The Father of my Child is Getting Married

When I was jolted awake, I was still in a daze, my mind struggling to catch up with the chaos around me. I blinked, confused, as I saw Asher standing in the doorway. His face, initially panicked, softened into a strange mix of relief and frustration.

"Ingrid!" he scolded, his voice sharp. "You did this on purpose, didn’t you? It made me think you were so depressed that you wanted to take sleeping pills and—" He stopped, eyes narrowing. "Do you know how scared I was? I thought you were trying to kill yourself!"

I glanced toward the table and saw a bottle of sleeping pills. That’s when I realized what had happened—he’d misunderstood. The photo I meant to send to my best friend must have somehow ended up on Asher’s phone.

After my parents’ death, I’d struggled with mild depression and sometimes needed sleeping pills to make it through the night. He knew that. And seeing the pills now, he must’ve jumped to conclusions, thinking I was about to take my own life.

As I looked at his face, still marked with traces of fear, a memory flashed in my mind—of the time, just a month ago, when he had vanished. He left without a word, no phone number, no message, and was unreachable for half a month.

I searched everywhere for him, calling relentlessly, but all I got was the cold, unfeeling sound of a busy tone. Desperate, I went to his company, only to be stonewalled by his secretary: "His whereabouts are confidential, no comment."

For half a month, I faced the suffocating darkness of the night alone, haunted by nightmares and growing thinner with each passing day. When he finally returned, all he said was that it had been a joke—an offhand remark that shattered me.

I wonder if he realizes how I felt back then. Maybe now he can understand.

As I lowered my gaze, I noticed his mismatched socks, one blue and one black, and a wave of unexpected warmth washed over me. Despite everything, he still cared enough to come rushing here, even in his disarray.

I couldn’t help but think back to that day at my parents' gravesite, when he held me close and promised to take care of me forever. His voice had been so gentle then, soothing in a way that made me feel safe for the first time in a long while. It was a light in the darkness of my life, a flicker of hope.

In that moment, I truly believed I would spend the rest of my life as his wife.

But reality always delivers a crushing blow just when I start to hope.

His voice, sharp and full of accusation, shattered my illusions completely.

"Ingrid, when did you become so manipulative?"

Asher raised his hand to his face, examining his fingers stained with blood. He sniffed deliberately, then glanced at the blood on the bed sheets with a deep frown.

"First, you fake taking sleeping pills, and now this? You went as far as getting blood from somewhere to stage this scene?" His voice dripped with disbelief. "It looks pretty convincing, I’ll give you that." He scoffed, his tone cutting. "Is all of this just to get my attention? What is it you want from me?"

His next words hit like a blow. "You’ve disappointed me beyond words."

My heart sank. I stood frozen as his expression shifted into a deep frustration, thinking I had staged the entire scene to manipulate him. He didn’t know the truth—that the blood was from the operation.

I could barely process it. I remembered a time when the tiniest cut on my finger would have him frantic with worry, holding my hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. His eyes would fill with panic, and he’d act as though my smallest wound was a catastrophe. But now, there was nothing—just cold suspicion.

My chest tightened with a grief I could barely contain, and I struggled to hold back the tremor that threatened to take over my body.

I forced a smile, the effort feeling foreign on my face, and pushed him gently.

"I'm sorry for being so willful. You should go back to your sister-in-law."

I had never spoken to him so politely before.

Asher's expression shifted, uncertainty clouding his features.

"Don’t be like this. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me, right? We’ve learned to retreat in order to advance."

He paused, his demeanor softening as he added, "Forget it. Just come back with me. Dorothy has been asking about you. She’s always wanted a sister."

"I need to keep an eye on you, so you don’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd and learn things you shouldn’t."

But I had made my decision, and there was no way I could go back.

When he saw my indifference, his frustration flared.

"What else do you want from me? I’ve treated you like a sister and taken care of you all these years. Don’t push your luck."

Push my luck? To make him and Dorothy happy, I had chosen to have an abortion and leave quietly. Was that being pushy?

"I think we should separate for a while. I plan to move out."

Asher stared at me, disbelief etched across his face, as if he were trying to confirm that I wasn’t serious.

"Are you kidding? Just because I didn’t pay enough attention to you? Can you stop with the games?"

I met his gaze with calm resolve.

"I'm not playing games."