Fallen

Chapter 1

My husband spent his ex-girlfriend’s entire pregnancy taking care of her.

When I had a raging fever, he used his phone to search “severe morning sickness remedies.”

On my mother’s death anniversary, he waited outside the delivery room, praying, “Mother and child safe.”

His ex-girlfriend was safe that day.

He was the one who lost it.

1

Mark had a noticeable smell of alcohol on his breath as he carelessly kissed me.

I blushed, shielding my belly with one hand, slightly flinching away.

He noticed, pulling me forcefully into his arms, his voice raspy as he asked, “What are you hiding?”

I pursed my lips, giving him a hint, “Turn off the lights first.”

Only the bedside lamp on his side of the bed was still on, next to a pregnancy test result I had deliberately placed there.

I was pregnant and planned to tell him tonight.

But what caught his attention first was the sudden ringing of his phone.

Usually, he would just pick up and hang up.

But this time, his arm holding the phone paused, hovering above my pregnancy test.

The caller ID showed two words—Sarah.

Sarah Miller was Mark’s first love.

His arm around me loosened involuntarily. “I’ll take this call,” he said.

The door closed.

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to receive calls when we were together, but Mark always answered them in front of me.

Sarah was the exception.

After a long while, the door opened again.

He came in, smelling of cigarettes, leaning down to kiss me.

Thinking of the baby in my belly, I turned my head away instantly; his kiss landed on the corner of my mouth.

He frowned. “You’re acting strange tonight,” he said.

Then he turned to change his clothes. “Got a sudden case I need to handle. Get some sleep, don’t wait up.”

Mark owned his own law firm; he wouldn’t normally take emergency cases.

Before leaving, he suddenly leaned closer. “Do I smell like smoke?”

I was taken aback.

He muttered, frowning, “I heard pregnant women shouldn’t smell smoke.”

My heart skipped a beat; I thought he knew.

But he abruptly stood up, ruffling my hair. “Why would I tell you? You’re not pregnant anyway.”

He walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

I stared at the pregnancy test on the bedside table, wondering who was pregnant if it wasn’t me.

Later, I finally understood; Sarah was the one pregnant.

After Mark left, I called my best friend, Jessica, intending to tell her I was pregnant.

“Tell you something, don’t get excited,” she said.

She stopped me. “Let me tell you three things first, don’t get excited.”

“Sarah got divorced.”

“Sarah’s back.”

“Sarah’s pregnant.”

2

Three sentences, like stones thrown into a calm lake.

Splashes erupted.

My mind was a little dazed.

I remained silent for about half a minute.

I replied, “Oh.”

“What were you going to tell me?”

I made up an excuse, “I really want dumplings.”

Suddenly, I didn’t want to tell anyone.

I had a crush on Mark since high school; we later attended the same university.

We occasionally kept in touch.

In our senior year, he suddenly appeared at our graduation reunion dinner.

He just kept drinking, his eyes red, without saying a word.

I took him home, drunk.

He was tipsy, yet still somewhat conscious. “Rachel?”

“Mark, it’s me.”

He said, “Let’s give it a try.”

At the time, I only felt that my years-long crush had finally borne fruit.

Later, I found out that day was special.

…

Mark told me not to wait, and I didn’t wait up for him all night. Instead, I received a friend request on WeChat.

It was from Sarah.

I accepted it.

But she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she posted a selfie on her Moments, a full-body shot in a mirror.

【Thanks for helping me tidy up my new home last night. New beginnings, a new me, and you. 】

In the photo, her hand rested on her belly, her abdomen slightly swollen.

But more striking than that was the half-arm of a man reflected in the mirror, a watch on his wrist—the one I gave Mark for our first wedding anniversary.

I checked the time.

It was 12:43 AM. Mark was helping his first love decorate her new home.

Just when I was ready to tell him we were expecting a new life.

He spent the night with Sarah.

How ironic.

When I first graduated, I struggled to find a place to live.

At that time, I was newly dating Mark. I didn’t want to bother him, so I managed the entire move myself.

I didn’t have much money and rented a tiny room in a run-down area.

One night, a drunk man kept knocking on my door. I was terrified and called Mark. Hearing his voice, I broke down crying.

After he learned what happened, he called the police for me, and he rushed over.

The next day, I learned he was out of town on business and drove two hours back that night.

I worried about his work, but he just grumbled about me renting such an unsafe place.

He then started helping me find a new apartment, in a safer neighborhood, even paying for a year’s rent in advance.

I was overwhelmed, red-eyed, and stammered, “Thank you, I’ll pay you back.”

He chuckled, pulling me into his arms. “Rachel, I’m your freaking boyfriend.”

I thought that was a privilege only girlfriends had.

And now.

Sarah probably wanted me to see it.

I obliged and liked her post.

3

Mark didn’t come home all night, and I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I saw a message from him.

