Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Smith Ethan finally realized something was wrong too. On a sunny afternoon, he accompanied me to the obstetrics and gynecology department for a check-up. My doctor was a serious middle-aged man with a slight bald spot—he looked very professional.

"Preliminarily, I think it’s prenatal anxiety," the doctor said. I could totally understand his effort to stay professional while holding back a laugh—I’d been doing the same for half a month.

"When a husband is extremely worried about his pregnant wife, he might empathize so deeply that he develops similar symptoms," the doctor explained. "There’s no need to worry." He typed up my regular check-up results on his computer and handed them to Smith Ethan, who was wearing a mask.

"If the symptoms are severe, we can prescribe some medication, but I don’t think it’s necessary—after all, he’s not actually pregnant," the doctor added. Smith Ethan was too embarrassed to lift his head. He took the report and asked a few more questions about me and the baby.

"Stop worrying," I said, patting his stomach playfully. "Look at me—I eat well and sleep well. I’m more relaxed than you are. Baby, be good—don’t bully Daddy, or Mommy will spank you."

Smith Ethan gave me a 幽怨 look, then couldn’t help but laugh too. I was six months pregnant now; my belly was clearly visible, and I received extra care wherever I went. Smith Ethan walked beside me, supporting me gently as we strolled through the hospital garden. The medical staff and passersby looked at us with gentle smiles.

"Actually, this is nice," he said suddenly. I looked at him in confusion. His palm hovered over my belly, the warmth seeping through my thin clothes. "As long as you and the baby are safe, and he doesn’t trouble you, I’m satisfied." I ruffled his hair. "Silly," I said.

As my due date approached, I took time off work to rest at home and wait for the baby. I was used to being busy, so suddenly having nothing to do made me feel a little lost. Toward the end of the year, Smith Ethan was swamped with work at the company and couldn’t stay with me all the time.

On the day of the company’s annual meeting, Smith Ethan insisted on taking me with him. I couldn’t fit into my regular clothes and was worrying about what to wear when he took out a custom-made dress he’d ordered in advance. I was seated in the audience, with Smith Ethan’s assistant sitting next to me.

Smith Ethan, as the CEO, went up to give a speech. He was wearing a well-fitted suit, with a waistcoat that accentuated his flat stomach—his figure hadn’t changed at all. Serious and elegant, meticulous in every detail—that was the impression he gave when he stood on the stage. But in real life, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t like wearing restrictive suits, and he never kept a stern expression on his handsome face. In fact, he was a little too clingy and affectionate—at least to me.

Sitting in the audience, watching this shining side of him, I felt a strange sense of joy. Then I noticed something was wrong. Smith Ethan stood on the stage, raising his hand to loosen his tie—he looked uncomfortable.

"Wilson Jack, bring him a bottle of iced water," I said to the assistant. The central air conditioning in the venue was too strong; maybe it was too stuffy for him. Wilson Jack nodded, fetched a bottle of mineral water, and brought it up to the stage.

Smith Ethan had just finished a section of his speech. Wilson Jack whispered something to him, and Smith Ethan looked over at me. I waved at him. He seemed like he wanted to smile, but the next second, his expression changed. He covered his mouth and rushed off the stage.

Wilson Jack stood there holding the water, dumbfounded. I stood up, told the host to continue with the next part of the program, took the water from Wilson Jack, and walked out of the venue. Smith Ethan had run to the corridor; he was leaning against the wall, bending over slightly and retching. I couldn’t run with my big belly, so I walked over step by step.

"Are you okay?" I asked, patting his back. "Is it that bad? Drink some water." I twisted open the bottle cap and held it to his mouth. He took a few sips, suppressing the nausea.

"I’m so embarrassed," he said, straightening up and leaning weakly on my shoulder. "Now everyone’s going to get the wrong idea."

Almost all the employees in the company had seen it—no doubt they were already making up eight different versions of what had happened. I held back my laughter and patted his head, like comforting a coquettish big dog. "Then we won’t go back. I’ll walk around with you."

He nodded, nuzzling my ear with a soft, drawn-out "Okay~"

Wilson Jack came out just then. Smith Ethan immediately pulled away from my shoulder, instantly reverting to his cold, aloof CEO persona.

"Are you alright?" Wilson Jack asked, hurrying over.

"I’m fine," Smith Ethan said. "Just ate something bad and felt a little sick. Go back and tell everyone not to worry—keep the meeting going."

"What about you, sir?" Wilson Jack looked at Smith Ethan, then at me.

"He’s coming with me," I said, taking Smith Ethan’s hand. "I’m sure you’ll feel more relaxed without the boss around. Enjoy the rest of the evening."

Smith Ethan coughed lightly into his fist, then nodded, looking at the wall. Wilson Jack smiled. "You’re too kind, ma’am. The boss was supposed to hand out year-end bonuses—we’re all looking forward to it."

I was about to chat more with Wilson Jack, but Smith Ethan stepped between us and gently pushed me toward the door. "Let’s go, let’s go," he said. I only had time to turn around and wave goodbye to Wilson Jack, who gave me a meaningful smile and an OK gesture.

Later, whenever I thought about this incident, all my negative emotions would disappear. Smith Ethan was so nervous that he had morning sickness in front of all the company’s employees—surely I was the only pregnant woman in the world with a husband like that? Oh my god, this joke will make me laugh until I’m eighty. I just hope he never finds out, or I’ll have to spend ages comforting him again.