Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In the fifth year of our marriage, Nanzhi got pregnant.

She came out of the hospital with the test results in her hand and stood on the steps, letting the wind blow over her for a long time. The sunlight was beautiful that day, and the plane tree leaves cast patches of shadow across her shoulders.

I thought she would be happy.

But the first thing she said was, “Yanzhou, what if she ends up like this too?”

I knew what she meant by “like this.”

Afraid of crowds like this. Unable to sleep like this. Suddenly feeling unworthy even in the happiest moments like this. Needing to break the act of staying alive into one hour after another just to endure it like this.

I took her hand. “Then we’ll notice early, and we’ll be there with her early.”

She lowered her head to look at her belly and nodded softly.

We gave the baby the nickname Xiaoman.

Nanzhi said Xiaoman didn’t mean perfect fullness. It meant not yet full. And if something wasn’t full yet, then there was still room left, still something to hope for.

After she became pregnant, her medication had to be adjusted. The doctor reminded me again and again that the risk of mood instability was high during the perinatal period, and that family members had to be involved.

I wrote down every word in my notes app.

At the time, the company had just secured a key investment, and the new project I was in charge of would determine our next round of financing. Meetings ran from morning to night, and my phone was piled with messages waiting to be handled. Nanzhi’s checkups went from me going with her, to the driver taking her, to her going by herself.

She never complained.

She only started sending me lots of tiny messages.

Someone was crying in the waiting room today. It made me a little sad.

Xiaoman kicked me today. Like a little fish bumping into glass.

The wind is so strong today. I suddenly want to go home.

I often replied hours later.

And all I sent back was: Don’t overthink it. Get some rest. I’ll be home later.

Every time, Nanzhi replied with a single “okay.”

That word was so obedient it put me at ease.

And so obedient that it made me miss what was happening.

During one prenatal checkup, the doctor called me into her office alone.

She asked, “Has she been getting enough time with her family lately?”

I said, “I’ve been busy with work, but we’ve hired help at home.”

The doctor glanced at me, her tone very calm. “Hired help can cook, do laundry, and take care of the child, but they can’t replace a response from an intimate relationship. What she needs most right now isn’t to be cared for like a patient. She needs reassurance that she isn’t a burden to you.”

I nodded very quickly at the time.

When I came out of the office, Nanzhi was sitting on a bench in the corridor, holding a fetal heart monitoring report. The moment she saw me, she lifted it up. “Xiaoman’s heartbeat was especially strong today.”

I patted her head and said, “I still have a meeting. The driver is waiting for you downstairs.”

The light on her face faltered for a moment, then quickly returned.

“Okay,” she said.

As I walked out of the hospital, I received an audio recording from her on my phone.

It was only a dozen seconds long. The sound of the fetal heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like a very small hand knocking on a door from very far away.

I saved the recording, but I didn’t reply.

That door kept being knocked on for a very long time.

I had always thought it would never close.