[It was too late last night, so I didn’t go back. I went straight to the firm, I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight.]

I typed and retyped, wanting to ask him if he knew about Sarah, wanting to ask him if he spent the night with her, wanting to tell him he was going to be a father.

But I didn’t ask.

My stubbornness took over.

I thought, whatever happened, Mark should tell me himself.

[Okay.] I replied.

As I was getting ready to leave work, Jessica called and asked me to go to IKEA with her.

“Mark’s picking me up for dinner later,” I said.

“At least he has some conscience and didn’t rush off to find Sarah,” she remarked.

I didn’t respond.

As soon as I hung up, Mark called.

“Sorry, Rachel, I have to stay late with a client tonight; I won’t be able to make it to dinner.”

I lowered my eyes. “Okay.”

I went to IKEA with Jessica.

Jessica was buying a children’s study desk for her niece; I wandered around by myself.

Around a corner.

“Mark, I don’t want to change, this outfit doesn’t look good with these slippers…”

I suddenly saw Sarah, with Mark standing in front of her.

The Mark who said he had to work late with a client.

Mark was holding a pair of slippers, ignoring Sarah’s complaints about changing her shoes, he knelt down to take off her high heels.

“You shouldn’t wear high heels for too long when you’re pregnant.”

Sarah said she didn’t want to, but still obediently let Mark take off her heels, a sweet smile on her face.

“Mark, you’ll definitely be a good dad.”

Mark seemed lost in thought, pausing for a moment before a slight smile appeared on his lips. “Yeah.”

My heart ached.

I had said that to Mark.

When he decided to have a baby with me, I rambled about decorating a nursery.

Mark pinched my cheek helplessly. “With your description, nine out of ten designers would go crazy.”

But a few days later, he showed me the design draft, piecing together my messy ideas into a child’s paradise.

I was teary-eyed, my heart swelling.

I sincerely praised him, “Mark, you’ll definitely be a good father.”

He didn’t respond at the time.

Now, he said he would be a good dad.

I thought I should leave; if I exposed them, it would be me, not Sarah, who looked pathetic.

But Sarah saw me.

“Rachel?!” Her eyes lit up, as if seeing a long-lost friend, she quickly walked towards me.

And at that moment, I saw Mark reach out to steady her, saying slowly, afraid she would fall.

The pathetic one was truly me.

Sarah insisted on catching up with me.

I was furious, angry at Mark for lying to me, yet acting so calmly in front of me.

Even if he had a moment of guilt and panic, it would be better.

It wouldn’t make me feel so insignificant.

I pulled my hand away.

My strength wasn’t great, I just wanted to pull my hand from Sarah’s grasp.

But wearing slippers, she suddenly swayed.

Mark caught her.

He frowned at me, “Rachel, Sarah’s pregnant.”

Whose fault?

My nose felt sore.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, desperately trying to hold back my tears.

I thought, at least I shouldn’t look too pathetic.

I forced a smile, “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Is that enough, Mark?”

4

I remembered when I was doing my first job, I was bullied by my colleagues.

It was before a bid, but two days before, we discovered problems with the bid document.

Redoing it was inevitable, but the senior employees, to shirk responsibility, colluded to blame me.

I kept insisting it wasn’t my fault.

But no one believed me, from the management to the staff, and I ended up taking the fall.

I felt angry and wronged, but I was stubborn and didn’t shed a single tear in front of them.

When we met, Mark noticed I was upset and asked, “What’s wrong?”

If no one asked, maybe I could have bottled it up for a lifetime.

But Mark’s question made my tears burst forth.

I sobbed, confusedly explaining the bid document situation.

Mark listened patiently, finally wiping my tears, “Don’t cry, you won’t be wronged with me around.”

Later, the company’s tax evasion was exposed. It wasn’t a big company to begin with, and when investigated, the whole company was shut down.

When I heard the news, I was stunned and realized it was Mark and his law firm’s doing.

Recalling the past, my tears finally flowed.

It wasn’t because the situation was embarrassing.

I just couldn’t understand how someone could so easily change their mind?

The one who said I wouldn’t be wronged was him.

Now?

I believed in sincerity, but sincerity is fleeting.

Seeing me cry, Mark finally showed panic.

He let go of Sarah’s hand and tried to pull me. “Rachel, I just—”

I stepped back, putting my hands behind my back.

I resisted intensely.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

Mark’s hand froze mid-air.

Sarah glanced at me, pressing his free hand down.

“Rachel, I’m Mark’s client, I hired him for my divorce case. I just moved, needed furniture, so I asked him to help.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, then Mark and I will stop here.”

“Mark, I’ll take a cab home, you take Rachel home. Explain it to her properly, don’t get angry.”

Sarah turned and left gracefully.

How clever she was.

The weak are understanding and evoke sympathy.

