Chapter 8

I ignored him and lowered my head to shut the door. But he quickly squeezed inside.

Before I could react, he suddenly pinned me against the wall, pulling me into a hug. His voice was low, almost pleading.

“Lily, give me one more chance.”

The embrace that used to feel comforting now made me want to gag.

I shoved him away angrily.

“Don’t touch me! I’ll call the cops!”

But he didn’t move, chuckling softly.

“We’re married. What grounds do you have to call the cops?”

Ignoring my resistance, his hand lightly brushed my face.

“Lily, I know you hate me because we lost the baby. It’s okay, we can try again and start over.”

I frowned, disgusted.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He didn’t believe me.

“The doctor said it would be hard for you to get pregnant again after your last miscarriage. Yet you still got pregnant this time, didn’t you?”

I couldn’t believe he was bringing up that miscarriage. It still haunted me.

In our first year of marriage, Jack got into a heated argument with his half-brother. In a fit of rage, his brother tried to run Jack over with his car.

In that moment, I shoved Jack out of the way.

He was unharmed, but I wasn’t. I got knocked down, bleeding heavily.

At the hospital, I found out I’d been four weeks pregnant.

That incident left me with deep psychological scars. To this day, I always make sure to hold his hand when crossing the street.

I couldn’t help myself. I confronted him.

“I’m really curious… that night, when you intentionally hit me with your car to stand up for Emma, what were you thinking?”

He went silent, unable to speak.

I wasn’t letting him off the hook.

“You’re too scared to admit it, so I’ll say it for you. You knew exactly what I feared, so you deliberately used that car accident to terrorize me, didn’t you?”

His eyes were filled with raw pain.

“Stop… please…” he begged.

“I know I’m a terrible person,” he said, his voice shaking, “but I can’t let you go.”

“We’ve been through so much, Lily. How can we just end it like this?”

His voice trailed off as if he had made some kind of decision. He looked at me with intensity.

“Lily, I know you’re soft-hearted. You might hate me now, but once we have a child, you’ll forgive me…”

And with that, he started to unbutton my shirt.

I instinctively pushed him away.

“I told you not to touch me! You’re disgusting!”

He froze, his eyes widening in shock.

“What… what did you say?”

He couldn’t believe I had called him disgusting.

He’d once shared with me how his mother died when he was young, and how his stepmother mistreated him.

Once, when his school handed out snacks, he didn’t eat them himself but brought them home for his stepbrother.

When his stepmother saw this, she slapped his hands so hard they turned red and stomped on the snacks.

“Where did this filthy stuff come from?!” she screamed. “Don’t let my son eat anything your dirty hands have touched!”

It was a deep wound for him.

We used to be so close, sharing everything. We knew each other’s weaknesses, each other’s scars.

But he never imagined that one day I would use his secret like a weapon.

He was crushed, but I felt no pity. I said it again, slowly and clearly:

“I said, you’re disgusting.”

He trembled, his face twisted with pain and rage. Without warning, he raised his hand.

I didn’t flinch.

The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room.

He stepped back, staring at his hand, disbelief written across his face.

“I…” he started, but the words didn’t come.

I spoke coldly.

“Get out.”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police to make you go.”

He opened his mouth, trying to explain, but couldn’t find the right words. He let his hand fall and left, defeated and broken.