"Cammy, you know perfectly well that Rita has depression. Why would you provoke her? If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you! Take this as a lesson. From now on, stay away from her."

With that, Quentin carried Rita into the Jeep and drove off.

In the end, it was a kind stranger—unable to stand the sight—who brought me to the hospital.

The doctor told me I had miscarried.

Lying on the hospital bed, I kept replaying the moment Quentin walked away. My vision blurred with tears.

I made myself a promise then, that from that day onward, I would never go near either of them again.

I was setting him free.

…

The memory ended abruptly.

Quentin acted as if he didn't see how pale I was, reminding me coolly, "If there's nothing else, go back. As a military officer's wife, you should know better than to waste medical resources."

I nodded. "Alright."

He continued, "I'll be with Rita for the next few days. Don't come looking for me unless it's something important."

I nodded again. "Alright."

Maybe my indifference caught him off guard, because he seemed momentarily stunned. He let go of Rita's arm and stepped toward me.

"Your… body is okay, right? When Rita stabilizes a bit, I'll go with you for a proper prenatal exam."

I murmured an acknowledgment, pretending not to notice the jealousy burning in Rita's eyes.

As I passed them, a faint scent drifted from him—sweet osmanthus. It was the hair oil Rita always used.

He must've held her often these days; otherwise, how could her scent seep so deep into his clothes?

When I got home, Clarice Olson from next door happened to be heading out. She froze when she saw my pale face.

"Oh heavens, Cammy, why do you look so pale? Did something happen?"

I forced a smile, but my eyes reddened on their own.

So my face was that terrible. So other people could see something was wrong with me.

Then why couldn't Quentin?

Seven days, and not even one single word of concern…

That would've been enough.

Seeing I didn't want to talk, Clarice didn't press. She simply helped me inside and eased me onto a chair.

That night, she brought over a large bowl of chicken soup.

"Cammy, your health has always been weak, and now you're pregnant. You need to nourish yourself."

Her husband was a soldier too, but they had many children and lived on a tight allowance. Most months, she traded eggs just to get daily necessities and help ease the burden at home.

After thanking her, I sat at the table for a long time, lost in thought.

I couldn't understand. Why could even a neighbor show me this much care, while my own husband abandoned me again and again?

This marriage of mine was laughable.

With a sigh, I lifted the bowl carefully to my lips.

Just as I was about to take the first sip, the courtyard gate swung open.

"Cammy, I'm back."

Quentin walked in carrying a few sets of clean clothes.

I looked at him, puzzled.

"Why are you back? Aren't you supposed to be with Rita?"

He set the clothes down and replied casually, "The doctor said her condition isn't serious, but I'm still worried. I told her to stay a few more days in the hospital. So I came back to get some things."

I responded with a quiet hum, though my mind drifted to what he had said earlier that day, "If there's nothing wrong, go back. Don't waste medical resources."

So long as it was about Rita, everything—everything—became different.

Maybe my heart really had died a little. I didn't even have the strength to argue anymore.

Lowering my gaze, I lifted the bowl again.

Just as I was about to drink, Quentin suddenly spoke.

"You made chicken soup? Don't drink it yet. Rita's weak—she could use something nourishing."

The bowl paused in my hands. I stared at him, stunned.

"Clarice made this for me."

Quentin acted as though he hadn't heard a word. He rummaged through the cabinet, taking out a lunch box.

"I know your constitution. Chicken soup won't change anything for you. Let Rita have it this time. Next time, I'll take you to a restaurant."

Those familiar words dragged me straight back into the past.

"Cammy, I'm giving this batch to Rita first. When my allowance comes in next month, I'll make new ones for you.

"Cammy, skip the gala tonight. Give your spot to Rita. Next time the art troupe performs, I'll bring you.

"Cammy, Rita wants to meet my friends. Don't come to the gathering this time—next time, I'll take you.

"Cammy…"

So many "next times" that I'd long since lost count.

While I stood frozen, he filled the lunch box with the soup and offered a perfunctory farewell.

"I'm heading out. Take care of yourself."

He turned to leave, but the hem of his coat brushed the bowl on the table.

Clatter!

The bowl hit the floor, shattering—just like something inside me.

"Quentin."

I stopped him and pulled the glass bottle from my pocket, the one holding ninety-nine soybeans.

"Ninety-nine. Count them."

His movements stilled. He turned back to me, stunned.

"Already?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He set down what he was holding, looking troubled.

I didn't speak. I just waited for his response.

As I expected, he hesitated only briefly before saying, "Cammy… Rita can't be left alone right now…"

Guilt flashed in his eyes, but he still finished the sentence. "Our agreement… let's void it."

