At 4:50, I sent the documents to Da Than.

At 4:51, his message arrived.

“Come to my office.”

I walked in with my laptop.

He didn’t look at the documents.

Instead, he pushed a paper bag toward me.

“Eat.”

I stared at it.

“What?”

“Lunch.”

“It’s almost five.”

“Then consider it an early dinner.”

I opened the bag.

Rice porridge.

No seafood.

No spicy food.

Exactly what I could tolerate lately.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Mr. Da, when did employee nutrition become part of management?”

He leaned back.

“When employees repeatedly skip meals and nearly collapse in company bathrooms.”

“I didn’t collapse.”

“Congratulations.”

His sarcastic expression irritated me.

I picked up the porridge.

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

He looked directly at me.

“Why were you at the obstetrics department?”

My hand froze.

For three seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then I laughed.

“You followed me?”

“No.”

“You investigated me?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

Da Than tapped his fingers against the desk.

“The woman you saw with me at the hospital is my cousin.”

I blinked.

“Your cousin?”

“She had an appointment with an obstetrician.”

He paused.

“And she saw you leaving the same department.”

My heartbeat became louder.

I forced myself to shrug.

“So?”

“So you’re sick?”

“That’s private.”

His eyes darkened.

“Are you pregnant?”

The room became completely silent.

I should have denied it immediately.

Instead, my hand instinctively moved toward my abdomen.

Da Than saw it.

Of course he saw it.

That man noticed every mistake in a forty-page financial report.

How could he miss something like that?

He slowly stood.

“How long?”

I looked away.

“Two months.”

His face changed.

He calculated it almost instantly.

“Two months?”

“Yes.”

“Then the child—”

“Mine.”

His jaw tightened.

“I know it’s yours.”

“Good.”

“I asked who the father is.”

I smiled coldly.

“Didn’t we agree not to interfere with each other’s lives?”

His expression became frighteningly calm.

“Who is the father?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because two months ago—”

He stopped.

We both remembered.

That night.

Our final argument before the divorce.

The anger.

The tears neither of us admitted having.

And the morning afterward when we went back to treating each other like enemies.

Da Than stared at me.

“Is it mine?”

I picked up the paper bag.

“My working hours are over.”

I walked toward the door.

His voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

I didn’t.

He caught up with me in the hallway but didn’t touch me.

“Answer me.”

I turned around.

“What difference would it make?”

His face went still.

“If I say yes, will we suddenly become happily married again?”

“No.”

“Will the three years when you treated work as more important than everything disappear?”

“No.”

“Will that fever disappear? The night I called my husband because I could barely stand and he said, ‘Busy, talk later’?”

His lips tightened.

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

I entered the elevator.

Before the doors closed, he said:

“I went home that night.”

I looked up.

“What?”

“When you had the fever.”

The doors almost closed between us.

Da Than put his hand against them.

“They called me from the hospital because there was an emergency. I couldn’t leave immediately.”

His voice was low.

“When I got home, you were asleep.”

I remembered waking the next morning.

Medicine on the table.

Water beside the bed.

I had assumed I’d prepared them myself while half-conscious.

“I stayed until your fever went down.”

I stared at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gave a bitter smile.

“Probably for the same reason you never told me you waited for me.”

Neither of us spoke.

The elevator doors finally closed.

That night, I barely slept.

The next morning, Da Than behaved as though nothing had happened.

No questions.

No confrontation.

At noon, however, an insulated lunch box appeared on my desk.

I immediately looked toward his office.

His door was closed.

The receptionist whispered:

“Mr. Da ordered meals for everyone working overtime.”

I looked around.

Nobody else had one.

Liar.

The next week became increasingly ridiculous.

Coffee disappeared from meetings.

Someone replaced my office chair with one that had better back support.

Business dinners suddenly happened at restaurants with lighter food.

Even my scheduled business trip was reassigned.

Finally, I stormed into his office.

“Stop it.”

Da Than looked up.

“Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“You canceled my trip.”

“The client changed the schedule.”

“I called them.”

Silence.

I crossed my arms.

“Da Than.”

He put down his pen.

“All right.”

“Why?”

His answer was immediate.

“Because that’s my child.”

I froze.

“I never confirmed that.”

“You don’t need to.”

His confidence irritated me.

“What if it’s someone else’s?”

His expression became cold.

“Then tell me his name.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Da Than nodded.

“Exactly.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You married me.”

“And divorced you.”

That shut him up.

For once.

I turned to leave.

Then he said quietly:

“I regret it.”

My hand stopped on the door.

I didn’t turn around.

“Regret what?”

“The divorce.”

My heart betrayed me with one hard beat.

“You were the one who said I didn’t love you.”

“I was wrong.”

I finally looked back.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Then why did you sign?”

“Because you agreed immediately.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“So?”

“So I thought that proved I was right.”

I almost threw the nearest folder at him.

“You idiot.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

I walked back toward his desk.

“You said, ‘Maybe we should divorce.’ What was I supposed to do? Beg?”

“I hoped you would.”

My mouth fell open.

“You hoped I’d beg you not to divorce me?”

“Yes.”

“Da Than, you’re thirty-two, not twelve.”

“I’ve realized that.”

I suddenly laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because our entire marriage might have been destroyed by two proud idiots waiting for the other person to speak first.

Then his expression changed.

He opened a drawer.

Inside was our divorce certificate.

Beside it lay something else.

A small velvet box.

My smile disappeared.

“What is that?”

He took it out.

Inside was a ring.

Not my old wedding ring.

A new one.

“I bought it before the divorce was finalized.”

“Why?”

“I planned to ask you to start again.”

My throat tightened.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“On the day I intended to give it to you, I heard you telling your friend that after divorcing me, you finally felt free.”

I remembered that conversation.

He had heard only half of it.

What I’d actually said was:

“I should feel free after divorcing him. So why does it feel like I’ve lost my home?”

Neither of us knew what to say.

Then his phone rang.

He answered.

His expression changed almost immediately.

“What?”

He looked at me.

“Are you sure?”

A long silence.

Then he hung up.

“What happened?”

Da Than slowly stood.

“My mother knows you’re pregnant.”

My stomach tightened.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

His next words were even worse.

“And she’s coming here.”

The office door suddenly opened.

An elegant woman stepped inside.

Da Than’s mother looked at me, then directly at my stomach.

But instead of anger, her eyes immediately filled with tears.

She walked toward me and grabbed my hands.

“Finally.”

I blinked.

“What?”

She turned toward her son.

“You still haven’t told her?”

Da Than went pale.

“Told me what?”

His mother looked confused.

“The real reason he agreed to divorce you.”

I slowly turned toward my ex-husband.

Da Than’s face had completely changed.

And for the first time since our marriage ended, I realized there was one secret he had been desperately trying to keep from me.