Chapter 2
572words
Lynn Miller sat beside him, both engrossed in video games.
Evan Growth barely acknowledged me with a cold glance.
"Did you get rid of it?"
My lips went pale as I looked at him.
"Yes."
Evan Growth eyed me with disgust.
"Only you would want something as disgusting as a child. I've told you—I'm child-free for life. If you want to be with me, you'd better get used to that idea."
I know he's not just child-free—he's also strictly vegetarian.
I remained silent.
Lynn Miller playfully grabbed Evan Growth's neck. "You jerk, is that how you talk to your woman?"
"Apologize to her, you ass."
The moment she touched him, the coldness in his eyes vanished.
He grabbed her hand with a playful groan.
"Fine, fine! I was wrong, okay? Happy now?"
Lynn Miller had cat hair all over her clothes.
"What the hell is that on your sleeve?" Evan Growth pointed with revulsion.
Lynn Miller glanced down. "It's just our son's fur. Don't tell me you're disgusted by your own son?"
She plucked the hair from her sleeve and flicked it directly at Evan Growth's face.
Evan Growth laughed as they wrestled. "You're asking for it!"
My heart clenched watching them roughhouse on the sofa.
"I'm not feeling well. I'm going to lie down."
They continued laughing, either deliberately ignoring me or too wrapped up in each other to notice.
Only after I'd left did I hear Lynn Miller say, "Your girl seems pissed. Aren't you going to comfort her?"
Evan Growth's voice dripped with impatience.
"Comfort her? Women are all like this—spoiled with bad habits."
"It's way more comfortable being with you."
Lynn Miller laughed. "Now you know how good daddy is to you, huh?"
I collapsed onto the bed, tears soaking into my pillow.
After what felt like forever, Evan Growth finally entered the room.
I thought he'd come to comfort me, but instead, he yanked me up by one arm.
"What are you doing?"
I stared at him through exhausted eyes.
Evan Growth jabbed a finger toward my stomach. "You just had an abortion and you're lying on our bed? Have you forgotten about my germaphobia?"
"I changed my clothes when I got home," I said quietly.
Evan Growth's germaphobia is extreme—the moment he gets home, he changes clothes, washes his hands, showers, and even disinfects his phone.
Before I can even touch him, I must spray my hands with alcohol.
Evan Growth never kisses me.
In his words, kissing means "exchanging bacteria and saliva," which he finds revolting.
For years, I've followed his rules religiously, washing my hands with disinfectant until the skin peeled off.
"You think it's just your clothes that are dirty?"
Evan Growth's voice turned to ice.
My weary expression finally cracked as I stared at him.
"What are you saying?"
"Don't you know a woman's blood is the filthiest thing in the world? You just aborted our child—can't you smell that bloody stench on yourself?"
I froze, unable to believe what I'd just heard.
I'd aborted our child for him, rushed straight home from the hospital, and he hadn't asked a single question about my wellbeing—only expressed disgust.
"Evan Growth, that was your child too."
My eyes burned with unshed tears.
A cat hair clung to his collar.
His germaphobia had mysteriously vanished.
Me and his child...
couldn't even compare to Lynn Miller's damn cat.
