The Fake Pregnancy Revenge

When I opened my eyes, the phoenix tree leaves outside the window were swaying violently, their rustling mixed with cicadas' chirping drifting in, prickling my eardrums. My hand slowly moved toward my lower abdomen, a sudden memory of the agonizing cramps I suffered in my past life flooding back. It was a day just like this, cicadas droning in the summer heat. I drank the red date soup Jane Johnson had brought me, writhed in pain on the floor, and in the end, I lost the child. The calendar on the table was turned to 1975, a date circled in red pen, with a small note in pencil by my husband Sawyer James: "Jane came to bring soup." That was the day I hit three months of pregnancy, and from that day forward in my past life, Jane's "nourishing soup" never stopped. Sawyer's "concern" grew more and more fake, and in the end, not only did I lose the child, but they also branded me a "spy," locking me away for ten years. Familiar footsteps came from downstairs—Sawyer had returned. The door opened, carrying in a wave of warm air from outside. Sawyer stepped in, holding a bowl of red date soup. He gently set the bowl on the bedside table, his fingers brushing it as if checking its temperature. "Tiffany, you wake up early today. How are you feeling?" I lowered my eyes, concealing the surging hatred beneath. "Not bad, but I keep waking up at night. My heart feels uneasy." Sawyer James made a soft "oh" sound and unconsciously ran his hand along his trouser seam. He always lies like this, and yet in my past life, I never noticed. I stared at the jujubes in the bowl, suddenly recalling Jane's smile when she brought the soup yesterday: "Tiffany, I deliberately asked for some friends brought these jujubes from the countryside; they're supposed to be good for your body." Sawyer saw that I didn't respond and spoke again, his voice softer than before: "Jane said she'll come again today. She's bringing you some tonic soup made from a renowned doctor's prescription." I pinched the corner of the quilt, nails digging into my palm, but my face remained obedient: "Alright, let her come then. I'd like to thank her anyway." Sawyer's eyes lit up when he heard me say that, then he turned and headed for the door. "I'm off to work. I'll try to be back early for dinner." After he left, I immediately pulled out the secret stash of money wrapped in a handkerchief from under my pillow. It held savings from half a year's allowance, plus the fifty bucks my mom had slipped me before she left. On my way out, I ran into Wendy next door. She smiled warmly and said, "Tiffany, where are you going out in this heat?" I clenched the handkerchief tightly and forced a smile. "I'm going to the hospital. I'm feeling a bit unwell." The back entrance of the local hospital was tucked away; I had to circle around three times before I found Dr. Limbaugh's office. She was bent over, writing a medical record. I pushed the door open and placed the money on her desk. "Dr. Limbaugh, help me terminate this pregnancy, and then help me fake a baby bump." The pen in Dr. Limbaugh's hand froze. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. "Are you sure about this? If Sawyer finds out, it'll be serious." I glanced toward the door and lowered my voice. "He stopped caring about me long ago, Dr. Limbaugh. I can't let this child grow up suffering because of me." Dr. Limbaugh was silent for a moment, then pushed half the money back to me. "This is all I'll accept for now. I'll give you the abdominal binder tomorrow—you come get it tonight, and don't let anyone see." Three days later, I hid in the bathroom, tying the abdominal binder. The sponge padding was just right; looking in the mirror, my belly was as swollen as if I were truly three months pregnant. When Sawyer came back, I deliberately held my waist and slowly stood up from the sofa. "I went to the hospital today. The doctor said I need more rest and can't overexert myself." A flicker of impatience passed in his eyes, but he still came over and steadied me. "Then you'd better lie down quickly. I'll cook dinner. Jane just dropped off some rice today." At night, I waited until Sawyer's snoring drifted over from the next room, then quietly slipped out to retrieve the old phone hidden beneath the bedboards. My hand trembled as I dialed Jonas's number; outside, the cicadas suddenly fell silent, leaving only the busy signal on the line. "Jonas, it's me, Tiffany." The call connected, and I quickly lowered my voice. "Help me look up two people—Sawyer James and Jane Johnson. Their whereabouts, financial transactions—I need it all." Jonas was my father's old army buddy. When my father died, he even came with a wreath. "Tiffany, are they bullying you? Do you need me to dig deeper? Maybe check if they've been in contact with outsiders?" I bit my lip, recalling the time in my past life when I was falsely accused of espionage: "Especially Jane, see if she has been in contact with anyone from abroad." "Don't worry, I'll have someone deliver the items in a week. Watch yourself." Jonas's voice was calm and steady, like a reassuring presence. On the evening of the seventh day, a man in a blue work uniform knocked on my door and shoved a brown paper bag at me: "Jonas asked me to deliver this." I closed the door, my hands trembling as I opened the paper bag. The first photo was Sawyer James and Jane Johnson embracing in an alley, Jane's hand resting on her slightly rounded belly. The first page of the report stated: Sawyer lost thirty thousand dollars at the casino over the past three months, owes high-interest loans, and made a deal with Jane that after the child is born, they would swap it and falsely accuse Tiffany of being a spy to settle the debt. I flipped to the last page, and my heart suddenly tightened. "Jane exchanges letters with foreign personnel and meets at the post office on the third day of every month—suspected of being a spy's mistress." Next to that line was a photo of Jane handing over a letter. I stuffed the report and photo into the wooden box under the bed, gently touching my fake belly. Sawyer James, Jane Johnson, what you owed me in our past life, this time, I want you to pay me back with interest.