I lowered my gaze and sighed. "All right."

He froze, surprised that I gave in so easily. Then he pulled me into a sudden, excited embrace.

"Cammy, you're so understanding. Don't worry. Once Rita's condition stabilizes, I'll make it up to you. I promise I'll be there."

I murmured in acknowledgment, then told him the only thing I wanted. "The baby is almost due. I want a locket for the baby."

At the mention of the child, his expression softened even more.

"Alright. When I get back, I'll go to the checkup with you. We'll buy our baby the best, most beautiful locket."

My pupils trembled. The pain of losing my baby surged up again.

"Okay."

But my baby would never see it.

After he left, I stood and opened the drawer, pulling out the stack of medical records I'd arranged so neatly.

The first pregnancy confirmation.

The first prenatal exam.

The first prescription for medication to protect the baby…

On every night he wasn't home, I would take them out and read them again and again. They held the excitement of becoming a mother, and the quiet hope of a wife building a family.

But now…

I took the miscarriage report from my pocket—hands trembling—and placed it with the rest.

Tears fell, soaking the paper, like a final farewell.

I inhaled deeply and was about to close the drawer when I suddenly heard his voice behind me.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, I slammed the drawer shut and wiped the tears from my eyes.

Quentin walked toward me, his gaze fixed on the drawer.

"You're back already?"

I pressed myself against the cabinet, trying to shift the subject.

He approached, raising his hand—not toward the drawer, but toward my face.

"You've been crying?"

He stared at the moisture on his fingers, stunned and unsure what to do.

I forced a small smile and said casually, "Pregnant women get emotional. It'll pass in a moment."

Quentin let out a breath of relief.

"Good. I forgot to ask—what kind of locket do you want? How about a star-shaped one? Supplies are tight these days; simpler designs are better."

I froze, surprised he cared enough to ask. If only he had cared this much before.

"Sure," I said softly. "Whatever you decide."

He nodded, reassured, and headed for the door. But just before he stepped out, he turned again.

"You're really okay?"

I parted my lips. Suddenly, a thin thread of hope rose inside me.

"If I weren't okay… would you stay with me?"

He paused—only for a heartbeat—then smiled.

"Cammy, don't be ridiculous. Rita's still waiting for me at the hospital. Go to bed early. I'm leaving."

The door closed. And I finally broke.

I cried for choosing the wrong man.

I cried for how foolish I was—still holding out hope for someone who had already shown me the ending.

I cried because, deep down, I had known the truth all along.

That night, I packed every last one of my belongings. The divorce paperwork hadn't come through yet. But I was exhausted. Completely and utterly drained.

Before bed, I emptied the bottle of soybeans and soaked them overnight.

The next morning, as I ate the mushy beans, a message from Quentin arrived.

He had someone tell me the baby's locket was ready. I could pick it up at the hospital.

When I arrived, I went straight to Rita's ward. He wasn't there—probably out getting food.

Rita smiled brightly.

"Cammy, are you looking for Quentin? Do you need something from him?"

I tugged at the corner of my lips, keeping my voice even.

"I'm here for the baby's locket. Do you know where he put it?"

She let out a little melodramatic "ah," then lifted her foot from under the blanket. Around her ankle was a string. Dangling from it was a delicate locket.

It was the locket Quentin had promised me. A simple star-shaped locket.

"You mean this one?" she asked sweetly. "Quentin gave it to me as an anklet. Pretty, isn't it?"

Her smug smile blurred at the edges as my vision wavered.

My baby was gone.

My husband didn't love me.

All I wanted was a locket. Just a small blessing I could bury with my baby who never had the chance to be born…

Just that. Only that…

I didn't know how I made it out of the hospital. By the time I reached home, my voice had been cried hoarse—I couldn't make a sound.

Inside, I took out a sheet of stationery and wrote down everything I hadn't finished yet. Tasks I hoped Quentin would complete for me… for the sake of our marriage, if nothing else.

After checking again and again that I hadn't missed anything, I picked up my luggage and left the compound.

A guard, just ending his shift, hurried over and offered to carry my bags.

I refused.

The rest of this road—I wanted to walk on my own.

Meanwhile, Quentin returned to the ward with lunch boxes in hand.

"Rita, did Cammy stop by while I was gone?"

She smiled and pulled her foot back under the blanket.

"No, no one came."

He nodded and opened the lunch box.

"Let's eat. Did you put the locket away safely for me? I'll bring it to Cammy when I go home this afternoon."

She hummed in reply and took the food.

A sudden knock sounded.

A nurse stepped inside.

"Which one of you is family to Cammy Mason? She forgot to take her post-miscarriage medication."