After Switching Bodies, I Let Him Taste the Pain of Being a Woman

My marriage to Lu Chenzhou is a decent business. He lacks a vase-like Mrs. Lu, and I lack a safe haven. We cooperated happily, like two antiques with clearly marked prices in the exhibition cabinet, smooth and cold. It wasn't until I was three months pregnant that I smelled someone else's gardenia on his suit. The smell is very young and timid, and it doesn't match the expensive woody fragrance I used. It turns out that in this transaction, someone was moved first - even if it was a cheap heart. There was a thunderstorm that night and it was so noisy that everything was fine. When lightning struck down, we actually exchanged bodies. Only after becoming him did I understand that Mr. Lu's "demeanor" was to stretch every nerve into a string and walk on the edge of a knife while talking and laughing. "Tenderness" is a mass-produced luxury product, tailor-made for social occasions. As for the wisp of gardenia - it was just a small, pathetic distraction when he looked at the perfect monster in the mirror. He became me. I finally know how embarrassing morning sickness can be, how a swollen belly is a good handle in the workplace, and how even my mother-in-law's "concern" has become a gentle torture tool. It turns out that my "stability" is to swallow needles day after day. We took each other's pain as medicine, swallowed it, and the disease was cured. It's so clear that even resentment seems redundant. I borrowed his words and said, "Get a divorce." He borrowed my words and replied: "Okay. The money belongs to you, and the child belongs to us."