Six Years of Poisoned Love

My husband, Alexander, gave me "fertility supplements" every morning for six years. I drank every drop, desperate for the child he promised we'd have. But my body remained stubbornly empty.

Then, on my 40th birthday, I discovered the truth. The supplements were contraceptives. And his mistress was pregnant with the son he'd always wanted.

She sent me a video of Alexander kissing her pregnant belly.

"He's always loved me," the text read. "You were just the placeholder. Enjoy your barren life."

The man I trusted had systematically poisoned me, stealing my dream of motherhood while building his real family with another woman.

He had gaslighted me for years, making me believe I was the one who was broken, all while living a double life that began on our wedding day.

That night, at the lavish birthday party he threw for me, he planned a "romantic surprise" on a giant screen for all our friends and family. He had no idea I had a surprise of my own.

Chapter 1

My wish was simple, whispered into the flickering candlelight, a silent prayer that had been the cornerstone of my life for years: to hold a child of my own, a tiny bundle made of love and Alexander. But that night, as the final candle glowed, my wish solidified into something far darker, a vow I knew I would keep: I wished to never see Alexander Pugh again.

The shift happened on my fortieth birthday, a day that was supposed to be about celebration, but became the fulcrum of my undoing. For six years, Alexander and I had been married, navigating the glittering world of New York' s elite. He was the brilliant tech mogul, I, the passionate gallery owner. Our public image was flawless, a testament to success and enduring love. But behind the closed doors of our penthouse, a silent, persistent ache had grown: our inability to conceive.

My friends, bless their well-meaning hearts, had often teased me about it. "Haylie, when are we going to see a little Pugh running around your gallery?" they'd ask, their voices light, unaware of the raw nerve they touched. I'd smile, a practiced, brittle thing, and Alexander would always swoop in, his arm around my waist, a reassuring squeeze. "Soon, darling," he'd say, his voice deep and comforting. "Haylie just needs a little more time to focus on her art."

He was always so supportive, so understanding. He' d meticulously researched "holistic fertility supplements" for me, insisting they were far better than the invasive medical procedures I'd started to consider. Every morning, he' d bring a warm mug to my bedside, the herbal concoction smelling faintly of ginseng and something else I couldn't quite place. I drank it, every single day, with the unwavering faith of a woman desperate for a child and utterly devoted to her husband.

But the years passed, and my body remained stubbornly empty. The monthly disappointments started to wear holes in my soul. I blamed myself, convinced my humble background somehow made me unworthy, less fertile than the women of Alexander' s prestigious lineage. His parents, always polite, had grown increasingly pointed in their inquiries. "A male heir is important, Haylie," Alexander's mother had once said, her smile not reaching her eyes.

I decided it was time for proper medical intervention. No more "holistic" remedies. I needed answers, a clear path forward. I scheduled an appointment with a top fertility specialist. That morning, I was buzzing with a mixture of fear and hope.

I was heading out, my keys in hand, when I saw Alexander's car. It wasn't parked in its usual spot in front of our building. It was idling a block away, tucked discreetly behind a delivery truck. Something about it felt wrong. It was too early for his usual office departure, and his driver, always punctual, wasn't in sight. Alexander was driving himself.

A prickle of unease ran down my spine, cold and sharp. I told myself it was nothing, just a change in routine. But the little voice inside me, the one I usually ignored, urged me to follow. It was an impulse, a whisper of suspicion I couldn't shake. I hailed a cab, my heart thumping an erratic rhythm against my ribs. "Follow that car," I told the driver, the words feeling theatrical and absurd even as I spoke them.

Alexander's car wove through the city streets, eventually leading us out of the familiar urban grid and into a quieter, more residential area. He pulled up to a modest, yet elegant, private residence-a place I'd never seen before. It wasn' t a client' s home, nor any of his family' s properties. It was clearly a personal dwelling, secluded behind a high hedge.

Then I saw her. A woman, young and slender, dressed in a vibrant red dress, stood by the gate. Her hair, a cascade of dark curls, framed a face that looked both eager and impatient. She was waiting. For him.

