I walked carefully, hoping he would go with me to the hospital. But he always said he was busy and had to travel. Still, I could never forget his cold expression.
"Elizabeth, pregnancy is survival of the fittest. If you miscarried that easily, it’s better not to have it."
At that moment, I truly believed what he said. From then on, I went to my checkups alone and took the medicine to protect the pregnancy by myself. So, I endured the nausea and quietly got out of bed at night to massage my swollen legs.
The care I had imagined receiving from him had all been given to someone else.
A few hours later, Michael sent me a rare message on WhatsApp.
[Elizabeth, you should get more rest these next few days after the miscarriage. I’ve arranged for someone to bring nutritious meals. Don’t forget to eat.]
I didn’t reply. Just like he had ignored my many messages before. The last one I sent asked what time he would come home. He never answered.
Now that I think about it, he was probably with Regina at the time. After that, I didn’t see him for several days. I only heard updates from the nurses.