I hadn’t expected him to turn on me. To protect her, he struck me across the head with a wooden stick, the impact sending a sharp pain radiating through my skull. But that wasn’t enough for him.
He went home and took his rage out on our daughter.
He locked her in a dark room, forcing her to watch horror movies, her cries echoing through the walls.
"Clara, this is the price you pay for daring to touch Ophelia.”
"Remember, for every time you hurt her, I will hurt your daughter in return."
He spoke as if she meant nothing to him.
"Nathaniel, you’re heartless! She’s your daughter, too!"
"No. She’s a bastard child, an obstacle that kept me from being with Ophelia."
Seven years ago, he had been drugged and drunk at a business dinner when a female client tried to take advantage of him. And from that night, our daughter was born, a child he had never wanted.
At the time, his family’s business was still struggling.
When he fell into trouble that night, I was the one who saved him, taking him to a nearby hotel to rest. But in his drunken haze, he suddenly lost control, pulling me into a desperate kiss.
I tried to resist, but then he whispered my name, his voice raw with longing. He said I was the one he loved most.
Nathaniel Carter had been my dream for years and that night, I surrendered to him.
We married soon after and for a while, it felt like a dream. But the moment I became pregnant, everything changed.
That was when Ophelia returned from abroad and suddenly, the man who once adored me turned cold.
His late nights became more frequent and his presence at home was a rare occurrence.
Then, one night, he stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, his eyes filled with hatred. Without warning, he lunged at me, his fists clenched.
"You damn bad luck! You never should’ve been here!"
"Because of you, Ophelia won’t touch me!"
"She said that if she got together with me now, she’d be the other woman!"
A sharp pain ripped through my abdomen and I realized he didn’t care if he killed us both.
I stared at the man I had once loved with every fiber of my being, my heart shattering into pieces.
He had struck the child in my belly, not out of anger toward me, but because he couldn’t sleep with Ophelia.
That night, we fought. His words were venom, his rage a wildfire that burned through the last remnants of my hope. In the end, he stormed out, the door slamming so hard it rattled the walls.