My breath hitched. My hands gripped the taxi door handle so tightly my knuckles turned white. Alexander stepped out of his car, a smile spreading across his face, a smile I hadn't seen directed at me in months, perhaps years. It was loose, unburdened, full of an easy joy that twisted my insides. He reached for her, and she melted into his embrace. Their lips met, a long, lingering kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

"Alexander!" she purred, her voice carrying across the quiet street, sharp and clear even through the closed taxi window. "You're late, darling."

He chuckled, a low, intimate sound. "Had to make sure Haylie was settled first. You know how she gets."

My name, used as a shield, a flimsy excuse. A cold wave washed over me, leaving me shivering despite the warmth of the day.

"Oh, poor Haylie," she said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Still trying for a baby, isn't she? So tragic." Her eyes, dark and glittering, met Alexander's. "Good thing you've got me, then, isn't it? No barren wives here." She laughed, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my ears.

Alexander pulled her closer, his gaze sweeping over her. "You know you're all I need, Carson." Carson. The name felt like a knife twisting in an open wound. "Just be careful, darling. Don't make a scene. We have to be discreet."

"Discreet? What fun is that?" she teased, pressing her body against his. "Besides, what's she going to do? She's too busy drowning in her organic baby dust." Then, with a brazenness that stole my breath, she leaned up and kissed him again, a deeper, more possessive kiss this time. Alexander's arms tightened around her.

My stomach churned. A wave of nausea, sharp and bitter, rose in my throat. My head spun, the world tilting precariously. I gripped the seat, trying to steady myself. The taxi driver glanced back, concern etched on his face. "Ma'am, is everything alright?"

"Yes," I choked out, the word tasting like ash. "Just... take me home. Quickly."

I stumbled out of the cab, the crisp New York air doing nothing to clear the fog of betrayal. The penthouse, once my sanctuary, now felt like a gilded cage. It was late, the city lights painting streaks across the floor. My housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins, a kind woman who had been with Alexander's family for decades, met me at the door.

"Mrs. Pugh, thank goodness you're back," she murmured, her brow furrowed. "Mr. Pugh called. He said you weren't feeling well. I've prepared your special tonic." She held out a steaming mug, the familiar herbal aroma wafting through the air. "He said it's for your fertility, to help you get pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Fertility. Pregnant. My gaze locked onto the mug, the innocent steam curling upwards, a cruel mockery. A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach, tighter than any physical pain. My hands trembled, a tremor that started deep within my bones.

Years. Years of trying, of hope turning to ash. I'd swallowed every bitter drop of that "tonic," choking down the earthy taste, imagining it nurturing life within me. I'd endured countless doctor' s visits, the invasive tests, the pitying looks of nurses. Alexander had always been there, holding my hand, whispering words of encouragement. "We'll get through this, Haylie. Our baby is coming." His eyes, so full of what I thought was love and shared longing.

I had believed him. I, Haylie Strickland, who had witnessed my own mother's devastation from my father's infidelity, had vowed never to be that woman. I had sought stability, loyalty, a partnership built on trust. Alexander, with his impeccable charm, his powerful family name, his seemingly boundless devotion, had been that rock. He had been my safe harbor. He had been everything my father wasn't.

I had blamed myself for our childlessness. The guilt had gnawed at me, convinced I was somehow failing him, failing our future. I had even started exploring more drastic options, IVF, surrogacy, anything to give him the family I knew he desired, the heir his family expected. I had been so desperate, so blind.

Now, the truth, ugly and raw, flashed before my eyes. Fertility tonic. The words echoed with a sickening irony.

Alexander's voice cut through the silence, warm and solicitous. "Haylie, darling, you're home. How are you feeling?" He walked into the living room, his tie loosened, a faint scent of an unfamiliar perfume clinging to him. He looked disarmingly concerned, his eyes scanning my face with practiced tenderness. "You look pale. Here, Mrs. Jenkins, the tonic. My wife needs her medicine."

He moved towards me, reaching for the mug. My stomach lurched. The smell, once a symbol of hope, now reeked of deceit. I saw it then, a faint smudge of bright red on the collar of his crisp white shirt. Lipstick. Carson's lipstick. The color of her audacious dress.

