The signs had been there for months; I had just refused to see them. The sudden interest in his appearance. Staying late at school on weekends. The flowers he brought home, which he pruned with obsessive care. The way he changed his profile picture to a cartoon. The secret smiles directed at his phone screen.
I rubbed the raw skin on my hand. The nurse had warned me that delaying treatment would leave a permanent scar.
Good.
This scar would be my reminder: never make the same mistake again. Love is fleeting. A career is the only thing a woman can truly rely on.
On the way home, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
It was a photo. A familiar large hand rested possessively on a woman's belly. A red string—a blessing charm—was wrapped around their joined wrists.
Thomas had gone to a temple to pray for that specific charm after we lost our first baby. He had told me, *'As long as we keep this red string, our baby will find its way back to Mom and Dad.'*
Now, he had given our baby's blessing to another woman.
The audacity was breathtaking.
*[I'm pregnant with Thomas's child. Youth really does make conception easier than it is for an old hag like you.]*