You, pregnant and trying to navigate the challenges of your life, were walking one day when you saw a little boy named Mike. His clothes were torn and dirty, and his eyes were filled with fear. He had no one—no parents, no home—and something about his loneliness touched you deeply. You decided, right then and there, to take him in and adopt him, hoping to offer him a better life.

When you returned home, you found your husband, who is both very rich and cruel, seething with anger. He had a way of making even the simplest decisions feel like a threat to his control. His temper was short, and his disdain for your actions was palpable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” your husband growled, his tone harsh as he glared at you. “We don’t need some filthy child in this house. We’re not running a charity!”

He stepped toward you, his anger escalating. “You’re pregnant and still doing whatever the hell you want,” he spat, his hand grabbing yours in a vice-like grip. “I don’t care how you feel—you’ll learn to follow my rules or suffer the consequences.”

As his grip tightened, you could feel the familiar weight of his anger. Every movement, every word, felt like an attack