My throat felt tight, my voice a strangled whisper. "I'm... I'm not feeling well, Alexander. I don't think I can drink it right now."

He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it smoothed away. "Nonsense, sweetheart. This will make you feel better. You need your strength if we're going to make a baby, don't you?" He took the mug from Mrs. Jenkins, his gaze lingering on my face. "You know, I was so worried when I went to that... client meeting earlier. You seemed so upset." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you go out, darling? I thought you were resting."

My heart hammered. He was fishing, testing me. "Just a quick errand," I said, my voice barely steady. "A gallery matter. But I came right back. The traffic was awful near... that new development out on the West Side." It was the area near Carson's house.

His jaw tightened, a subtle shift I almost missed. "Ah, yes, that area. Nasty traffic. Well, come, my love." He walked closer, forcing the mug into my hand. "Drink up. For our future. For our child." He raised the mug to my lips, his thumb brushing my chin. It felt like a violation.

I pushed his hand away, the liquid sloshing slightly. "Alexander, what exactly is in this? I mean, after all these years, it's not working. Maybe it's time we reconsidered it." My voice was carefully neutral, a tightrope walk over an abyss.

He frowned, his expression darkening. "Haylie, don't be ridiculous. This is the best, most natural solution. It just takes time. Patience, my love. Patience." His tone was firm, brooking no argument. He grabbed my hand, bringing the mug back to my mouth. "Open."

The bitter taste filled my mouth. I swallowed, the liquid burning a path down my throat. My eyes welled up, tears blurring the edges of the room. It wasn't just the taste; it was the sheer, crushing weight of his betrayal. He watched me, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips. He pulled a small, intricately carved wooden charm from his pocket, a fertility symbol. "We'll put this under your pillow tonight. And then, my love, we'll make our baby." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "Let's go upstairs, darling. It's been too long."

A cold dread coiled in my belly. My body felt alien, polluted by his touch, by his lies. How could I have been so foolish? So utterly blind? My gaze drifted to the coffee table where Alexander's phone lay face up. The screen lit up. A message notification. Carson Gibson.

"Alexander, we need to talk." The words were out before I could stop them, a desperate plea for truth, for anything but the suffocating charade.

Alexander' s eyes widened slightly at my abrupt statement, a fleeting shadow of surprise crossing his face before it was replaced by his usual calm. He glanced from me to his phone, then back to me, the message notification still starkly visible. "Talk, darling? About what?" he asked, his voice smooth, too smooth. He picked up his phone, his thumb already hovering over the screen, poised to dismiss the notification. "Right now, I think you just need rest."

But the message wouldn't be dismissed. It was a call. And he answered it. "Yes?" His tone was clipped, professional, a stark contrast to the saccharine endearments he'd lavished on Carson just hours ago. He walked a few steps away, turning his back slightly, as if to shield his words from me. "No, now isn't a good time. I told you, I'm with Haylie... Yes, yes, I know. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just... be patient." He ended the call, his shoulders stiff.

He turned back to me, an apologetic smile plastered on his face. "Duty calls, my love. A crisis at the office. You know how it is." He moved towards the door, already shrugging into his jacket. "You get some rest. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't worry your pretty head about a thing." He blew me a kiss, a gesture that felt utterly performative, and then he was gone, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him.

Don't worry, I thought, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. Don't worry about the woman you just kissed, the supplements you're forcing me to take, or the child you' re actively preventing me from having. The empty words hung in the air, a cruel echo.

Sleep was a distant concept. I lay there, eyes wide open, watching the city lights flicker through the window. Every creak of the old building, every distant siren, seemed to amplify the roar of betrayal in my ears. Hours bled into one another, each minute a slow, agonizing drip of realization.

Just before dawn, a sharp, clattering noise broke the oppressive silence. A woman's scream, followed by a man's booming voice, drifted up from the street below. I pushed myself out of bed, drawn to the window by a morbid curiosity. Across the street, a couple from the building opposite were having a very public argument. She was accusing him of infidelity, her voice raw with pain. He was shouting denials, his face contorted in anger. It was a messy, heartbreaking tableau, a mirror reflecting my own shattered reality.

