Chapter 0295

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not? I want our child to have the best of everything.”

“But—”

“No buts, Hannah. This is for our baby.”

Feeling vindictive, I decided to test him. I pointed to a ridiculously expensive, crystal-encrusted mobile. “Okay. I want that, then,” I said, certain he would refuse.

“Okay.” Without hesitation, Noah picked it up and added it to our overflowing cart. My jaw dropped. “Noah, that thing costs more than most people’s monthly rent!”

He shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “If it’s what you want for our baby, we’ll get it.” I stared at him, slack-jawed, trying to understand his motivation. Was this guilt? Manipulation? Or did he genuinely want to provide for our child?

As we approached the checkout, guilt gnawed at me until I couldn’t handle it anymore. “Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I don’t actually want that mobile. I was just… testing you.”

Noah’s expression hardened, his green eyes flashing slightly—not with anger, but… disappointment. “You shouldn’t play games like that, Hannah. This is for our child.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling suddenly ashamed. “We can put it back.”

But Noah shook his head, his jaw set stubbornly. “No, we’re getting it. Our child deserves the best, and if you liked it enough to point it out, then I think it’s worth the money.”

I fell silent, unsure of what to say. But before I could formulate a response, Noah was walking up to the cash register and pulling his wallet from his pocket.

As the cashier rang up our purchases and the tally climbed to an unfathomable amount, I realized that all of this—the expensive mobile, the mounds of clothes and toys—wasn’t for me. It was for our baby. The thought both warmed and terrified me.

Still, I had to stop myself from softening too much, reminding myself that I couldn’t get too comfortable. I was still planning on divorcing Noah, after all.

The drive home was just as silent as the drive to the store. I watched Noah out of the corner of my eye as he drove, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. When we arrived home, Noah carried all the bags inside, refusing my help.

“I can carry something,” I protested.

“You’re pregnant. I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

I sighed, but didn’t argue. I wasn’t a damsel in distress, but again—there was no point in fighting with him, especially not when he had just spent several grand on nursery supplies. So, I decided to head to my room to put my feet up and rest.

“You’re not even going to say thank you?”

There it was; the catch. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, I turned, ready to bite out a retort. But then I saw the hurt and frustration in his eyes, and it gave me pause.

For a moment, I almost felt bad. He had just dropped an absurd amount of money on our baby, and I had been a raging bitch the entire time we were in the store. Maybe he deserved an apology.

But then I remembered everything—the coldness, the control, the way he had locked me in my room. If there was a thank-you on my tongue, then I swallowed it before it could escape. I grimaced at him. “The only thing I’ll say to you is to prepare for the divorce, and good luck building a nursery on your own. I’m not staying married to you. So don’t go thinking that today will change that.”

Noah’s face fell, his arms slackening as he held a bundle of bags. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed up the stairs.