His Responsibility, His Secret

Two clear red lines on the pregnancy test came into view. My fingertips trembled slightly, and my heart pounded like a trapped rabbit. After three years of marriage, Hank Chandler and I were finally going to have our child. I couldn't wait to share this good news with him. I picked up my phone, opened my usual chat app, and got ready to send a message. The login notification that popped up at the top of the screen made me pause for a moment. It was a login from another account, and the profile picture was none other than a selfie of Heather Lawrence. Heather is my best friend, close like a sister from college until now. I suddenly remembered that last week she came over to my place and, while using my computer for work, logged into this chat app. At the time, she said she forgot to log out. I didn't think much of it since we're close and I figured it was fine. On a whim, I clicked into that account. At the top of the chat list was Hank Chandler's profile picture. The latest message was from Hank Chandler, sent just half an hour ago. "Abort it immediately." Just three simple words, sharp as an ice-cold knife, stabbing at my eyes until they hurt. My fingers hesitantly swiped up, revealing an even earlier message. "Absolutely no letting Viola Zimmerman find out." Each word was saturated with ruthless certainty. My mind went completely blank; the joy I felt moments ago disappeared entirely. Hank Chandler, my husband, why would you say something like this to Heather Lawrence? Whose child is Heather carrying this time? Countless questions swirled in my mind. I remembered the past between Heather Lawrence and me. We squeezed into a tiny rented room eating instant noodles, and wore the same suit for interviews. She cried in my arms when she broke up, and she would always leave a light on when I worked late. I always thought we were each other's strongest support. And the first time Hank Chandler met Heather Lawrence. It was on our first wedding anniversary, and I had specially invited Heather Lawrence to join us for dinner. During the meal, Hank said little, and Heather seemed a bit reserved. Later, Heather secretly told me she thought Hank Chandler was too cold, like he didn't genuinely care about me. At the time, I even laughed it off, saying Hank was just not good with words. Looking back now, could that unpleasant first meeting have already planted a hidden risk? The phone slipped from my hand and landed on the sofa with a dull thud. I curled up on the sofa, my whole body shivering. The sunlight outside was clearly warm, but I felt like I'd fallen into an ice cellar. The person I was so eager to share good news with, the best friend I treated like a sister—what kind of secret could possibly be hidden between them?