”

Ethan nodded. “It’s okay… edible.”

He finished the porridge in front of my anxious face, expression exactly the same as when he’d eaten one of my earnest, homemade meals back in the day.

I waited for the “It’s pretty good, but don’t make it again” line.

Instead, Ethan stood, washed the dishes, and said, “It’s late. Wash up and go to bed.”

The sun rose in the west.

Maya Collins, in this lifetime, actually managed to get food into Ethan Reed’s stomach through sheer effort!

Is this the power of sacrifice?

Was he moved by me?

Then I might as well sacrifice more.

“Ethan!”

I called out, thrilled.

He stopped at the bathroom door and looked back. “What?”

“Let me—let me give you a bath—”

I dove forward, headfirst.

He planted a palm to my forehead and shoved me away. “Get lost.”

The next day, my phone blew up: a dozen voice messages and texts. My friend who only cared about eating, sleeping, and partying was awake.

“Aaaaaah! Jason Clark proposed to me!!!”

I squinted at the screen for a long beat, then bolted upright. “Aaaaaah! He proposed to you!”

Ethan woke to the rustling and saw me wriggling excitedly across the bed, squealing into voice messages with my best friend. He scooped me up casually and asked, “What’s going on?”

I plastered the phone to Ethan’s face. “Jason proposed to her! Aaaah! He proposed!”

For a second, his expression blanked. He asked, “Who’s Jason Clark?”

“My classmate! Eeek, I’m so happy!!!”

Ethan shoved me down hard, his face dark. “Maya Collins, say that again. Try smiling one more time.”

My phone clattered into the gap of the mattress. I blinked, dumbfounded, then laughed and curled into a ball. “Hahaha.”

His face got even colder. “Maya!”

I kissed him on the cheek. “I said Jason proposed to my friend. What about me? What about my proposal? I want one too!”

Ethan froze, got up, and walked out.

Was he mad?

I pressed my lips together, thinking seriously about whether to coax this ruffled lion.

He came back, unexpectedly, and tossed a stack of documents onto the bed.

“Bank card, title deed, birth record. Only your ID is missing. Maya Collins—get up. We’re going to your parents’ house to meet them and do the transfer.”

I was stunned. “Are we getting married today?”

“If you want,” he said.

I grabbed my phone, hit the voice recorder, and shouted, “Aaaaaah! Ethan just proposed!!!”

But I wasn’t that greedy. I hugged Ethan and giggled, “No need, no need. Just come meet my parents. My birth record’s still with them.”

Within an hour, Ethan had packed the car full of supplements and we were on our way home.

I sat in the passenger seat, clouded with worry.

I’d accidentally sent the voice message to the Little Oaks parent group—three hundred parents.

Ava lost it laughing. “Maya, are you crazy? Listen to yourself, you sound like a screaming chicken hahaha!”

The group flooded with congrats. Even the usually icy cafeteria lady sent a thumbs-up emoji.

I panicked… My parents already knew about Ethan and me. After four years, they’d inevitably caught us together.

This time, their “future son-in-law” had officially come to call; my parents had laid out a lavish lunch.

They liked Ethan—maybe even more than me.

After lunch, Ethan ignored my hint to go for a walk and, serious, said to my dad, “Sir, may I speak with you about something?”

My dad, surprised, nodded and led Ethan to the study.

About an hour later the study door opened. I nosed in. “What did you talk about?”

My dad glanced at me; the light, easy expression he’d had before was gone.

Wait… we aren’t—“We’re long-lost siblings?”

Ethan’s face blackened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Before he left, I pulled my dad aside. “What did Ethan tell you?”

Dad took off his reading glasses. “He’ll tell you. I trust you to judge for yourself.”

“And you and Mom are okay with this?”

Dad smiled, hands behind his back. “We respect your decision.”

On the drive back, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Ethan, tell me! What secret are you hiding?”

He kept both hands on the wheel. “Maya, I want to introduce you to my parents.”

That was normal. I nodded.

Then Ethan said, in a calm voice I would never forget, “If after that you still choose to marry me, we’ll get the marriage certificate.”

At a fancy restaurant, I met Ethan’s mother.

A beautiful, sensual woman.

