Truth, Trust, and a Ticket

I clenched that crumpled vasectomy report in my hand, my fingertips growing tense. This was the surgery I secretly underwent six months ago, never daring to tell Yolanda Levitt. We had been married for three years, and she kept saying she didn't want children for now, wanting to save money and live well first. I felt sorry for her having to endure hardships with me, so I quietly had the vasectomy, hoping to surprise her and finally put her mind at ease. On my way home from work, I stopped by the supermarket to buy her favorite strawberry cake and also picked out a bouquet of white roses. When I opened the door, the high heels by the entrance made me hesitate for a moment. They weren't the style Yolanda Levitt usually wore; they looked more delicate and more expensive. I pushed down the strange feeling in my heart and called her name with a smile. There was no response in the living room; only the TV was on, playing a dull variety show. I placed the cake and flowers on the shoe cabinet and walked straight into the living room. Yolanda sat on the sofa, her makeup flawless, wearing a dress I had never seen before. She looked at me with not a hint of a smile; instead, there was an indescribable arrogance in her eyes. My eyes settled on the coffee table, where a white report caught my attention. The bold words "Pregnancy Test Report" struck my heart like a hammer. The vasectomy report in my hand suddenly grew heavy, almost slipping from my grasp. "You're back." Yolanda Levitt was the first to speak, her tone calm but tinged with pride. My Adam's apple bobbed as I wanted to say something, but I didn't know where to start. She raised her hand to stroke her belly, still flat, but her eyes were filled with pride. "I'm pregnant." She spoke each word deliberately, as if announcing something truly significant. I stared at the pregnancy test report, my fingertips cold, my mind completely blank. I had a vasectomy six months ago; how could there possibly be a child? The thought had just crossed my mind when Yolanda's next words interrupted it. "I've had enough of this squalid life." She stood up and looked down at me, her eyes brimming with disdain. "I squeeze onto the subway every day to get to work, have to budget carefully even when buying clothes, and hardly dare to eat a decent meal often." I opened my mouth to say something, but she impatiently waved me off. "Don't talk to me about those useless things. I've already found my new husband." "Otto, with an annual salary of a million, can give me the life I want as well as a good future for the child." I vaguely remember the name Otto. He's a partner company of Yolanda Levitt's; she had mentioned him several times before, with a hint of envy in her tone. So, everything had already changed from that moment on. I suppressed the turmoil in my heart and slowly tucked the vasectomy report back into my pocket. The surprise had turned into a joke; at this moment, no amount of explanation seemed necessary. "What do you want to do?" My voice was calm, even surprising myself with such composure. Yolanda Levitt seemed caught off guard by my straightforwardness; she paused for a moment, then pulled a divorce agreement out of her bag. "Sign it." She pushed the agreement toward me. "The house stays with me, the savings are split fifty-fifty, and you should move out as soon as possible." I picked up the agreement and quickly skimmed through it. The terms were harsh, almost stripping me bare. But I didn't argue. I picked up the pen from the coffee table and signed my name at the bottom. Yolanda Levitt saw me sign and a satisfied smile appeared on her face. "You know what's best," she said. She said this while putting the agreement away, as if I were some kind of monster she was eager to get rid of. I stood up without looking at her again, walked straight to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and quickly packed a few changes of clothes into a backpack. Passing by the living room, Yolanda Levitt was chatting on her phone, a sweet smile playing on her lips—I guessed she was reporting to Otto. I didn't disturb her and quietly pushed the door open to leave.