Queenie. It was always Queenie.
In Henry’s eyes, even though I was carrying the child of the Palmer family, no matter how much I suffered, I would never be as important as Queenie.
When I thought back to when Henry and I first got married, I remembered that everyone in his family had belittled me. They said I wasn’t good enough for him. They all believed that Queenie and Henry were a perfect match.
They even went behind my back, using my name to invite him out on trips.
At first, Henry would always tell me about it.
But as time passed, he changed. He stopped mentioning Queenie inviting him out.
Now I finally understood. Maybe the day he stopped telling me was the day his heart wavered.
Noticing my silence and dazed expression, Henry said, “Alright, honey, I know you’ve had a hard time. You’re pregnant, yet you still risked yourself to donate blood. Come on. Let me feed you.”
He lifted the bowl and picked up a bit of pasta with the utensils. Then he brought it to my mouth in an attempt to please me.
A faint fragrance drifted from his sleeve and reached my nose.
It was Queenie’s scent.
A wave of nausea surged up in me.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore and ran straight to the bathroom to vomit.
The two bites of pasta I had just eaten all came back up.
After finally regaining some composure, I lifted my head and looked at my weak and disheveled reflection in the mirror.
Behind me, Henry looked a little flustered.
He held onto my arm and asked with concern, “Honey, what’s wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital for a check-up?”
I shook off his hand forcefully and said flatly, “No. Just stay away from me.”
Henry’s face darkened as he was just trying to appease me just now.
When I walked back to the bedroom, he muttered under his breath, “I swear, you’re just ungrateful. I was trying to help you, and yet you’re acting all high and mighty.”