I greeted her properly and offered the carefully chosen jewelry, glancing around out of habit.

Ethan’s mother smiled. “No need to look. It’s just me today.”

I looked at Ethan in confusion.

He didn’t avoid it. “My father’s not well—mild depression. He lives out in the suburbs and doesn’t see people much. I’ll bring you to meet him later.”

Ethan’s mother poured herself a glass of red wine. “Actually, I don’t approve of you two getting married.”

My napkin crumpled in my hand. “Auntie, I—”

“It’s not because of you.” She sipped. Her jewel-ringed fingers idly stroked the wineglass. “He’s like his father. Not cut out for marriage.”

“Mom, this is the first time we’ve met,” Ethan said, a faint warning in his voice.

She tilted her lips. “What do you want me to say? That you’ll live happily ever after? When I married your father, people told me the same thing. Did it help?”

Her light-colored eyes turned to me. “His father used to run projects for the Research Institute, to the middle of nowhere. I was pregnant with our second child; I went into early labor in the middle of the night. I almost died.”

Ethan said nothing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan like someone waiting for judgment—expressionless, neither sad nor happy—pure stillness.

His mother continued, “Later, neighbors took me to the hospital. Ten days after giving birth, when I left, your father came back in rags.”

At that moment I felt like I was looking at myself.

That rainy night, I’d sat by the cake, waiting and waiting as the second hand flipped to the end of the day, then blown out the candles alone.

Ethan’s mother laughed. “I wanted a divorce. Your father begged on his knees. Then he developed depression—couldn’t take another shock. I had no choice. He’s a coward. If I’d left him then, I might’ve respected him more.”

I suddenly remembered that day Ethan had come back and I’d shouted, “Break up!”

He stood there forever, then said one word: “Fine.”

My chest tightened painfully.

He didn’t not care—he just didn’t want us to become like his parents.

Under the table, I gripped Ethan’s hand.

He looked up sharply, and for the first time in a while a light flickered deep in his quiet eyes.

I squeezed him back, as if building a wall between the story and us.

Ethan’s mother smiled. “So I left. I left the two kids with him. If he won’t divorce, he has to take responsibility and care for them. Don’t use depression as an excuse.”

She propped her chin and said, “I warn you: Ethan is just like his father.”

I gulped a chilled lychee and blew out the cool air. “You can’t generalize people.”

“Seems you have hope for him.” Her voice was sharp with sarcasm.

“A lot of hope,” I said.

His mother stared at me for a while, looking like she was about to explode. After a long pause she said in an icy tone, "Forgive my bluntness, are you love‑brain?"

Usually, that phrase thrown at me was an insult.

But in that moment I straightened my chest with pride. "I am.

And people like us are brave."

I could read the two words on his mother's face: bullshit.

I didn't care.

The moment he swallowed my congee with the egg skin in it, I had fallen for him.

The meeting ended on a sour note.

I watched his mother get into a man's car, whispering and getting cozy with him as it drove away.

Ethan sat by the floor‑to‑ceiling window, expressionless, but his dark eyes stayed locked on me.

"That's it?"

I scoffed. "That's it?

You really underestimate me, don't you?"

He sighed and steadied my shaking hand that held my drink. "If you wobble again you'll spill it."

Caught, I stopped hiding and buried my head on the table, hat pulled down tight. "Ahhh, what did I say… I'm so sour I could rot my teeth!!!"

"Maya."

"Don't call me that!

I have no face to look at you!"

"Maya."

I twisted, covering my face. Isn't this basically a confession?

Girls shouldn't confess first!

I could already picture years from now Ethan saying to his grandson with a calm face: Your grandma chased me first.

"Maya, I love you."

I froze, forehead pressed to the table, my face reddening where he couldn't see.

He said he loved me!

Under the table he passed me a rabbit gummy.

"Can you eat properly now?"

…Three days later I came rushing over to Ethan's table in a panic. "Ethan, it's over, it's over—my period is three days late."

He didn't even look up. "You drank a whole cup of iced lychee. Delays happen."

"How can you be sure it's not—"

My voice trailed off.

Ethan slipped off his gold‑rimmed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which had red marks. "Because I always take precautions.

