When my morning sickness was at its worst, Gregory, busy with work, sent me a bouquet of flowers. Among the vibrant roses was a card written by Gregory himself.
"Darling, you're working hard. When the baby is born, I'll punish the little rascal who always makes you vomit. "
The thoughtfulness eased my mood considerably.
But just minutes later, the delivery man knocked again with an identical bouquet.
Gregory had written another card.
"Prepare two stockings for tonight, let's try something new."
A love letter once a month, Gregory wrote from the time we were dating all the way through our marriage. His handwriting was unmistakable.
But in the first three months of my pregnancy, when the doctor explicitly forbade any physical activity due to my unstable pregnancy, how could Gregory be planning something else? Staring at his flowing handwriting on the card, my heart sank.
I decided to confront Gregory directly.
But before I even left the apartment complex, I saw the delivery man returning.
"Ma'am, the second bouquet was supposed to go to your downstairs neighbor. I accidentally delivered it to the wrong address. Would you mind returning it?"
A growing unease built in me.
I followed the delivery man. As the elevator doors opened, I saw the entrance door, shoe rack, and doormat—everything identical to mine.
Even the fingerprint lock with video recording capabilities, which I had specifically chosen to prevent our pets from getting lost, was installed there.
"Ma'am, your two homes are so alike, even the items you've bought are the same. I just made a mistake this time, could you not leave a bad review?"
The delivery man, noticing my dark expression, apologized profusely.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.
"I won't leave a bad review, but please don't tell her the gift was delivered to the wrong address. After all, no one likes their gift being touched by someone else. "
"Of course, thank you, ma'am."
The delivery man knocked on the door with the flowers.
Soon, a woman in silk pajamas peeked out from inside. She looked satisfied, glanced at the card, and giggled as she closed the door. The delivery man completed his task and left. I stood frozen in the elevator of the townhouse, feeling an icy chill in my bones. The woman—whom I knew well—was none other than Gregory's secretary, Miss Jasmine.
