He was asking Jessica with a soft voice if she wanted a bowl of soup.
Thinking back on all those scenes, I said to Henry with a fake smile, "That's just what you want. I'll leave right away. Let this so-called Ms. Quinton do it."
I did not know which word stabbed him, but he remained quiet for several seconds and suddenly became furious.
"There is a limit to my patience. Renata, stop making trouble," the man said as he stood up and took two steps.
I said indifferently, "Ah, by the way, I forgot to tell you that I had a miscarriage."
A month ago.
On the night when he received a call from Jessica and hurried out to block the wine for her, I had unbearable abdominal pain and drove to the emergency department of the hospital by myself.
But I was told that I had been pregnant for more than two months and the baby had lost the fetal heart rate and had already been biochemically induced.
The most ridiculous thing was that when I knew that the baby was gone, I was relieved.
Getting off the operating table alone, I thought it was time to end it.
In the living room, Henry turned his back to me, held his wine glass tightly and his fingertips turned white.