Maya Collins, I need to ask—besides me, have you ever wanted anyone else?"

I blinked. "Nope. I'm only into you."

"Then that's settled."

He kept his face cold. "Doesn't concern me."

I ground my teeth and suddenly stomped. "You jerk!"

Ethan: "?"

"What do you mean 'doesn't concern you'?"

I lunged and straddled his lap. "So if we have a kid one day, you won't claim them?"

He let out an angry laugh. "Did you think that through?"

"I'm not being logical, I'm being emotional!"

He leaned in and kissed me. "Emotionally, I want a child that's ours every single second.

But your current situation is because of iced lychee, and I'm extremely annoyed.

Next time you say that, I want you to come to me with two lines on a stick."

"Ah!

You're accusing me of lying about battle intel!"

"Exactly."

A week later, when I actually showed up with two lines, Ethan knocked over a glass and fried his laptop.

We sat facing each other all afternoon.

The evening sun fell across Ethan's face, bringing a little color to his pale cheeks.

After a long time, he seemed to make up his mind. "Maya, if the baby is born, I'll raise it."

I fidgeted with the tissue, staring at the two lines on the stick, head bowed, silent.

Honestly, I didn't know what to do.

I hadn't done anything on purpose and now I'm pregnant. What can I do… "Are you… really sure you always used protection?"

I tried to ask.

Ethan buried his face in his hands and inhaled deeply. "Maya, maybe something broke, maybe—I forgot…"

I heard the strain in his voice.

Even I found it hard to believe. How could Ethan, a careful, meticulous person, be so careless… The sun sank lower.

No one in the room said a word.

I stared at the mantle clock missing a corner and my expression turned serious.

"Ah!"

I yelled suddenly.

Under Ethan's deadpan stare, like a student who'd found the right answer, I said, "A month ago!"

Then I exhaled and smiled sweetly. "Sorry, I forgot."

Time rewound to a month earlier, the night before Ethan left on a business trip.

When I learned he was leaving, I sulked and clung to him that night, wanting to drink.

My friend had just given me a bottle of 40‑proof whiskey. I mixed some into fruit wine. By the time I realized something was off, Ethan was already drunk.

He sat there quietly looking at me, saying nothing.

I kissed him and he responded.

I touched him and he let me.

Like an obedient child.

Later I helped him to our room.

We looked for what we needed and couldn't find it, so I took a chance.

Plus, I was brazen and had a little wine; everything went smoothly.

Then he left on the trip, missed my birthday, I broke up with him… After such tumult, who remembers one night?

I'd never seen Ethan furious before. He sat for a long time, so long I thought he'd run out of breath, then he finally said slowly, "Maya, come here."

My sixth sense ticked.

I scooted back. "Isn't that unnecessary…"

"Damn it!"

Ethan suddenly stood. "Maya Collins!

We're going to the hospital!"

I panicked. "Don't touch my baby!"

A vein throbbed in his forehead as he scooped me up and left.

On the way I curled in the passenger seat and asked pitifully, "Could we not do the test?"

Ethan's face was dark. "Shut up."

He carried me into the hospital. While we were waiting in the queue he was silent.

A pregnant woman nearby whispered, "Are you here for an abortion?"

I gave her a miserable smile. She patted my arm in sympathy. "Young people, keep your eyes open."

When it was our turn in the exam room, I shrank into a corner, ashamed and defeated.

Ethan's first words: "Hello. I'd like to ask—my wife and I have been… intimate recently.

I just learned she's pregnant, probably from an encounter a month ago.

I'm worried about her and the baby's health."

My face burned.

What was he saying…? The doctor's face turned serious. "If you're scared, why not endure?"

Ethan admitted flatly, "My fault."

…That night Ethan walked me out of the hospital.

The baby was fine and needed regular checkups.

My hand twitched in his palm. "Hey, don't ignore me."

He shoved me into the car, then stood outside for a while making phone calls before getting back in.

"Tomorrow we're going out of town."

"To see your dad?" I asked.

He paused fastening his seat belt. After a moment warmth crept into his voice. "Yeah. To see him."

I went back to work at Little Oaks Preschool.

All day my coworkers beamed at me.