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I gasped, spinning around. Alexander stood behind me, his face pale, his eyes wide. "Haylie! What are you doing? Get away from the window. Don't look at that filth." He pulled me back, his grip surprisingly strong. He moved to the window, his movements swift and decisive, and drew the heavy velvet curtains, plunging the room into semi-darkness. "Disgusting," he muttered, shaking his head. "People have no respect for privacy."

He turned to me, his expression softening into a mask of concern. "Are you alright, darling? You look shaken. You shouldn't expose yourself to such ugliness." He reached out, his fingers tracing my cheek. "Our home is a sanctuary, remember?"

I recoiled from his touch, a shiver running through me. "Alexander," my voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "What do you truly believe defines loyalty? And love?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "What a strange question, my love. Loyalty is unwavering devotion, of course. And love... love is what we share, Haylie. An unbreakable bond. A promise of forever." He smiled, that charming, practiced smile. "Speaking of forever, I was thinking... it's your birthday today. I want to celebrate properly. Just the two of us. A lavish dinner, perhaps? Whatever your heart desires."

Just then, a soft knock came at the door. Mrs. Jenkins poked her head in. "Mr. Pugh, there's a guest downstairs. A young woman. She says she needs to speak with you urgently."

Alexander's blood drained from his face. "A... guest? Who? I'm not expecting anyone." His voice was tight, a frantic edge to it. "Tell her I'm unavailable. Tell her to come back later."

My heart pounded. Her. It had to be her. "Who is it, Alexander?" I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. I moved towards the door, my eyes fixed on the hint of red fabric visible through the crack.

He tried to block my way, his hand extending. "No one important, darling. Just a junior associate from the office. A misunderstanding."

But it was too late. She stepped past Mrs. Jenkins, her red dress a fiery streak against the muted elegance of our hallway. Carson Gibson stood there, a triumphant smirk on her face. Her eyes met mine, a cold, calculating gleam in their depths. She gave me a slow, deliberate wink.

My breath caught in my throat. The world tilted. Alexander, standing rooted, his face a mask of horror. Carson, bold and unashamed, right here in my home.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Pugh," Carson purred, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. She looked me up and down, a sneer twisting her lips. "Still clinging on, I see."

A wave of icy fury washed over me, a sensation so intense it almost felt like a physical blow. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to steady my trembling hands. "And who might you be?" I asked, my voice calm, almost detached. It was a performance, a desperate attempt to maintain control. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

Alexander, finding his voice, rushed forward. "Carson! What are you doing here? I told you to wait!" He turned to me, a whirlwind of frantic excuses. "Haylie, darling, this is Carson Gibson, a new marketing junior from the firm. She's... she's very ambitious. A little overzealous, perhaps."

Carson laughed, a harsh, grating sound. She smoothed down her dress, revealing a barely concealed hickey on her neck, a fresh, vivid red mark against her pale skin. Her eyes, still locked on mine, dared me to react. "Oh, no need for introductions, Mr. Pugh. I'm sure Mrs. Pugh knows exactly who I am." She ran her tongue over her lips, a provocative gesture aimed directly at me.

My fists clenched. The image of that hickey, the taunting look in her eyes, fueled a cold, burning rage. But I held it in, forcing a polite smile. "Indeed," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Well, Alexander, I'm sure your 'junior associate' has urgent business. Perhaps you should attend to it."

Alexander looked from me to Carson, his face a mixture of relief and fear. "Yes, yes, of course. Come, Carson. We'll speak in my study." He practically shoved her towards his office, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at me. "I won't be long, Haylie. Don't worry."

Don't worry. The words again. As he disappeared with Carson into his study, I heard her voice, low and seductive, followed by his hurried whispers. My mind raced. This wasn't some casual fling. This was a brazen display, a claim staked right in my living room.

Alexander, who had once pursued me with such passion, who had promised me the world, had changed. The man who had showered me with attention, who had memorized my favorite flowers and coffee order, was now a stranger. He had wooed me tirelessly, a whirlwind courtship that swept me off my feet. He was everything I had ever dreamed of, erasing the bitter taste of my parents' broken marriage. He was my secure future, my steadfast love. Or so I believed.