The clingy ones are the unreasonable ones.

Back home, Mark handed me his phone.

“Sarah is just my client; I haven’t even added her on WeChat, there’s nothing between us.”

I was weary.

I had no desire to check his phone.

I didn’t make a fuss or get angry, I just ignored him.

But he got angry.

I gave him the cold shoulder all night, and he couldn’t take it anymore; he pulled me out of the covers.

“Rachel, how long are you going to keep this up?”

“I was afraid you’d get angry today, so Sarah left. Even she, a pregnant woman, is accommodating you. Tell me, what do I need to do to satisfy you?”

My body was burning up, and I felt dizzy.

But I still wanted to laugh.

Now, I was the unreasonable one.

Sarah is pregnant, what about me?

My pregnancy test was still on the bedside table, clearly visible.

Due to his profession, Mark usually notices even the slightest changes in the house.

He would notice if I casually discarded a withered flower, and the next day, he’d buy a new bunch, replacing all the flowers in the vase.

Now, the pregnancy test right in front of him, he couldn’t see it.

I could tell him directly, “Mark, I’m pregnant.”

Then what?

Would he change his mind? Would he give up Sarah?

Would I pretend Sarah’s special circumstances didn’t exist?

Now, whether I’m pregnant or not doesn’t matter anymore.

Clear thoughts formed in my mind.

5

“Mark, I don’t want to talk about this now, I’m tired, can I rest?”

But Mark, mature and composed in public, could be stubborn as a child sometimes.

“Let’s solve this before you sleep.”

I sighed, placing his hand on my forehead. “Mark, I think I have a fever.”

Mark was stunned, immediately getting up to search for the medicine cabinet. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

He applied a cooling patch to my forehead and found some oral medication.

I touched my abdomen and lowered my head. “I hate bitter medicine, can you get me some candy?”

There wasn’t any at home, so Mark went to the supermarket downstairs to buy some for me.

After he left, I flushed the medicine down the toilet.

When he came back, I calmly ate the candy he bought.

I don’t know if my post-illness weakness triggered his protectiveness or if my tears earlier made him feel guilty.

He was unusually gentle tonight.

He stayed by my bedside, the water on the bedside table was always warm, he checked my temperature every half hour, constantly wringing out wet towels to cool me down.

His actions showed his love for me.

However, it didn’t stop him from searching “severe morning sickness remedies” on his phone while taking care of me.

Before that, he had taken a call.

He went out of the bedroom to answer it.

The only person who could make him do that was Sarah.

When he returned, I thought he was going to leave.

He just checked my temperature, changed the cooling patch on my forehead, then sat down.

I turned, looking at him puzzled.

He asked, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, didn’t speak, and closed my eyes to rest.

But my five senses were unusually sharp at this moment.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the light from his phone screen was glaring, directly on my eyelids.

I couldn’t help but open my eyes and saw him searching “severe morning sickness remedies?”

Then he edited the search results into a text message, adding,

Mark: [Pregnant women shouldn’t take medicine casually, it will affect the baby.]

[I’ve ordered oranges via flash delivery, see if it helps.]

[If not, go to the hospital.]

Sarah replied quickly.

Sarah: [I’m scared to go to the hospital alone, Mark, can you come with me?]

Mark: [Rachel has a fever, I can’t leave.]

Sarah: [Okay, take care of her, I can manage alone.]

She was a smart girl and understood Mark.

Mark didn’t like clingy girls but was easily swayed by guilt.

So she never pestered him, always retreating to advance.

She seemed understanding and calm, yet subtly tugged at Mark’s heartstrings.

Sure enough, the conversation, which could have ended, paused, and Mark replied.

Mark: [If you’re still feeling unwell tomorrow, I’ll accompany you to the hospital.]

Sarah: [You should rest too, don’t tire yourself out taking care of the patient.]

Mark: [Yeah.]

He put down his phone, lay down, pulling me into his arms, sighing in my ear,

“Rachel, get better soon.”

Did he genuinely want me to get better?

Or did he want me to recover so he could accompany Sarah to the hospital without guilt?

My heart was at peace.

It didn’t matter anymore; either way was fine.

I was fairly healthy; although I didn’t take any medicine, after a night of physical cooling, the fever subsided.

Mark, after taking care of me all night, was now asleep.

I got up and cooked a pot of thick porridge.

A lot, more than enough for two.

After Mark and I finished, he looked at the remaining porridge, “I’ll take this to the firm.”

“Okay.” I found a thermal container for him, putting a Buzz Lightyear sticker on it.

Before leaving, he instinctively wanted to kiss my forehead.

I subconsciously dodged, then felt the action was too abrupt. Before Mark could suspect anything, I proactively reached out and adjusted his tie.

He didn’t say anything, touching my forehead, “Your fever’s gone, still uncomfortable?”

