Only when the topic was the baby did I feel that Zion still cared about me, still cared about this family.
But now, I didn’t want to keep pretending anymore.
And even though Zion looked at me several times through the rearview mirror, he didn’t say a word.
Right before we reached the hospital, Zion’s phone rang.
The voice on the other end sounded upset, saying something about “causing trouble at the house,” “pulling someone away,” and “forcing her to marry an old man.”
Zion’s face didn’t change at all.
“That’s her family’s issue. What does that have to do with me? Didn’t I tell you, when I’m with my wife, don’t bring me anything else?”
He ended the call right away.
A moment later, Zion parked the car at the hospital entrance, put his hand on my belly, and spoke softly, “Baby, we’re at the hospital.”
I thought Zion might still have a bit of conscience left.
But after I took my number and turned back around, I saw the seat beside me was already empty.
Zion’s reply showed up quickly.
[Something happened.]
[The day after tomorrow is your mom’s death anniversary. I will come back for you and the baby.]
[Do your checkup alone today.]