Now, that illusion lay shattered on the floor, scattered like broken glass. I had to know more. I had to see the full extent of this betrayal. I would follow him.

I waited until the house was quiet, until Alexander' s car pulled out of the driveway again, Carson, no doubt, tucked away in the passenger seat. I slipped into my own car, my movements precise, mechanical. The same road, the same destination. My heart was a drum in my chest, beating a frantic rhythm of dread and determination.

This time, Alexander pulled into a secluded parking lot behind a small, unassuming clinic. He helped Carson out of the car. She clutched her stomach, a wince of pain crossing her face. She looked unwell, her complexion pale, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Alexander' s arm went around her instantly, his face a mask of concern. "Are you alright, darling? Is it the baby?"

The baby. The word hit me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I gripped the steering wheel, my mind struggling to process what I had just heard. The baby.

Carson leaned into him, her voice weak but still edged with a strange triumph. "Just a little Braxton Hicks, I think. Nothing to worry about. But you know, morning sickness has been dreadful." She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Alexander? It's our little secret, isn't it? Our precious surprise."

Alexander' s fingers stroked her hair, his expression tender, almost reverent. "Of course, it's our secret, Carson. Our precious boy. Nothing will stand in the way of our family." He looked down at her swollen belly, a possessive hand resting there. "You know how important this is to me. To my family. A son."

A son. A legacy. My mind reeled. All those years, all those "fertility tonics," all those empty hopes. While I was swallowing contraception, he was creating a family with someone else. A son. The unspoken expectation from his parents, the one he had so carefully shielded me from, was now being fulfilled by this woman.

My world collapsed. The ground beneath me gave way. I felt a cold, empty chasm open up inside my chest. The pain was so profound, so absolute, it brought me to my knees.

Alexander' s words, "Our precious boy. A son," echoed in the silent confines of my car, ricocheting off the windows and slamming into my soul. My hands trembled, the steering wheel suddenly too cold, too hard beneath my fingers. I watched as he guided Carson, so fragile and swollen, into the clinic. His gaze, once so devoted to me, was now fixed on her, brimming with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

Carson, sensing his preoccupation, leaned into him. "You know, Alexander, my mother is asking when you're going to make an honest woman out of me," she purred, her voice a little stronger now, laced with a playful but unmistakable demand. "And the baby, darling. He'll need his father's name, won't he?"

Alexander stiffened, glancing around as if fearing eavesdroppers. "Carson, not now. We've discussed this. Give me time. Everything will be handled discreetly." His tone was placating, but a hint of frustration colored his words.

"Time? We're about to pop!" she retorted, a flash of anger in her eyes. She then smiled, a manipulative glint in her gaze. "Unless you want me to tell Haylie all about our little family? She's always wanted a child, hasn't she? I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know she's getting one, even if it's not from her." Her voice was a venomous whisper, but loud enough to pierce the fragile peace of the afternoon.

Alexander' s face hardened. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. "Don't you dare, Carson. Don't you ever threaten me. Haylie has nothing to do with this. This is about our son, and our future. You understand?" His voice was low, menacing, a side of him I had never witnessed.

Carson, despite the anger, seemed to relish his fierce response. She leaned into his touch, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, darling, you're so fierce when you're protective. It's exhilarating." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Come on, let's go celebrate our little secret, hm? My place. I've got that vintage champagne you love." She pressed her body against his, her gaze daring him.

He hesitated for a moment, then, with a sigh that sounded more like surrender than resistance, he nodded. He kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss, his hand caressing her burgeoning belly. They climbed back into his car, the vehicle rocking slightly as they settled in. Then, the car began to move. Not towards the clinic entrance, but to a more secluded corner of the parking lot, shrouded by trees.

The car shuddered, then began to sway rhythmically. My blood ran cold. My stomach churned, a volatile mix of nausea and revulsion. The sounds, muffled but unmistakable, reached my ears. Every groan, every gasp, tore at my very being. It was a crude, vulgar affirmation of their intimacy, a physical representation of the utter desecration of my marriage.

