I'm an Ordinary Woman Who Only Knows How to Love Ordinarily

1: 1

My husband was always telling me what an ordinary, boring person I was. Every day, all I did was cook and hunch over the toilet with morning sickness.

So every single day, he talked to the baby in my belly. "When you grow up, baby, you have to be like your Auntie Gwyneth Henson. Smart, brave, brave enough to ski, brave enough to go out and see the world all on your own."

My smile froze for a second, and I couldn't help asking him,

"So if Gwyneth and I both fell into the sea, who would you save?"

Timothy James thought about it, then let out a scornful little laugh.

"Charlotte Pruitt, you really are so ordinary. Gwyneth would never ask me a question like that, because nature's mountains and lakes and seas don't raise that kind of narrow-minded love."

"She's not like you. She's a bird, free, soaring across the open sky."

Right on cue, a photo of Gwyneth popped into our three-person group chat.

She'd just finished a trip to Antarctica, standing in front of a glacier, laughing into the wind.

Timothy snatched up his phone at once and typed back, dead serious.

【Beautiful. Be free for me too!】

When the screen went black, I saw my own reflection in it.

Pale face, swollen feet under a big loose maternity dress, stretch marks all over my belly and waist.

For this family I'd quit my job, given up every bit of my social life. All that was left of my days were prenatal checkups and shopping for baby things.

But the person Timothy admired had always been someone like Gwyneth, free and dazzling.

I didn't cry, and I didn't ask again.

I just lowered my head, resting my hand on my belly, and it hit me, clear and certain.

This ordinary marriage of mine and Timothy's had already reached its end.

1

Only after Timothy finished replying did he notice I'd gone quiet.

He set the phone down and pressed his hand back against my belly.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Charlotte. That's so tacky."

I asked him back, "Then what do you think isn't tacky?"

He blanked for a moment, scraping the bottom of his mind, hunting for a few things he could count as my good points.

"Fine, you're steady, you can keep the house running, and that's enough. I don't expect you to understand anything else."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but the words went into me like sharp thorns.

The phone chimed again.

Gwyneth said in the group chat that she'd cut her trip short and could be home tonight.

Timothy replied instantly.

【Come have dinner at our place. A welcome-home dinner.】

Only after the message was sent did he glance my way, like he was doing me a favor.

"Gwyneth's been in Antarctica over a month. She definitely won't be able to stomach eating out."

"Make a few dishes she likes tonight, and stew a pot of pork rib stew. That's your specialty."

My stomach turned.

Since getting pregnant I couldn't stand the smell of cooking oil, and I'd been throwing up for a whole month straight. This baby had been a hard, hard pregnancy.

"Can we go out to eat instead?"

"I'm not feeling well today."

The smile on Timothy's face thinned.

"She sat on a plane for over twenty hours straight and didn't complain about being tired once."

"You're only three months along. How is it that every day it's either dizziness or wanting to throw up?"

"The doctor already said it. A pregnant woman can't just lie around. A little housework is good for you."

With that, he lowered his head and went back to chatting with Gwyneth.

That afternoon, forcing down the nausea, I went into the kitchen.

The moment the sweet-and-sour glazed ribs hit the pan, the oily smoke hit my face, and I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom.

There was nothing in my stomach.

I hung over the toilet dry-heaving for a long time, until the tears were wrung out of me.

Timothy passed by the doorway and stopped for only a few seconds.

"Let's just hope the kid doesn't turn out sickly and feeble like you."

I'd barely opened my mouth to say something when his phone rang.

Gwyneth was already downstairs.

Timothy turned on his heel at once.

"When you're done throwing up, remember to rinse your mouth. What a state, all sloppy and unkempt. I'm going down to get her first."

After the door shut, I knelt alone on the cold tile.

And suddenly I remembered the day the pregnancy test came back positive.

Timothy had held that test result and stared at it for a long time.

A man who was always so calm, and yet the rims of his eyes had slowly gone red.

He'd crouched down and kissed my belly, his voice trembling.

"Lottie, quit the bank job."

"Out early, home late every day, dealing with all those clients. I don't feel right about it."

"From now on you just focus on the baby. I can support you and the child."

I hated to give up the job I'd done for six years.

But he said we'd only have one child, and a job could be found again anytime.

He said he'd never let me suffer even a little.

I believed him.

But less than two months after I quit, in his mouth I'd become someone who did nothing but lie around all day, someone who wouldn't even make a single meal.

An ordinary, drab, worn-out housewife.

I lifted a hand and wiped away the tears that had streamed down my whole face without my noticing.

And I couldn't help asking myself, in my heart, Charlotte, is it worth it?