Love Is Like Flowing Water

My CEO husband, Clayton Lockwood, was convinced I was a gold digger.

Every time he went to comfort his first love during her depressive episodes, he would buy me a limited-edition bag.

After half a year of marriage, my walk-in closet was filled with them.

After giving ninety-nine bags, he noticed I had changed.

I no longer cried my heart out or argued until I was hoarse when he visited his first love.

I also did not brave the storm and cross the city anymore just because he said he wanted to see me.

I only asked him for a rosary for our unborn child.

When I mentioned our child, Clayton’s gaze softened. “Once Ruby’s condition improves, we’ll go to the hospital for a checkup first, then get a rosary.”

I obediently agreed.

Little did he know that I had a miscarriage ten days earlier.

I had also prepared a divorce agreement that was ready for his signature.

Ten days after my miscarriage, I met Clayton Lockwood in the hospital corridor.

He was carefully helping Ruby Sanders walk. He was looking at her with a gentle gaze.

Clayton frowned when he saw me.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t I already transfer you some money to compensate for your emotional distress?

“Isn’t it enough?”

I shook my head.

This time, being even more generous, he transferred five million dollars into my account.

I never dreamed that my less-than-a-year-old marriage could be worth so much money.

Five million dollars.

That was what my child’s life was worth.

Ruby held Clayton’s hand and looked at me apologetically.

“Hazel, please don’t take it the wrong way. Clayton just gets overly protective of me and doesn’t always think before he speaks.”

She then looked at my stomach.

“I heard you were hospitalized, too. Is the baby alright?”

Before I could answer, Clayton hurriedly comforted her.

“It’s probably just a minor pregnancy scare. I’m sure everything’s fine.

“Don’t worry yourself over it. Just focus on getting better, okay?”

I instinctively touched my lower abdomen as my heart ached.

Yeah, everything was fine.

It was merely a miscarriage.

It was not as important as Ruby, anyway.

Otherwise, why would Clayton not stop by to check on me even though he knew I was hospitalized in the same facility?

Had he simply asked one more question, he would have learned that our child was already gone.

As I forced back my tears, I took the printed divorce agreement from my bag and handed it to him.

“Clayton, I want to set up an insurance policy for our baby. Could you sign this for me?”

His indifferent expression softened when I mentioned the child. He readily took the document and signed it

As he signed it, he asked casually, “Why are you using this bag today? Didn’t you like the limited-edition bag I got you last time?”

I smiled and said, “I do. I like it very much.”

Ever since Ruby was diagnosed with depression, Clayton would suddenly