During the time when I was preparing to conceive, I came across a video.

[How have you downgraded your spending this year?]

The most liked comment: [I've started sleeping with my wife again.]

I cursed the jerk who wrote that while feeling grateful that I had married a good man.

Five months into my pregnancy, the algorithm showed me the same video again.

The comment section revealed a new low for that scoundrel.

[Guys, how do you make sure both your pregnant wife and the baby don't make it?]

Fuming, I clicked on the user's profile, curious to see what this despicable person looked like.

To my utter shock, it turned out to be my dear husband, Bruce Tuttle's account.

...

A notification popped up—Bruce had sent a message.

[Honey, what would you like for dinner? I got your favorite cherries and durian.]

Startled by my own thoughts, I couldn't focus on food anymore.

I stared blankly at the screen, my mind racing.

Within five minutes, my phone rang. It was Bruce.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing? Why haven't you replied?"

Ever since we got together, he'd always been like this—calling me the moment I didn't respond, saying he was worried something might have happened to me.

I stretched and pretended I'd just woken up.

"Sorry, darling, I was asleep. The phone was on silent, and I didn't hear it."

But Bruce, ever the worrier, kept insisting I should cover myself properly when I sleep and not catch a cold.

He reminded me to let him know if I wanted anything and not to go out alone.

"You're the most important person in this house now," he said.

I teased him, calling him a nagging nanny, but tears welled up in my eyes.

How could this gentle, caring Bruce be the same man who would post such a terrible thing online?

Bruce and I met in college. He was two years ahead of me and studying the same major.

From the moment I saw him—broad-shouldered with piercing eyes—I was smitten.

He was hardworking, intelligent, and it wasn't long before we were officially a couple.

Bruce was always doting on me, but my mother never really liked him.

My parents divorced when I was young, and my mother later left her job to ride the wave of the internet boom, starting a beauty company that became incredibly successful.

She'd seen all kinds of people, and she always told me that Bruce wasn't trustworthy based on his appearance alone.

But I was head over heels, convinced Bruce was the best man in the world and thought my mom was just being cynical.

Bruce didn't come from a wealthy background, but he was determined.

Within six months of graduating, he secured a job with a fifty thousand annual salary, which only kept increasing.

He was frugal with himself but never spared any expense for me.

He always made a point to surprise me on special occasions, buying me the makeup or handbag I had been hesitant to splurge on.

Even with all this, my mother remained unconvinced. In the end, I secretly married Bruce.

My mom was so angry she threatened to disown me.

When we first got married, we had no house, no car, and not even a proper wedding.

Then, I was diagnosed with infertility, and I spent every day enduring physical therapy and taking remedies, losing a significant amount of weight in the process.

Bruce was incredibly tender, urging me to quit my job and focus on getting better. He took on the burden of caring for me entirely.

Perhaps his unwavering care softened my mother's heart, or maybe she just couldn't bear to see me suffer any longer.

Eventually, she relented and gave us two hundred thousand to help us buy a small house in the city center.

Bruce and I would take care of the mortgage.

During those long, uneventful days of trying to conceive, I turned to TikTok for entertainment.

Amidst all the funny videos, I stumbled upon one that caught my attention.

[How have you downgraded your spending this year?]

I expected to see complaints about jobs or salaries.

I didn't expect that when I opened the comment section, the most popular comment was this one.

[I've started sleeping with my wife again.]

The replies were filled with people rightfully condemning the man as a jerk, a heartless bastard, a lowlife.

Reading through the replies, I found myself outraged.

Here was a man who had married yet still sought pleasure elsewhere, blaming his wife for his dissatisfaction.

He described her as lacking passion, someone who no longer cared about her appearance and embarrassed him in public.

Despite his humble beginnings, he had worked hard to get into a good university and earn a nearly six-figure salary, and now he couldn't stand his spoiled wife.

He felt trapped in a life with a wife he could no longer stand.

To vent his frustrations, he sought thrills outside the marriage.

Recently, though, his wife had been moody, and to keep her calm, he had handed over control of his finances.

