Today is Christmas, and it's also Peter's and my wedding anniversary. To make sure Peter got a special dinner, I went out to buy groceries. But what I never expected was that while I was out, I’d get mugged and pushed to the ground, and my husband? He was busy helping his assistant put up Christmas decorations. Weakly, I listened to the voices on the other end of the phone. "Peter, look at this Christmas tree, does it look good here?" "So, do you prefer the fishnets or… I’ll wear them for you tonight~" I lay on the ground, my heart like dead ashes. Later, I decided I didn't want him anymore. But then he was willing to get beaten to a pulp, just to kneel before me and beg for forgiveness. "Mug—" Before I could even get the word "mugging" out, a motorcycle roared past, snatching my bag. Then, a practiced hand shoved me backward. It all happened in an instant; my body, caught off guard, was violently pushed aside. As I fell, a sharp, intense pain shot through my abdomen. I cried out instinctively. When I opened my eyes, I saw I’d landed stomach-first against the edge of a roadside planter. My heart sank. A wave of pain washed over me, and I couldn’t stop shaking. At that moment, I couldn't even care about my stolen purse. "My baby… my baby…" I gasped, clutching my stomach, my other hand fumbling for my phone. Without even looking, I dialed Peter. Beep… beep… After an agonizing silence, the call connected. Peter's voice, distracted and indifferent, came through. "What is it? I'm swamped at work. If it's important, spit it out!" "Peter… I…" The pain was so bad I could barely speak; my voice was pathetically weak. But he clearly wasn't paying attention. I heard the conversation on his end. It was quiet where he was, so the voices came through with an unnerving clarity. A woman's voice, lively and playful, suddenly piped up. "Peter, look at this Christmas tree, does it look good here?" Sweat beaded on my forehead from the pain. Hearing that voice, I froze. My heart sank further, a terrible premonition washing over me. Sure enough, Peter replied a moment later. "Looks great. Anything you arrange looks good. I like it all." The girl on the other end sounded pleased, then lowered her voice. "So, do you prefer the fishnets or… I’ll wear them for you tonight~" Hearing that, lying there on the ground, I couldn't believe it. Tears streamed down my face. I never thought Peter could lie so easily. Just then, another searing pain shot through my abdomen. I couldn't help but moan, gasping for breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Peter, listen to me, I was just mugged—" "Grace, can you just stop making trouble! Pulling this kind of stunt in broad daylight, trying to be all seductive!" My cry of pain finally got Peter's attention, but he was completely dismissive. Before I could respond, amidst the continued flirtatious conversation on his end, the call was abruptly disconnected. At that moment, passersby finally noticed me. They rushed over, helped me up, and called an ambulance. In my last moments of consciousness, I wondered what I had done wrong to be treated like this by Peter. I even wondered if I hadn't been good enough. But then, recalling how I’d poured my heart and soul into our relationship over the years, I finally understood: it wasn't my fault. It was because Peter himself was just a rotten person. I had just been unlucky, misjudged his character. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The beeping of machines surrounded me. It took me a moment to realize I was in the hospital. "Ms. Chen, you're awake." Only then did I notice someone standing by my bed. The doctor looked at me, hesitating for a long moment before speaking carefully. "I'm very sorry to tell you, Ms. Chen, but because the baby was too small and due to the external impact, it… you miscarried." Hearing her words, I closed my eyes, tears silently streaming down my face. I couldn't say a word. I took out my phone and checked the time. It was already evening, and Peter hadn't sent me any messages. I knew he hadn't come home; otherwise, he would have noticed I wasn't there and called to hurry me back to make dinner. At that moment, I felt I should tell him about losing the baby. So, I called him again. The phone rang for a long time before he answered. Along with his voice came the sound of Peter's heavy breathing. I froze. "...What do you want?" 2 I knew that sound all too well. I instantly understood what he was doing. My voice choked up again, and I repeated his name several times, each word like a drop of blood from my heart. "...Peter, Peter! Do you know where I am right now? The baby is… is already…" When I got to the part about the baby, the grief was overwhelming. I broke into sobs, unable to finish the sentence. "What is it now? Can you stop talking to me like some whiny nag? If it's nothing important, I'm hanging up." Peter was extremely impatient, complaining with a terrible attitude before hanging up the phone. "The baby's gone." Putting down the phone, I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer and burst into tears, wailing. Peter and I met in college, fell in love, and spent our youngest years together. We’d been married for four years now. Right after graduation, I decisively took all the money my parents left me after they passed away and, without hesitation, helped him start his business. Peter had sworn to me, promised he would never let me down, that he would buy me a big house, and never forget the support I gave him when he was just starting out. During our poorest times, we