My Birthday Is the Anniversary of His First Love’s Death

My birthday happens to be the anniversary of his first love’s death.

The man who always acts so polite and composed in front of others turned into a raging beast, his bloodshot eyes glaring at me as he screamed:

“You wretch! Why wasn’t it you who died back then?”

Later, I suffered a miscarriage, lost my mother, and was left with no one.

I gave him what he wanted—a divorce.

But then, he regretted it.

In the pouring rain, he knelt at my feet, begging me to come back.

1

I was pregnant.

Clutching the ultrasound report in my hand, I felt no joy—only a heavy, sinking despair.