Even as I asked, I already knew the answer.
If Chindy hadn’t gotten Ferry’s approval, she wouldn’t have so openly accepted the red envelopes from the group. She wouldn’t have made a spectacle of herself unless she was certain she had his support.
Ferry clenched his jaw. "Karen, I want a child."
The words made me snap. My hand flew before I could stop it, striking him across the face. The absurdity of it all hit me at once. I started laughing—hysterically, painfully—tears streaming down my face as I did. Without another word, I walked into the bedroom. The test reports from the lab still lay on the table, alongside the hospital’s diagnostic reports.
Fury surged through me as I grabbed them and hurled them at him.
"Ferry, take a look for yourself."
"The ‘folic acid’ you gave me—it’s birth control, isn’t it?"
He stilled. His hands trembled as he picked up the reports, scanning them with wide, disbelieving eyes.
His voice shook. "Karen..."
I cut him off, my voice cold and unyielding. "You fed me birth control pills for three years. And now—now you have the audacity to say you want a baby?"
"If you wanted to have a child with Chindy, you could have just told me. I would’ve hidden it from Mom and Dad for you."
"Instead, you disguised birth control pills as folic acid and tricked me into taking them."
"I can accept many things, but I can't accept you hurting me."
Looking back on these five years of marriage with Ferry, some moments felt surreal. For the most part, we treated each other with distant respect, but there were times when our relationship seemed... real.
There were nights when he would come home drunk, his body heavy against mine, murmuring, "Honey…"
"Do you think we’re happy? I do."
Then he would hold me tighter. I would get up to make him sobering soup, but he would pull me back. "Nothing sobers me up better than having you by my side."
"Just stay with me a little longer."
At first, I wondered if he was thinking of someone else. But over time, I convinced myself otherwise. I welcomed those moments, allowing myself to bask in the scent of alcohol on him, the warmth of his presence. He would give me small gestures of romance now and then. On holidays, he would sweet-talk both our parents.