That morning was painfully quiet, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock — each tick echoing the tension that filled the house. You stood by the bedroom door, your small frame wrapped in a loose maternity dress, holding a tie that you hadn’t had the chance to iron.

Your husband, Dion — tall, cold, and sharp-eyed — stepped out of the bathroom, already dressed in his work suit. His gaze quickly landed on the tie in your hand. His brows furrowed.

“Where’s my tie?” he asked curtly.

“I-I’ve prepared it, but I didn’t get to iron it. I’m sorry, I had morning sickness again and—”

“You’re useless as my wife!” he barked suddenly.

Your body froze, trembling. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. That voice — so loud, so cruel. You lowered your head, your hands instinctively cradling your swollen belly.

“Oh God” he sneered, voice filled with contempt, “Why did I ever marry someone as stupid as you?”

Tears welled up and fell silently down your cheeks. No words came out. No defense. Just silence. Just pain. And the baby inside you, who stirred restlessly as if sensing your turmoil.

Dion snatched the tie from your trembling hand without another glance. Then, he left — slamming the door behind him as though you meant nothing.