I didn’t tell a soul about the ring.

But my mother’s eyes were sharper than a CT scan. The next morning at breakfast, she stared at my right hand for three seconds. She didn't say a word, but that afternoon, she added an extra dish to our lunch.

Life went on. The "Three Meals" studio was thriving. By the sixth month, we had established stable referral channels, signed contracts with the OB-GYN departments of five top-tier hospitals, and served over three hundred expectant mothers.

My belly was also growing larger by the day. At seven months along, the triplets had stretched me out until I looked like a ball. I had to hold onto the walls to walk, needed someone to pull me up when I sat down, and bending over was out of the question. I handed the daily operations over to my team and moved behind the scenes to manage plan reviews.

One day, I received an email from the Municipal Medical Industry Association. They invited me to the Annual Healthcare Innovation Forum to give a fifteen-minute presentation. The topic was: "Community-Based Practices in Prenatal and Postpartum Nutritional Management."

My first instinct was to decline. With my stomach this size, getting on stage would be awkward.

My mother’s reaction was: "Go. Let them see what my daughter is capable of."

My father’s reaction was: "Go. What is there to fear?"

So, I went.

The forum was held at the City Convention Center. The attendees included management from major hospitals, heads of medical enterprises, and several investors. I wore a dark navy blue dress—it emphasized my pregnancy, but I looked sharp and professional. When I stepped onto the stage, I could hear whispers ripple through the crowd. Some people had clearly recognized me.

Halfway through my presentation, a hand went up in the audience. It was a man in his forties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a badge identifying him as an executive from a medical device company.

"Ms. Su, I’d like to ask a question. Your studio has only been around for six months, yet you’ve secured referral partnerships with so many top hospitals. What is that based on? Is it professional ability, or is it... other 'connections'?"

His smile was subtle, and he emphasized the words "other connections" with clear intent. A few people in the audience chuckled along.

I stood on the stage and met his gaze.

"It’s based on data."

I clicked the remote, and the PPT flipped to the next slide.

"These are the service metrics for 'Three Meals' over the last six months: three hundred and twelve mothers served, a ninety-four percent plan effectiveness rate, an eighty-one percent client retention rate, and a 4.9 satisfaction rating from our hospital partners."

I flipped to the next page.

"These are joint letters of recommendation from the OB-GYN directors of five partner hospitals. You are welcome to verify the content and signatures after the session."

I flipped once more.

"These are my Senior Clinical Nutritionist license, my three-year professional history at St. Yanhe’s Nutrition Department, and two professional papers published this year."

I turned off the PPT.

"These are my 'other connections.' Any more questions?"

The room fell silent. The smile on the man in the gold-rimmed glasses vanished. Someone began to clap—a few scattered hands at first, then growing into a thunderous ovation. I stood there, my palms slightly damp with sweat, but my voice remained steady.

Once the applause died down, I said "Thank you" and prepared to step off the stage.

A voice suddenly rang out from the very back row.

"I’d like to add something."

The entire room turned around.

Adrian Lu was standing in the aisle of the last row. He was wearing a white shirt without a suit jacket, looking as if he had just rushed over from the hospital.

"I am Adrian Lu from St. Yanhe Medical. I can answer the gentleman’s question."

He walked toward a microphone.

"Ms. Vivian Su’s professional ability does not require my validation. Her data and reputation are clearer to everyone here than they are to me."

"I came here today simply to clarify a status."

The room was pin-drop quiet.

"She is not my ex-wife. She is my wife."

He looked toward me.

"If she is willing."

I stood on the stage, looking at him. He was standing in the back row, hundreds of people between us. But I heard him perfectly. Every eye in the room was fixed on me.

I looked down at the thin silver band on my right hand. Then I looked up.

"I am willing."

I didn't hear a single word of what was said during the rest of the forum. On the drive home, he was behind the wheel while I sat in the passenger seat. Neither of us spoke. As we approached the complex, he finally broke the silence.

"When did you decide?"

"The moment you shut your mouth."

He was stunned for a second. Then, he laughed.

It was the first time I had ever seen Adrian Lu laugh like that. It wasn't a polite smile or a social mask. It was a laugh that lit up his eyes, like a child receiving a red envelope on New Year’s Day.

To be honest, it was quite a good look on him.

The due date was in winter.

At three o'clock in the morning on December 17th, I was jolted awake by a sharp, intense pain in my abdomen. "Adrian."

He was sleeping right beside me. Since the day of the forum, he had moved into Riverside Manor.

At first, my mother had prepared the guest room for him; my father didn't object, which was his silent way of giving consent.

Eventually, though I can't remember exactly when, he moved into my room. I was the one who asked him to. Winter was too cold, and he ran warm.

"What’s wrong?" He was fully awake in a second, bolting upright.

"I think... it’s time."