His First Love Answered My Call

The phone screen lit up, showing exactly midnight. I lowered my hand to my lower belly—no bump yet, but a tiny life quietly six weeks along. Today was my birthday, and also the eighth year Andrew and I had been together. My fingertip hovered over the dial pad for two seconds, then my finger brushed over his name on the screen before she finally pressed call. I wanted to tell him I might be pregnant—the two red lines on the pregnancy test from this morning were still vivid in my mind. I also wanted to ask him when exactly the wedding date he mentioned last time was going to be postponed to; Mom was asking about our plans just last week. The call was answered after three rings, and the first sound from the receiver wasn't Andrew Foster's familiar voice, but a soft female voice. "Hello?" Her voice had that sleepy, lazy tone that comes right after waking up, and in the background, there was the gentle sound of flowing water. I gripped my phone tightly, my nails digging into my palm as I whispered, "Is Andrew there, please?" "He's in the shower," she laughed softly, her laugh like a feather brushing my skin, with a subtle hint of intimacy. "You must be Mia Sewell, right? Andrew has mentioned you." My whole body went stiff—she actually knew my name. "Would you like me to pass on a message for you?" She asked again, a hint of probing in her tone. In the shower? At this hour? At his apartment? I remembered last week when I visited his apartment, he said the shower was broken and told me not to use it. A thousand questions flooded my mind, but what suffocated me most was that I recognized the voice. Or rather, I'd heard countless descriptions of her before. Yvonne Baker, Andrew's first love, who supposedly died in a car accident eight years ago. He once told me while looking through old photos that Yvonne's voice was like honey dripping, and when she laughed, she had two dimples. I froze in place, even breathing felt hard, and it was like a stone was weighing down on my chest. No wonder he's been coming home late lately, and whenever I ask, he just says he's working late at the company. No wonder he's always vague when it comes to marriage—last time he said "just wait a bit longer," and this time he just said "after this busy spell." No wonder his eyes always carried the strange, distant look when he looked at me. Even when we hugged, he no longer rested his chin on the top of my head. It turns out it wasn't just my imagination—the person who was "dead" really did come back. I said "No need" into the receiver and quickly hung up. The phone slipped from my ear, and barefoot, I stepped onto the cold floor, slowly walking toward the study. Passing through the living room, I saw the white shirt he wore yesterday tossed on the sofa, a faint pink lipstick stain on the collar. Andrew never lets me into his study. He says it's all business contracts that I wouldn't understand, so there's no reason for me to see them. I used to believe it, always walking around it whenever I passed by, but now all I feel is just irony. The doorknob wasn't locked; with a gentle twist, it opened, as if waiting for me to discover something. On the desk lay a dark brown leather notebook—it was the birthday gift I gave him last year. Back then, he said he'd take good care of it. I walked over, my fingers trembling as I flipped it open. A small photo slipped out from between the pages—Yvonne's smiling face. The first few pages were just trivial work notes. Flipping to the middle, I found a small line of text: "Meeting Yvonne next week; need to book her favorite restaurant in advance." I kept flipping until I reached the last page, where the handwriting suddenly grew messy yet filled with deep emotion. "Yvonne, it's been eight years, and I finally waited for you to come back. That car accident back then—it was my cowardice, my fear to admit my feelings for you." "Now I realize, you are the only light in my life. Mia... she was just a front I used to hide my true feelings. Once I've sorted everything out, I'll take you away." That last sentence stabbed my heart like a knife. I crouched on the floor as my phone slipped from my hand, the screen cracking open, mirroring how my heart feels right now. So all these eight years of being by his side, the deep feelings I thought I had, were nothing but an NPC in their love game. The streetlight outside shone through the gap in the curtains, casting a long shadow across the notebook. I stared at that shadow and suddenly realized it looked exactly like the distance hidden in Andrew's eyes every time he looked at me.