Now, he was left with no outlet.

I was grateful I hadn't married someone like him.

I liked every comment that called out the scoundrel, then moved on, putting the whole thing out of my mind.

Perhaps it was due to some algorithm-driven suggestion, but six months later, now five months pregnant, I stumbled upon that video again.

To my shock, the same despicable individual had posted a new, even more vile comment just three days prior.

[How can I make my wife, who's five months pregnant, have a natural miscarriage? Here's the thing. I've been tired of her for a long time. If it weren't for her family's upcoming fortune from the land acquisition, I'd have left her ages ago. I was planning to divorce her as soon as the money came through, but now she's pregnant, and it's already five months along. I've tried every forbidden food recipe for pregnant women, but nothing works. I'm sick of it. Is there any way to make her lose the baby without anyone knowing?]

This was beyond monstrous. How could such a person exist in this world?

While I usually enjoy reading gossip, I tend not to engage in online arguments.

But this comment was simply too infuriating.

Perhaps it was my heightened emotions during pregnancy, but I felt both anger and curiosity surge within me. I clicked on the comment to read all the replies.

To my horror, I found myself witnessing a conversation between two shameless men, filled with the most malevolent ideas.

[I just wish she'd slip and fall down the stairs, lose the baby, and save me the trouble.]

[Exactly! But don't worry, even if she doesn't fall, there's no guarantee the baby will make it to term. Bad luck might mean she doesn't survive the delivery at all.]

[You can't rely on luck. But I heard there's a drug online you can mix into prenatal vitamins that will cause a miscarriage without her knowing. Not sure if it works, though.]

[Really? Got a link? Send it to me privately!]

These conversations were so vile that even casual readers couldn't stand it. They flooded the comments with outrage.

[May these two scumbags suffer a terrible fate!]

[Exactly! They deserve to rot for this. Let their poor wives be free of them.]

...

As I read these comments, I was seething.

How could such dark, cruel people exist?

These men, whose wives were carrying their children and risking their lives to bring them into the world, were plotting divorce and financial gain, even contemplating the death of both mother and child. They were worse than beasts!

Fuming, I clicked on the profile of the person who had posted the original comment, eager to see what kind of person could be so vile.

Unfortunately, there was nothing of substance on their page.

I clicked on the profile picture, hoping to find some clues.

To my surprise, the profile picture was of a hand gripping a steering wheel.

He was showing off a flashy BMW emblem adorned with pink rhinestones—a clear sign that this was no decent person.

Wait a minute, pink rhinestones on a BMW emblem?

Last week, my mom bought me a black BMW, but I found it too corporate-looking, so I added a circle of pink rhinestones around the steering wheel emblem. Bruce had even teased me about how crooked the rhinestones were, saying it looked ridiculous.

But the rhinestones on this scumbag's profile picture were exactly like mine!

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me on a freezing winter day. My vision went dark for a moment.

But I wasn't ready to give up. My hands trembling, I zoomed in on the picture, trying to examine the details.

The scar on the back of the hand, the identical wedding ring on the ring finger, the sleeve of a plaid shirt peeking out.

All of these details told me that the man in the profile picture was Bruce Tuttle.

Bruce, who often shared funny videos with me on TikTok, said that laughter was good for the baby.

Could this really be Bruce's secondary account?

Was this man, who wished his wife would fall down the stairs and lose both her life and their child's, really Bruce?

I felt a sudden numbness sweep over my body.

This couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake. Maybe someone had stolen a picture Bruce had taken and posted it online.

Bruce loved me so much. His social media, whether on Facebook or TikTok, was full of pictures of us, and even his profile picture was of the two of us together.

Besides, my mom hadn't mentioned anything about the land acquisition.

My hands trembling, I scrolled through the comments on the video and stopped at one that said: [I've started sleeping with my wife again.]

Suddenly, I remembered that six months ago, when I was feeling slightly depressed while trying to conceive, Bruce had handed over his paychecks to make me feel more secure.

Everything matched what the commenter had said.

As the realization hit, my stomach churned violently.