Love Drenched in Blood

Our third wedding anniversary also happened to be the thirty-sixth week of my pregnancy.

I didn't wait long enough for Santino Douglas to come home and cut the cake.

Instead, I got a phone call from the local police station.

"Your husband was caught stealing a woman's undergarments."

By the time I arrived, Santino's white shirt was covered in dusty footprints.

And a barely-dressed female intern was standing in front of him, guarding him like a human shield.

She kept yelling at the officer who was taking notes, "This is a misunderstanding! I bought those for Mr. Douglas! How can you arrest him for that?!"

I looked at the black lace garment in Santino's hand—the one he didn't even have time to throw away.

My stomach twisted so hard I felt sick.

I walked toward him, but he suddenly stepped in front of the intern, Baylee Ford, trying to explain.

I slapped him before he even opened his mouth.

"Santino, you're disgusting."

Santino fell silent.

He turned to look at me, his eyes full of shock and wounded pride, as if I had wronged him.

Then, right in front of all the officers, he shook that wrinkled piece of black lace like he was the victim.

"Charlie, this is the anniversary gift Baylee and I searched the whole city for. Can you stop making a scene?"

My hand trembled as I pointed at that pathetic scrap of fabric.

"For me? Santino, I'm thirty-six weeks pregnant. And this is what you think I should wear?"

He stepped closer, trying to take my hand. I yanked it away.

He didn't get mad. With the tone he had used to gaslight me a thousand times, he said, "Charlie, don't be so sensitive. Baylee said this is the trendiest style online right now. I just wanted to check if it's suitable for a pregnant woman. But they treated me like a pervert! Accused me of stealing! I'm the CEO of Douglas Group—why would I steal something worth a few hundred bucks? What a joke! I go through all this trouble to surprise you, and not only do you not appreciate it, you hit me in public?"

He sounded so sincere, as if he were the one who had been wronged.

I looked at Baylee.

She was wearing his suit jacket over her shoulders.

The moment Santino finished talking, she wiped her tears like she was the victim too.

"Yeah, Charlie, Mr. Douglas said you've been feeling insecure because pregnancy made you tired and less confident. He just wanted you to feel attractive again. I was only helping check the material. If you want to blame someone, blame me. I didn't think it through and caused this misunderstanding."

I stared at her.

Then at the lingerie—clearly an S-size, something a heavily pregnant woman could never fit into.

Even the officer next to us couldn't take it anymore. He cleared his throat and said, "Ahem… well, since the your wife is here and it's all a misunderstanding, just sign the form."

His eyes held sympathy toward me.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the nausea burning up my throat.

For the sake of giving my child a complete family, I swallowed the word divorce that sat at the tip of my tongue.

I signed.

Seeing my silence, Santino assumed I believed him. He cautiously pulled me into his arms.

"Come on, let's go home. Don't get worked up over something this small. It's bad for the baby."

On the way back, he kept checking the rearview mirror at Baylee, then sneaking glances at me.

When I kept staring out the window, saying nothing, he finally got restless.

"Charlie, don't overthink it. Baylee just graduated. She's carefree and impulsive, just like you used to be."

Just like I used to be.

Back then, I was the one known in the investment world as the woman who worked like my life depended on it—sharp, relentless.

Now I had become the version he claimed was "perfect wife material."

Yet he found me boring.

The car pulled up in front of the villa.

Baylee tactfully offered to take a cab home. Santino insisted on driving her, until I shot him a cold look.

At home, I looked at the cake, the big "3" candle on top, and felt a wave of bitterness.

But the baby was due soon, and I refused to let my child be born without a father.

I cut a slice of cake and handed it to him.

My voice was low, almost pleading, "Santino, the baby's almost here. For the child's sake, can you please… pull yourself together?"

I looked at him with all the hope I had left.

He glanced at my swollen, exhausted face.

A flicker of disgust flashed in his eyes.

He pushed the cake away.

"Charlie, you're fine. You're just too sensitive. I'm tired. I'm taking a shower."

Then he went upstairs.

I stayed in the empty living room.

After a while, I heard his low voice from the bathroom, "Baylee, you're home? Good. No, she's not mad. Pregnant women get emotional. Be good. Sleep early."

I looked at the dried cream on the back of my hand.

The love I had for him curdled right then.

But feeling the baby move inside me, I kept telling myself, "Just hold on. Once the baby is born, maybe things will get better. He'll come back to our family. He used to look forward to this baby so much."