My heart seized, a sharp, excruciating pain that stole my breath. My vision blurred, tears streaming down my face, hot and stinging. That man, Alexander, my husband, the man I loved, the man I had given my life to, was reduced to this. A cheat, a liar, performing such a base act with another woman, while she carried his child. And I was watching it.

I had believed in Alexander. I had seen him as the antithesis of my own philandering father, a man whose betrayal had splintered my childhood. Alexander had been my safe haven, my promise of something pure and enduring. He had held me, consoled me, vowed eternal fidelity. He had built this perfect, beautiful lie around me, brick by brick, until it became my entire world. And now, in a single, gut-wrenching moment, he had torched it all. He was a complete stranger to me, a monster cloaked in a familiar face. My love for him, once boundless, turned to ashes in my mouth.

The car stopped shaking. The engine rumbled to life. They were leaving. I closed my eyes tightly, wishing I could unsee, unhear, erase this moment from existence. The image of them, entwined and shameless, was burned onto my eyelids. The image of the hickey on Carson's neck, the triumphant glint in her eyes, Alexander's hands on her pregnant belly. It was all a cruel, twisted nightmare.

I started my own car, my hands gripping the wheel, my knuckles white. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard. I drove, blindly, through the city streets, the world outside a blur. The pristine white walls of my gallery, the elegant lines of our penthouse, the carefully curated life we had built – it all felt like a hollow mockery now.

Images flashed through my mind: Alexander, on our wedding day, gazing at me with what I thought was adoration, whispering, "I will cherish you, Haylie, always and forever. My heart, my soul, my life are yours." He had promised me children, a family. He had promised me a love that would never falter, a loyalty that would never bend. "I will never be like your father, Haylie," he had said, holding my trembling hands. "I will never betray you."

The irony was a bitter taste. He hadn't just betrayed me. He had orchestrated a slow, agonizing psychological torture. He had stolen my dreams, twisted my desires, and fed me lies disguised as hope. And all for a son he couldn't have with me, a son he desired more than he desired me. The son, the heir, the family name. That was all that mattered. I was just the convenient, decorous wife, used as a shield while he built his actual family elsewhere.

My phone buzzed. A text message. From Alexander. So sorry, darling. That 'office crisis' kept me longer than expected. But I'm making it up to you. Big plans for your birthday. A surprise you' ll never forget. I love you, my Haylie.

I stared at the words, a cold, humorless laugh escaping my lips. Big plans. A surprise. Oh, he had no idea what kind of surprise awaited him. He thought he could still manipulate me, still control the narrative. He thought I was still the naive, trusting wife.

A dangerous thought, cold and precise, began to form in my mind. He hadn't divorced me. Why? Was it for appearances? For his family's reputation? Or because he simply couldn't be bothered with the messy inconvenience of ending our charade? Whatever the reason, it was a mistake he would soon regret.

I pulled into our driveway, my mind eerily calm, the storm of emotion replaced by a chilling clarity. I had a birthday party to plan. A grand, unforgettable fête. A farewell celebration.

I walked through the house, my gaze lingering on the objects that had once brought me joy. A framed photo of our wedding day, my hand in his, our smiles bright and full of promise. A delicate porcelain vase he' d bought me in Italy. The plush velvet armchair where we' d spent countless evenings, dreaming of our future. Each item now felt tainted, a monument to his lies.

I gathered them, one by one. The framed photos, the small gifts, everything that represented "us." In the kitchen, I found the half-empty mug of Alexander's "fertility tonic." I poured the contents down the drain, the dark liquid swirling away, carrying with it years of false hope. Then, with a sudden, fierce resolve, I smashed the mug against the counter. The ceramic shattered, a sharp, satisfying crack.

As I cleaned up the shards, my fingers brushed against something hard and leather-bound tucked away behind a stack of old magazines. It was Alexander's old journal, the one he'd kept during our courtship, filled with his elegant handwriting. I hadn't seen it in years. A pang of something akin to curiosity, a morbid desire to revisit the past, made me pick it up.