Dark red blood quickly spread across my wife’s white dress. The doctor rushed out, saw her, and hurried to help her back inside.
After the examination, he looked at me with clear dissatisfaction. “Your wife is older, and it wasn’t easy for her to get pregnant. From now on, stop letting your mind wander. What matters most is taking good care of her.”
He pointed at the ultrasound. “Look at that little bean sprout in her belly. Isn’t it cute?”
His words made cold sweat run down my back.
In my previous life, it was this so-called “little bean sprout” that had torn our home apart with just one sentence. The memory sent a chill straight through me.
I looked at my wife’s joyful face, guilt eating away at me, and slapped myself hard twice.
Yes. She had stood by me for more than ten years, giving without complaint. How could I still doubt her?
The guilt kept me awake all night. By morning, I had already decided to explain everything to her clearly and stay by her side through her pregnancy.
Early the next morning, my wife was already gone. Just last night, she had murmured that, to protect the pregnancy, she wouldn’t go anywhere from now on.