ate nothing but cheap bread and pickles; we went months without meat. But now that our lives had improved, he had changed. My constitution wasn't the type to get pregnant easily. We had tried many things over the years, all sorts of doctors, traditional and modern medicine, but there was never any news of a pregnancy. Peter had started to become more and more distant. Actually, I knew he was having some kind of affair with that assistant, Lauren. But every time I asked him seriously, Peter would adamantly deny it. Then, I unexpectedly got pregnant, and Peter changed back into the loving man he once was, constantly fussing over me. He would even drive miles out of his way to buy food from a specific little place I was craving. He’d pull me into his arms in the middle of the night when my hands and feet were cold. And as for holidays, big or small, the gifts had been non-stop since then. But later, conflicts arose again because his desires were strong, and my pregnancy couldn’t satisfy him. As the baby bump became slightly noticeable, he gradually grew indifferent again. Until today, the Christmas dinner for our anniversary, which we had planned, he completely forgot about it. It wasn't just the dinner he didn't care about; clearly, he didn't care about me either. From the moment he started treating me coldly, I should have known: some people can only share hardship, not good fortune. I should have realized long ago that he was no good. During those poorest years, it probably wasn't me he loved, but rather that I was the highest 'class' he could reach. Thinking this, my tears dried up, and I fell asleep. Who knew that the next day, I would be woken up by Peter. "Grace? So, you're here! You just disappeared without a word! If it weren't for phone tracking, I wouldn't have known you came to the hospital!" I groggily opened my eyes and looked at Peter, his face etched with impatience. My heart died completely. I didn't say a word. Only then did Peter seem to notice my pale face. He frowned and asked, "What are you doing at the hospital?" I looked at the face I had loved since I was young, but now I couldn't find any trace of that old feeling. I could only answer in a hoarse voice. "Peter, the baby's gone." "...The baby's gone?" As Peter voiced his confusion, his first reaction wasn't concern for me, but an outright roar of anger. "Are you crazy, Grace?! Just because I didn't answer your call and said a few things to you on the phone, you went and got an abortion?!" 3 "...What?" I gasped in shock, but Peter started ranting. "Are you that petty?! Just because of that, you didn't want the baby anymore? What do you take me for? I never should have married you! Your dead parents spoiled you rotten!" Peter verbally abused me, and I couldn't believe that the man I once loved so deeply would one day insult me so freely, even using my parents' deaths to hurt me. "Peter, calm down." Just then, a woman's voice came from outside the door, identical to the one on the phone yesterday. It was Peter's assistant, Lauren. I watched as she very naturally placed a fruit basket she’d casually bought on my bedside table, then spoke with a reproachful look. "Grace, it's no wonder Peter's so angry. What you did was really too reckless. How could you get an abortion so easily? Anyone would be angry." I looked at her feigned concern and just wanted to vomit. My medical report was right there on the bedside table, but they didn’t even glance at it, just jumped to the conclusion that I’d had an abortion myself. "What on earth are you talking about?" Just then, my doctor came in. Since Peter had been yelling at me in the room with the door open for a while, a crowd of doctors and nurses had intermittently gathered around. "What 'easily got an abortion'? Wasn't it a miscarriage caused by external trauma?" My doctor frowned as she entered. She had seen me on the phone and crying yesterday, so she immediately had no patience for Peter. "What external trauma?! Is that what they call abortions these days, all professional-sounding?" Peter, seeing the doctor was hostile, visibly scowled. The doctor's next words were even blunter. "If you don't understand, can't you ask? You've been in here indiscriminately yelling at my patient for ages. She lost her child, don't you think she's upset? External trauma means her abdomen was struck by a blunt object, causing the miscarriage." As the doctor explained, both Peter and Lauren were stunned. Then Peter snapped back to reality and sneered. "Her abdomen just happened to be hit by a blunt object? There aren't that many coincidences. Grace must have paid you a lot, right? You two are in cahoots, trying to clear her name after she deliberately had an abortion." "You...!" The doctor had clearly never met someone so unreasonable. She glared at him. Seeing her speechless, Peter felt his suspicions were confirmed and turned to me. "Grace, you've wanted to leave me for a while, haven't you?" Hearing his accusations, I met his eyes and immediately roared. "Peter! How can you say something so monstrous, that I deliberately aborted our child?! You ungrateful bastard! All I did for you was for nothing! I should have fed that money to the dogs!" Suddenly, my temper flared, and I started arguing fiercely with him. Peter seemed to have never seen me this angry before and yelled back just as loudly. "You're blaming me?! You have the nerve to blame me! You venomous snake! You could even get rid of your own child! Is there anything you, Grace, wouldn't do?!" I almost scoffed out loud, my demeanor not