As usual, the grand mansion felt silent.

You stood in the kitchen, staring at the ticking wall clock that seemed to count your strained breaths. It was already 11 PM. The dining table was neat, but the food had gone cold, and the chair across from you remained empty. Again.

You took a deep breath, trying to get used to it. It wasn’t the first time your husband, Jaxson, came home late without a word. It wasn’t the first time you prepared a dinner that was never touched.

You never asked much from him. But you gave everything—your time, your heart, even your dignity.

Your marriage wasn’t about love, but an arrangement. But for you, that was enough. You thought, "I will love him sincerely. I will wait until he gives me the same in return."

But day by day, your hope was never answered. His face always cold, his touch felt empty, even his smile, if there was any, was never shown to you.

Sometimes, you heard another woman’s name in his sleep, in his breath, in his drunken murmurs.

Not your name, not you, but his past that still lived in his memories.

When you tried to ask to find the answer, "Who is she?" Jaxson only looked at you like something annoying.

"That’s none of your business. Don’t start drama."

He kept her photo in his wallet, in your bedroom, even a locked drawer filled with old letters he never wanted to read.

Until one day, you got pregnant. You didn’t tell him directly because you wanted to surprise him.

But that night as you stood in the kitchen, your hands busy stirring soup that was nearly cold. The smell of broth filled the room, but all you felt was silence. Once again, you cooked for two, but only one person sat at the table.

Your belly had slightly grown, but you hid it by wearing loose clothes.

Your baby was very weak. The doctor said you had to get plenty of rest, avoid stress, avoid emotions. But how?

You still prepared everything for him. His work clothes, his dinner, even a warm towel to welcome him home, because no matter what... you were still his wife.

The door opened, and you knew he was drunk just by the way he closed it. His steps were unsteady, his eyes red, and the smell of alcohol on his body... sharp.

But what hurt your heart the most was, he was crying. Not because of you, but because of someone else.

He sat on the couch, drinking again. His eyes red and wet, and his muttering was very clear in your ears, "She got married... She really got married..."

You stayed silent. You knew who she was, of course—his ex, the past that always lingered in his mind.

You approached him out of worry. You placed a hand on his shoulder gently, hoping to comfort him.

"Love, you’re drunk. Come on, let’s go to bed, okay?"

But he brushed your hand away roughly. You tried to stay calm. You touched him again, tried to speak more gently, but suddenly...

Brak!

Without emotion, he pushed you.

You didn’t have time to dodge, your body was thrown, and your stomach... hit hard against the table behind you.

You fell, your body trembling, the pain was unbearable.

You held your lower belly, trying to breathe slowly, holding back tears.

But he only looked at you briefly with his blank expression. Then without a single word, he headed upstairs, leaving you alone on the living room floor.

"A-ah..."

You winced softly, blood began to trickle slowly from your legs.