Even the cafeteria lady ladled me an extra scoop of meat.

Ethan said he'd pick me up after work, but had to wait until the kids were gone.

Around 4:30 most of them had left. I was crouched tying a girl's hair clip when a colleague asked behind me, "Hi, this parent looks a little… unfamiliar. What's the child's name? Can you show a pickup pass?"

A man's voice replied, "Maya Collins. No pass yet, but she should know me."

I turned and saw Ethan holding a milk tea not far off, the sunset softening his features.

My face flamed; I handed the child to the parent and hurried to him. "Weren't you going to be late…?"

He gave me the milk tea. "No big deal. I'll wait a bit."

My colleague looked like a proud aunt and ushered me off. "Maya, go. I know the rest of the parents."

We bought things in the car. The suburb was about an hour from the city.

When we arrived, his father was sitting in the yard.

I awkwardly called, "Sir, hello."

He stood, silver hair despite not being old. He was happy I was there. Dinner was wild chicken stew from their own yard; the vegetables and fruit were freshly picked.

Ethan said, "Dad, I'm getting married."

His father froze mid‑stir with the ladle, choked up after a moment. "Good… I didn't slow you down. If a girl likes you, that's nice. Treat her well."

It was a plain, heartfelt wish that made my eyes sting.

After dinner while we were washing dishes, Ethan told me, "My dad owes my mom an apology."

A statement.

Years had passed—one parent wound up depressed, the other careless—and he didn't know whom to blame.

He hesitated, looked at me, light flickering in his eyes. "Maya, I'm sorry I came home late."

I suddenly realized that on that rainy night he had been trying to say exactly that.

Seeing the extinguished candle on the table, my disappointed face, and that harsh, "Break up! I deserve better!" he hadn't dared speak. He swallowed it and said, "Okay."

I cried, the sobs echoing in the yard. "This isn't shameful. Why did you tell my dad first and keep it from me?"

He patted my head. "My parents had a failed marriage. I chose the same road as my father. I was afraid you'd abandon me."

I hugged him. "I wouldn't. I'm not some shallow person just into your body."

Ethan fell silent.

I glared at him with swollen eyes. "You really think that?"

He held me tight. "Maya, it's time to go home."

I stopped crying and squealed in his arms, "Ethan!

You're so shallow!

I'm not getting back together with you because of your abs!"

"Okay."

"Not because you can do a hundred push‑ups either!"

"I believe you."

"No, you still doubt me! I really love you!"

After a moment.

Ethan: "Stop staring at me. I really believe you."

Life went back to normal.

Both sets of parents knew about the pregnancy.

Ethan's mother reacted coldly—no sympathetic messages—but one day she showed up at our door.

I was barefoot, in the middle of doing yoga.

Ethan opened the door.

She stood there with a box of baby supplies, eyes falling on the pink gingham apron Ethan wore. She tugged the corner of her mouth. "Better than your father."

She dropped the items inside and left without another word.

Ethan's uncle sent several boxes of farm eggs from the countryside where he was recuperating.

My parents visited sometimes and sat down with Ethan to discuss the wedding. Ethan said his parents would attend the wedding.

These days I craved grilled skewers like crazy, but I had to be careful with my pregnancy diet.

That night I was whining and pouting, begging Ethan to take me for kebabs.

He looked up from a parenting book. "A few coworkers asked me out tonight. I wasn't going to go, but that place has great skewers and it's hard to get a table. If you want—"

"I want, I want, I want!"

I hadn't even met any of his research institute coworkers yet.

There weren't many weddings among them, so Ethan was the only one at the table who'd brought a plus-one.

The moment we arrived, everyone started teasing.

Only then did I realize they'd all known about me—that we'd been together for years, apparently—so they'd already assumed I was Ethan's official partner.

They were surprised to hear we weren't even engaged.

"Look at Ethan—if you didn't know, you'd think they've been married years."

I bit into a skewer Ethan had rinsed in water and asked, curious, "How can you tell?"

"He's always on time. His desk always has a picture of you. He shuts down around female coworkers like he's guarding a vault. A bunch of our new girls were interested in him, then one look at his phone wallpaper and they backed off."