backing down an inch. "I'm a venomous snake? That's still better than you abandoning your wife and cheating!" At these words, Peter froze, and even Lauren looked momentarily stunned. "Who are you calling a cheater?! It's probably you who cheated and are trying to frame me!" Peter, of course, denied it. He even got angry, as if I’d stepped on his tail, not even waiting for my response. "And stop fucking arguing with me, Grace! You just want a divorce, don't you?! Fine, let's get a divorce!" Hearing him shout those two words, I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them, my resolve firm. "Fine by me!" "Everyone, calm down! Stop arguing!" Just then, our argument was abruptly interrupted by a voice. We looked towards the door, and two police officers entered the room. They looked at me, then took an evidence bag from their own bag and handed it over. "Ms. Chen, your stolen purse from yesterday has been found. The suspect has been apprehended and has confessed to snatching your bag and deliberately pushing you, which led to your hospitalization." Silence fell. Peter was utterly stunned. I numbly took the bag. One of the officers then produced a stack of papers and addressed Peter. "You're the victim's husband, right? Please sign here to confirm." Peter was dumbfounded. He hadn't expected that I really had been mugged, and that I really had miscarried because I was pushed. He didn't take the papers from the officer immediately but turned to me, his voice cracking in disbelief. "You… you really fell?!" Looking into Peter's incredulous eyes, I repeated, word by word. "Di-vorce!" 4 This time, when I brought it up, Peter fell silent almost instantly. He seemed to suddenly realize what those two phone calls I made to him yesterday were really about. And in both those calls, all he’d shown me was impatience. Peter didn't mention divorce again. Seeing I was still agitated, he even saw me about to pick up the fruit basket Lauren had brought and throw it at him. In a flash, his expression softened. "Grace, you… you just calm down first. Put the fruit basket down, cool off. I'll give you some time alone." Then, without waiting for my response, he reached out, took Lauren's hand, and left. I watched his hand-holding gesture, so practiced and smooth, yet my heart felt surprisingly little. Perhaps he felt a moment of panic too, and acted on instinct. Afterward, the doctor and police also left, leaving me alone in the hospital room. I wasn't actually that agitated, at least not hysterical. I was just annoyed by their shocked expressions. Now that it was quiet, I immediately took out my phone and made a call. "...Hello? Mark? Yes, it's me. Listen, I wanted to ask you about some divorce matters." … After calling my lawyer friend and explaining the situation, I asked him to help draft a divorce agreement. Just then, there was a knock on the door. I thought it was a nurse and said, "Come in." Who knew it would be Peter. Peter looked awkwardly embarrassed, holding a takeout container. He hesitated for a long moment before speaking. "You haven't eaten since this morning, right? This is a nutritious meal I prepared for you. At least eat something." I didn't respond. I watched him open the container himself. The moment I saw the food, I knew he hadn't prepared this meal. Because on top was half a container of plain boiled shrimp, and I am severely allergic to shrimp. I found it utterly ridiculous and then asked, "Peter, you didn't make these shrimp, did you?" Peter, caught in his lie, was suddenly. He seemed surprised I’d figured it out, then rubbed his nose. "Ah, Lauren made the shrimp. Yesterday when you called, I was with her at the office putting up holiday decorations, right? She feels bad about what happened. She knows you're sick and can't eat anything too greasy, so she hopes you’ll accept it." I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. "Peter, even if she doesn't know, don't you know? I'm allergic to shrimp." After hearing this, Peter actually picked up a shrimp and offered it to me. "Just try one. What's one bite going to do? Just one taste. I tried it, it's really good." Looking at Peter, his voice full of smug pride, I thought about all the meals I had cooked for him that were never treated this way. A wave of nausea washed over me. I slapped his hand away and, without hesitation, knocked the food container over. "...Grace, are you insane?!" The soup splashed everywhere, drenching Peter. He couldn't keep up the pretense any longer, his anger flaring up. This act of mine made our relationship deteriorate further. That day ended with another huge fight, and Peter stormed out, smashing things. And I didn't see him again until I was discharged from the hospital. But he did post on his social media to provoke me: either eating at a fancy Western restaurant or at some all-you-can-eat Wagyu place. Of course, the woman with him was almost always Lauren. Though she wasn't directly in the pictures, an occasional wrist with a tell-tale bracelet said a lot. And the most recent photo was a plate of braised shrimp. Peter had specifically taken a high-definition picture, then cryptically remarked that I didn't appreciate good food and was too picky, missing out on so much joy. At that time, I had just returned home. Looking at the empty house, I couldn't be bothered to think about where Peter was. Instead, I just packed my things, leaving only a divorce agreement on the coffee table. Then, without hesitation, I turned and left, not looking back.
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