Ficorpio
Chapter 1
“Honey, I got the refund.”
Daniel Whitmore scrolled across his phone, his tone so casual he might have been telling me he’d canceled a takeout order.
I stared at him. “What refund?”
“The postpartum recovery center.” He didn’t even look up. “I canceled it for you.”
“Are you insane?” My voice shook. “My due date is in fifteen days. I booked that suite two months ago after jumping through every possible hoop—”
He cut me off. “Someone else needs that bed more than you do right now.”
“You’ll recover just as well at home. I’ll have my mother come take care of you. Honestly, home is safer.”
But I had caught the only part that mattered.
I fixed my eyes on him. “Who needs it more than I do?”
Only then did he finally look up, though his gaze slid away almost immediately.
“A colleague from work,” he said. “She’s on her own. It’s inconvenient for her.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. It felt as if someone had driven a fist straight into my chest.
Six months ago, Daniel had gone with me from center to center, comparing rooms, meal plans, nursing services, recovery programs—everything. In the end, we had chosen the one with the best reputation.
“You gave it to her?” I let out a cold laugh. “That was where I was supposed to recover after giving birth, Daniel. It wasn’t a charity slot.”
He frowned and finally put his phone away, impatience written all over his face.
“Why are you being so petty? She’s in a difficult situation. Can’t you show a little understanding?”
I forced down the fury burning in my throat and repeated the word slowly.
“Understanding?”
Then I looked him dead in the eye. “When I was pregnant and running back and forth to the hospital, squeezing onto public transit, working overtime until I threw up, where was your understanding then?”
The air went rigid.
Daniel pressed his lips together. After a long moment, he managed, “You can recover at home. Mom will come help. Stop making such a big deal out of this.”
I stared at him, and for the first time, the man in front of me seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar.
So this was how it was.
In his heart, my needs could be replaced whenever he felt like it. My suffering could be erased with one neat little word: understanding.
Outside the window, the wind lifted the corner of the curtain. I placed a hand over the gentle swell of my belly, and a coldness spread through me from the inside out.
Early the next morning, I took time off and went straight to the postpartum recovery center.
Chapter 2
“Hello,” I said to the receptionist, keeping my voice steady. “My husband accidentally canceled the VIP suite I reserved yesterday. Is there any way to reinstate the booking?”
The receptionist checked the system.
“Ms. Bennett, our records don’t show that your booking was canceled,” she said. “It looks like the guest information was changed.”
She hesitated, then added, “And the new guest checked in yesterday afternoon.”
My fingers curled tightly into my palm. I forced myself to stay calm.
“Who checked in?”
The receptionist looked uncertain.
I took out my phone and pulled up the payment record. “The reservation was made under my name, and I paid the deposit. I believe I have the right to know who is staying in the room I paid for.”
The receptionist lowered her voice. “Ms. Bennett, the guest is a woman with the last name Hayes.”
I gripped the edge of the front desk to steady myself.
“I’d like to speak with your manager.”
In the manager’s office, Rebecca Ellis pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Ms. Bennett, here’s what happened,” she said carefully. “Your husband did not cancel the reservation. He requested that we transfer the booking information to Ms. Vanessa Hayes. He told us there had been a special situation in your family and that you had voluntarily given the suite to someone else.”
“What special situation?” I asked with a cold smile. “What exactly did he tell you?”
Ms. Ellis glanced down at the record. “Your husband said… that you were physically unwell and emotionally unstable, and that staying at a postpartum recovery center would not be suitable for you.”
I drew in a slow breath, pressing down the chaos surging inside me.
“Then please print my original booking record,” I said. “And the information for the person who checked in.”
After I left the postpartum recovery center, I sat in the car, my mind a tangled mess.
Then suddenly, I remembered a message I had accidentally seen on Daniel’s phone the week before.
It had been from Vanessa Hayes.
Daniel, is the room booked already? That’s wonderful.
At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it.
Now…
I dug my phone out of my purse and called my best friend.
“Grace,” I said, my voice trembling, “Daniel is having an affair.”
Grace’s shocked voice came through the speaker.
“No way…”
I drew in a slow breath.
“I don’t want to believe it either. But it’s true. So I need a lawyer.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Okay,” Grace said at last. “I’ll send you her contact in a minute.”
After I hung up, I rested my hand over the slight curve of my belly.
I’m sorry, baby. From now on, you’ll only have me.
By the time the car pulled into the residential complex, the setting sun had stretched the shadows of the apartment buildings long and thin across the pavement.
When I opened the door, Daniel was already sitting on the sofa, watching the evening news.
He looked up at the sound. “You’re back? Where did you go?”
Chapter 3
My hand paused as I changed out of my shoes. Then I set my purse on the entryway console and kept my voice even.
“I went to see Grace. Needed to clear my head.”
He visibly relaxed. Setting the remote on the coffee table, he got up and walked toward me, reaching as if to put an arm around my shoulders.
I stepped away so smoothly it almost looked accidental.
His smile was mild and coaxing, the same smile he used to use whenever he wanted to soothe me.
“It’s good that you got out for a while.”
Then he added, “I was wrong not to tell you ahead of time. But I was only worried you’d be alone at the postpartum recovery center and get upset. That’s why I thought it would be better for you to recover at home. Mom can come help take care of you, and I’d feel more at ease.”
His tone carried that familiar assumption: I was supposed to be grateful.
I only nodded.
“Mm. I understand.”
The next morning, Daniel got up early as usual and changed into his suit. While tightening his tie, he reminded me, “I’ll be working late again tonight. Don’t wait up. Remember to eat, okay? Don’t let yourself go hungry.”
“Okay.”
I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him pick up his briefcase and leave. Only when the elevator doors had closed did I look away.
The moment he was gone, I went straight into the study.
His tablet sat on the desk where he always left it. The password was still my birthday.
He’d kept that habit for five years without changing it. Maybe he believed I would never check.
My fingertips felt cold as I unlocked the screen.
There was nothing unusual in the photo album. Then I opened his messaging app, and a familiar profile picture appeared.
Vanessa Hayes.
Her social feed was full of curated photos: her pregnant belly, delicate desserts, expensive afternoon teas.
I opened the chat and scrolled up.
Vanessa: Daniel, is the suite really booked? I was worried you’d be too busy and forget~
Daniel: Relax. I contacted them last night. I used her original reservation. She won’t know.
Vanessa: Wow, you’re amazing! Once I’m done with postpartum recovery, we’ll celebrate properly!
I stared at the screen as my stomach turned.
I kept scrolling. Mixed into the chat were several transfers.
Daniel Whitmore transferred $5,000: Buy some prenatal supplements.
Daniel Whitmore transferred $12,000: Get yourself a bag.
I scrolled farther and found even more bank transfer records.
Three thousand for maternity clothes. Ten thousand toward rent near the hospital. Eight thousand for formula.
Every single transaction stabbed into my heart like a blade.
That money was our marital property. It was money we had saved little by little for our home, for our child, for the life we were supposed to be building together.