Another coworker added, "Some people hide a marriage like it's a secret. Ethan? He's not married, but he might as well have clipped you to his belt buckle. His face screams: 'Taken, no exceptions.'"

Ethan pressed his lips together and didn't respond. He dumped the cold water and replaced it with a fresh cup for me.

Suddenly someone clapped. "Hey! Remember when we went up to the mountains for that inspection? The landslide—signal went out in the whole town!"

I froze with the skewer between my teeth. "When was that?"

Ethan cut in, "Finish eating and let's go. It's late."

"Don't—it's not done yet!"

His coworker was on a roll. "About a month ago. Ethan didn't tell you? What should've taken two or three days got stretched out because it rained for three straight days and the road in and out of the village was completely blocked."

"Ethan grabbed the repair tools that night and climbed up to the signal tower. When he came down, he looked so cold and fierce—you would've thought the world's ending."

I tightened my fingers around the skewer and bit my lip, not moving.

Ethan took my arm. "Don't listen to rumors. Come with me."

I pulled away and said, syllable by syllable, "If you want to go, go by yourself."

The conversation at the table buzzed on. Ethan sat back down beside me, lip pressed tight.

"…They couldn't get the materials through, so the signal was gone. Ethan went with the crew to dig a road, working day and night with no rest. Just when they were close to getting out, a flash flood came and sealed them in again. If the crew hadn't pulled back fast, everyone would've been crushed."

He clicked his tongue and pointed at Ethan. "Including him."

The meat in my mouth suddenly turned like wax I couldn't chew.

After a long beat, I summoned the courage to ask, "And then?"

"Then Ethan spent every day climbing the ridgelines looking for a signal. For a month, rain or shine. A few days before the road was cleared, he ran a high fever—40 degrees—and people had to carry him to a vehicle."

I stood and rubbed my eyes. "I'm… going to the restroom."

"Okay, be careful."

I left the private room and walked fast.

Ethan chased out after me. "Maya."

I moved even faster, almost running.

I kept crying as I ran. "Please don't follow me. I just want to be alone for a minute."

I couldn't outrun him. He grabbed me and dragged me into his arms.

He held my head and patted my back gently. "I'm not going to hassle you. Just don't run away."

I opened my mouth and wailed. The late-night food stall hummed with activity; my sobs drew a lot of attention.

All I could think to do was cry—there was nothing that made me feel better.

If I'd been even a little more patient and asked why, he wouldn't have said the words ending us.

After a long while I tired out and hiccupped softly. Ethan carried me to the car and headed for the driver's side.

I clung to him, not letting go.

"Maya, can we go home?" he asked.

"No," I said, sticking out my lower lip as the tears started again.

"Then what do you want?" he asked softly.

"I don't know."

After a long silence I looked up. "I'll love you more from now on. I won't call you a jerk anymore."

Ethan smiled. "Much obliged. Also, Ms. Maya Collins, have you perhaps become a little too fond of crying lately?"

I rubbed my face and finally let him go. "Cut it out. I'm pregnant—hormones. It's temporary."

A few days later I found transfer paperwork in Ethan's email.

He'd been promoted.

Travel and business trips would be less frequent.

I also found a leave request slipped into a book—timed for two weeks around my due date.

Ethan'd let me use his phone sometimes. One day, when I was searching for something, I stumbled on his search history.

'What do you do if your girlfriend's cooking is bad?'

Answer: 'Praise her: "It was great. Next time, don't bother."'

'Hidden romance ideas in the design industry?'

Answer: 'Hide something she likes inside the plans.'

I thought of the Hello Kitty.

'What do young women like?'

Answer: 'A fit, strong body.'

'Hours for the gym in town…'

I silently screenedhotted everything, printed it, and hid it in my treasure box.

My box already held a lot: my first letter to Ethan and his reply, the jewelry box of that cheap ring I secretly bought and he now wore on his ring finger, our first photo together, the napkin I clenched the first time we kissed… The sound of the front door opening came from the living room.

I snapped the box shut and kicked it under the sofa.

The door swung open.

A perfect slice of sunset landed on Ethan's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked, carrying a package and changing his shoes.

I grinned, hands clasped behind my back. "I'm hiding love."