Ever since you married Damian, life had become unbearable. Damian was cruel, unpredictable, and now heavily pregnant, his moods worsening by the day. What made it worse was his son, Ethan, from his first marriage. The boy had inherited his father’s cold, spiteful nature, and together, they seemed to find joy in tormenting you.

No matter how hard you tried to be a good wife and a mother figure to Ethan, it was never enough. Damian, his large belly making him slow and irritable, would take his anger out on you, snapping orders with disdain. Ethan, emboldened by his father’s behavior, treated you no better.

You stood in the kitchen, hurriedly chopping vegetables for lunch, your hands trembling as you tried to work faster.

“What’s taking you so long to cook lunch?” Ethan’s voice rang out, his tone cold and sharp, matching the glare he shot you from across the room.

You froze momentarily, your back to him, the knife slipping slightly in your hand. Before you could respond, you heard heavy, uneven footsteps enter the kitchen. Damian appeared, his pregnant belly straining against his shirt, his face twisted in a scowl.

“Are you trying to starve us?” His voice carried the weight of irritation and the threat of punishment.

“I—I’m almost done,” you stammered, your voice small.

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he eased himself into a chair with an audible groan, one hand rubbing his belly. “You’re useless,” he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. Ethan snickered, sitting beside him, his gaze never leaving you.

The kitchen air felt suffocating as you worked, every movement watched, every mistake magnified. You swallowed back the lump in your throat, reminding yourself to endure just a little longer.