Chapter 3

Walking along, we reached the neighborhood lawn when Jolene suddenly pointed at a pile of dog poop and said:

"Potato pooped! Let's be civilized and take the dog poop home."

She swiftly put on a disposable glove, grabbed the pile of poop, and tossed it into her bag.

I cried out in shock, "My purse!"

Fintan replied disdainfully, "It's just an old bag. Now you have an excuse to buy a new one."

Jolene ran over, grabbed my hair like she was yanking a dog's collar, and kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to squat on the ground.

"Potato, you still have more poop! Be a good boy and finish up!"

I turned and shoved this crazy woman. She gripped my arm tightly, and we both lost our balance and fell to the ground.

"Ouch!" We both cried out simultaneously.

A churning pain in my lower abdomen... my sweetheart...

Fintan rushed over, looking worried, "I'll take you to the hospital!"

He picked up Jolene in a princess carry.

He only tossed me one sentence.

"Freesia, why did you deliberately push her? How can you be so vicious!"

I watched helplessly as their figures disappeared in the distance, realizing for the first time what it meant to feel heartbroken.

With no other choice, I had to take a taxi to the hospital myself. The doctor said I had disturbed the fetus and advised me to stay in bed for rest.

I haven't been to our marital home for several days, and Fintan hasn't called even once to check on me.

Scrolling through his social media, I see he's been busy every day with Jolene's rehabilitation therapy.

He's also taken Jolene to their college, the apartment they once shared, and every place they've ever been together...

"Jolene is doing great, getting better day by day. Life is worth living."

This latest post shows their silhouettes cuddling together, gazing at the starry sky.

I don't know if life is worth living, but I'm starting to wonder if what Fintan and I have is worth continuing.

A week before our wedding, Fintan finally seemed to remember he had a bride-to-be.

He came to my place where I live alone, apologizing for the harsh words he'd said to me that day.

"I was just so worried about Jolene, that's why I spoke without thinking. Darling, I'm sorry!"

He showed me a diagnosis and bed reservation from an out-of-state mental hospital, telling me Jolene would be admitted after our wedding.

"She won't be bothering us anymore soon. I only have obligations to her, but you're my true love."

Seeing me lying in bed, sickly, he volunteered to cook for me.

Despite clumsily breaking a plate and burning his finger with hot oil, he whined:

"Darling, blow on it for me. If darling blows on it, it won't hurt at all."

"Darling loves me the most. Darling treats me better than anyone else in the world!"

He nuzzled against me affectionately, and as if sensing it, our sweetheart in my belly seemed to move ever so slightly.

Blood is thicker than water.

For the sake of him being the baby's father, I'll forgive him one more time.

Once Jolene is hospitalized, everything will get better... right?