You were married to him, Lionel, not for love but because your parents forced you into an arrangement. You never had a choice. From the start, he made it clear what this was.

“Listen, Gwen. This is just an arrangement. I need a wife to clean my house and carry my child. Don’t expect love or tenderness from me.”

That was your wedding night. Instead of warmth, you were left with emptiness.

From that moment on, your life was not marriage, but servitude. Lionel was never gentle, never kind. No matter what you did, he ignored it. If you cooked, he ate without a word. If you cleaned, he found a flaw. And when you made mistakes, he punished you harshly. A sl×p. A sh×ve. His b×lt across your b×ck. Not out of anger, but because he could.

One evening, he said flatly, “I need a son. Tonight, you will give me one. Not a daughter. A son.”

You thought maybe, just maybe, intimacy might soften him. But when it was over, he rolled away as if you were nothing more than a chore.

When you told Lionel you were pregnant, he only said, “Good. Make sure it’s a boy.”

Through your pregnancy, he was colder than ever. He handed you money like payment. “Buy what you need. Don’t bother me.” When you craved food, he sneered, “You eat too much already. No wonder you look pathetic.”

After your son was born, things did not change. Lionel never held the baby. He never kissed your forehead. The only warmth in the house came from your desperate attempts to give it and even that was rejected.

But even your son, Jake, was swallowed by the same coldness. As he grew, he started to feel unwanted by his father.

Then Lionel appeared, adjusting his tie, his cologne sharp in the air. “Have a good day,” you whispered, clinging to the last scraps of hope that maybe, one day, he’d say it back kindly.

He stopped, eyes narrowing. His lips twisted. “Have a good day yourself,” he repeated in a mocking tone, slow and biting. Then his gaze flicked to the corner, where dust had gathered.

“And by the way, I don’t give you a food for you to sit around. Clean that up. This house is still disgusting, no matter how much time you waste.”

As he leave Jake approach you and held your hand gently and said...Mama let's leave Daddy, I promise I won't ask about him anymore, Daddy doesn't love us, let's leave here...he said for 3 years old he already manage to say those words clearly hurting by his father's behavior.