The day of my prenatal checkup, my husband suddenly spoke up. "Once you're pregnant, let's try having an open marriage." My hand froze midair, still holding the report. He reached out to fix my hair, his gaze as gentle as ever. "We'll still be each other's closest family, but physically, we can each see other people.  It's a waste to only sleep with one person your whole life. I don't want you to have regrets later. This is for your own good, too." I gently tucked the report into my bag and said okay. The next day, I left the signed divorce papers on the table and walked out with my luggage. When he found out, he blew up my phone. "I told you it wouldn't affect our marriage. Why are you so prudish?" I didn't reply. I simply blocked his number. The next time we ran into each other at the hospital, his eyes were red‑rimmed as he begged me to come back, saying he didn't want any freedom anymore. I rubbed my slightly rounded pregnant belly and smiled. "Sorry, I don't take back trash."