Half an hour later, after handling the discharge alone, I passed by the entrance of the obstetrics department, only to see her and Knox standing there.
At the consultation desk, I overheard a young nurse say brightly, “Ms. Deveraux, your husband really dotes on you. He never lets you come alone. Even during your ultrasounds, he warms the coupling gel himself so it doesn’t feel cold on your belly.”
The mothers waiting nearby all looked on with envy.
For a fleeting moment, I thought we once had a child, too. But she had ended that pregnancy behind my back.
That very day, Knox sent me a voice message, “Giselle lost a bet to me. From now on, she’s only allowed to have children for me.”
I hadn’t even responded yet; not a minute later, she called.
No explanations. No questions.
Just curses. She called me petty. Unbelievably stupid.
And then she screamed, “Milo, a loser like you has no right to have children with me. If I ever do have a baby, it’ll be with someone with better genes!”
…
Snapping back to reality, I was about to walk away when she suddenly strode over, her face cold as ice.
“Why are you just standing there like an idiot?”