To Love, To Poison

I sat on the sofa clutching the medical exam report, its edges already wrinkled from my grip. Three months ago, the doctor said my fertility was damaged and that I needed long-term treatment. Today's follow-up showed the words "Reproductive Function Has Been Restored" on the report, finally lifting the stone that had weighed on my heart for half a year. My phone dinged—it was a message from my wife's family, the Hassan family group chat. My wife, Clara Hassan, posted a photo of a pregnancy test with the caption: "Baby on the way! Can't wait to meet our baby!" Underneath, her sister replied: "Clara, you're amazing! Samuel must be over the moon!" Just as I was about to reply, another message popped up—Clara had privately sent me a screenshot of a transfer, the recipient noted as "Wayne Sheen," for 8.88 million. Wayne Sheen, her first love—and the "nutritionist" she's been seeing for the past six months. I held my phone as I stood by the bedroom door. Clara was applying lipstick in front of the mirror, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Clara, are you pregnant?" My voice shook slightly. She turned around, spotted the medical exam report in my hand, and her eyes flickered. "Yeah, I just found out. I was going to tell you tonight." "Then what about this?" I handed her the screenshot of the transfer. "8.88 million to Wayne. Is it normal to pay that much to a nutritionist?" Clara's face instantly paled, but she forced herself to stay calm: "Samuel, don't misunderstand. Wayne's company is strapped for cash—I was just helping him out a bit." "Helping him?" I laughed, tears nearly streaming down, "He's your first love, the 'nutritionist' you found. And now that my fertility has just recovered, you're pregnant? What a coincidence." "Samuel, what do you mean by that?!" Clara raised her voice. "You're doubting me? We've been married for ten years, and you don't trust me like this?" Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Wayne pushed it open, carrying a thermos. "Clara, I brought you some bird's nest." He saw me and a provocative smile spread across his face. "Mr. Vitorgan is here too—perfect timing. I have something to tell you." "Shut up!" I pointed at the door. "This is my house. Get out!" Wayne took a step forward, shielding Clara behind him. "Mr. Vitorgan, Clara only managed to get pregnant after I worked so hard for three months. Be smart—don't upset her or ruin all my efforts." I shook with anger, reaching out to pull Clara toward me. "Clara, you better give me a good explanation!" Wayne suddenly shoved me, and I lost my balance, slamming my back into the corner of the wall, falling to the ground in pain. "Samuel!" Clara shouted, but she didn't come to help me. Wayne rubbed his wrist and said, "Clara, let's go. Don't waste your breath on him." Clara glanced at me once but eventually followed Wayne. As the door shut, I heard her ask, "Wayne, are you alright? What did you think you were doing, talking like that?" I lay on the ground, the pain in my back shooting up my spine, but my heart ached even more than my body. Ten years of marriage turned out to be nothing but a joke.