“Much better.”

Mark left.

I took the day off and planned to go to the hospital for a check-up.

On the way to the hospital, I checked my Moments.

I saw Sarah’s update.

【Morning porridge/❤️】

A thermal container with a Buzz Lightyear cartoon sticker.

I liked it and commented.

“Is it delicious?”

“I made it.”

6

Like I had a premonition.

When I got to the hospital, I suddenly didn’t want to register.

But I didn’t leave, quietly sitting in the hospital lobby waiting.

About half an hour later, Mark and Sarah walked in.

Sarah was smiling and talking to Mark; he lowered his head slightly, his eyes gentle and attentive.

I tried to recall if Mark had ever listened to me so attentively.

The answer is yes.

I was generally outgoing but didn’t like to talk to colleagues at work, often bottling up my feelings, chattering endlessly to Mark when I got home.

Mark would put down his work, listen attentively to my rambling, and offer a glass of warm water at the right time.

But that wasn’t only for me.

It could also be Sarah.

Mark didn’t see me; they went into the elevator.

A pregnant woman asked me for help. I thought for a moment and agreed, accompanying her to the gynecology department.

Through the crowd, I saw Mark again.

Among the couples waiting for their check-ups, he and Sarah looked completely natural together.

Their striking appearances made them stand out in the crowd.

“Their baby must be beautiful,” the pregnant woman next to me said.

I looked at Mark, without answering.

Mark suddenly looked up, over the heads of the crowd, and saw me.

At that moment, all the noise in the hospital seemed to stop.

His expression was frantic, he strode towards me.

I thought, this is the second time, Mark.

This time, I smiled at him.

He came over, instinctively reaching for my hand; seeing that I didn’t dodge, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sarah came to the firm today to provide materials for her divorce case, she said her stomach wasn’t feeling well, so I accompanied her to the hospital…”

“I know.”

I maintained a well-timed smile.

Sarah also came over, seeing Mark holding my hand, she subtly shifted her gaze, then looked at me,

“Rachel, I asked Mark to come to the hospital with me, don’t blame him.”

I kept smiling, “Mark told me.”

Sarah observed my expression; I calmly met her gaze.

She suddenly smiled, then said two words, “Delicious.”

Delicious?

Delicious.

Sarah’s attack was so blatant.

It hit the heart.

I clenched my fists, maintaining a calm expression.

Not now, Rachel.

Wait a little longer.

…

Mark bought a lot of groceries back home.

He rarely cooked, but he was unusually diligent today.

He bought flowers and lit candles.

In the dim, romantic candlelight, he kissed my forehead, promising me,

“Sarah and I are just friends; if you’re unhappy, I won’t contact her anymore after I finish her divorce case.”

I asked him, “Mark, if Sarah came back on our wedding day, would you still marry me?”

He was silent.

And the silence was the answer.

He only reacted when I spoke.

I covered his mouth, “Remember what you said, Mark, people who break their promises will suffer retribution.”

7

Mark spent more and more time with me.

But Sarah was still between us.

Only after our confrontation, in Mark’s words, she was no longer an anonymous client, he directly called her Sarah.

As if, as long as he openly told me about his meetings with Sarah, their relationship was purely professional.

Clean and clear.

Every time, I just nodded calmly, but if he said he was meeting Sarah, I would ask him to bring me something back.

Nothing particularly urgent or special.

Sometimes it was a few apples; sometimes a bowl of wontons; sometimes a magazine.

This went on for two weeks.

Once, Mark told me he was meeting Sarah to discuss work.

And I, deliberately, didn’t ask him to bring anything.

He went out and came back, asking, “Don’t need anything today?”

I shook my head.

He looked at me stubbornly, “Really nothing?”

I smiled, “We’re out of soy sauce, bring a bottle back.”

He looked like he’d won a prize, kissed my forehead, and left contentedly.

The seemingly beautiful and sweet exterior was merely hiding some decay and rot.

Mark’s birthday was in two days.

He usually celebrated twice, on the actual day, and a day earlier.

The day before was for his colleagues at the firm; as the boss, his colleagues always celebrated his birthday at the firm.

The first year, Mark only celebrated on his actual birthday. His colleagues at the firm celebrated, and he invited me.

But I wasn’t good at socializing and was afraid of ruining the atmosphere.

I declined.

The next day, Mark celebrated his birthday with me alone.

I asked him why.

He said, “Without you, it doesn’t count as a celebration.”

From the second year on, he let the firm celebrate a day early, saving the actual day for me.

This year was no exception.

Normally, I wouldn’t participate in the firm’s celebration.

But this time, suddenly, I wanted to go.

Because Sarah had just posted on her Moments: 【This year, and every year. 】

The picture was a heart-shaped cream cake, with a man and a woman on it, vaguely resembling her and Mark in high school uniforms.