After We Swapped Bodies, I Made Him Suffer the Hardships of Being a Woman

My marriage to Lu Chenzhou was a respectable business arrangement.

He needed a trophy wife named Mrs. Lu, and I needed a safe haven. We worked well together, like two antiques in a display case, each with a clear price tag: polished and cold.

Then, three months into my pregnancy, I caught the scent of someone else's gardenia on his suit. It was a young, timid fragrance, completely unlike the expensive woody perfume I wore. It turned out someone in this arrangement had fallen first, even if it was a heart of little worth.

That night, thunder and rain raged, stripping away every trace of elegance. When lightning struck, we somehow switched bodies.

Only after becoming him did I understand that Mr. Lu's "grace" meant keeping every nerve taut as a violin string, walking on a knife's edge even while making conversation. His "tenderness" was a mass-produced luxury, custom-made for social occasions. As for that hint of gardenia, it was nothing but a brief, pitiful lapse as he gazed at the perfect monster in the mirror.

He became me. At last, he learned how humiliating morning sickness could be, what a convenient weapon a pregnant belly made in the workplace, and how even his mother's "concern" could become a gentle instrument of torture. It turned out my "peaceful life" meant swallowing needles, day after day.

We swallowed each other's pain like medicine. Our illness healed, though. We understood too much, so much that even resentment seemed unnecessary.

Using his mouth, I said, "Let's get divorced."

Using mine, he replied, "All right. You can have the money, and we'll raise the child together."