Chapter 7
I stopped responding to him and lowered my head to close the door, but he quickly pushed his way inside.
Before I could react, he suddenly pinned me against the wall, wrapping his arms around me, his voice low. “Kieran, give me another chance.”
His once–warm embrace made me feel sick
now.
I angrily pushed him away. “Don’t touch me… or I’ll call the police!”
But he remained unfazed, laughing lightly. “We’re married; what grounds do you have to call the police?”
Ignoring my resistance, his hand gently brushed against my face. “Kieran, I know you’re angry with me because we lost the baby, but it’s okay. We can have another child and start over.”
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I frowned in disgust. “Are you crazy? Stop wasting your breath! The doctor said I can’t get pregnant again!”
He didn’t believe me. “The last time you miscarried, the doctor said it would be hard for you to get pregnant again, but you still managed to.”
I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to bring up the previous miscarriage.
In our first year of marriage, Adrian had a fight with his half–brother, who, in a fit of rage, drove his car into him.
In that critical moment, I pushed him out of the way. He was unharmed, but I was knocked down and bled everywhere. It was only when I got to the hospital that I found out I was four weeks pregnant at the time.
After that incident, I developed a psychological trauma. I had to hold his hand every time we crossed the street.
“I’m really curious about your feelings that night when you drove into me to
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defend Elara. What were you thinking?”
He fell silent, but I didn’t want to let him off the hook.
“You‘ re afraid to say it, so I’ll say it for you. You knew exactly what I was afraid of and you used that car accident to scare me on purpose, didn’t you?”
His eyes were filled with deep pain. “Stop talking… I know I’m a scumbag, but I really don‘ I want to leave you. With our deep feelings, how could it just end like that!”
He murmured to himself as if he had made.
up his mind, revealing a strange smile.
“Kieran, I know you‘ re soft–hearted. Your hate me now, but once we have a child, you’ll forgive me…”
As he spoke, he reached for my clothing. buttons and I reflexively pushed him away.
“I told you not to touch me! You dirty!”
He froze suddenly, his eyes gradually filling with a crimson hue. “What… what did you
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say?”
He couldn’t believe I would call him dirty.
He once told me that when he was a child, his mother passed away early and his stepmother treated him poorly, making his life difficult. Wanting to please his stepmother and brother, there was one time when the school handed out snacks and he didn’t want to eat them, bringing them home for his brother instead.
But when his stepmother saw, she looked at him with disgust, slapped his hand until it turned red, snatched the snacks and crushed them underfoot. “What kind of dirty thing is this? Don’t feed my son anything touched by your dirty hands!”
This was the shadow in his heart.
We once shared a close bond, confiding
our secrets, so we knew each other’s
vulnerabilities. He never imagined that one day I would use his secret as a sharp weapon to hurt him.
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He was greatly hurt, but I felt no sympathy at all. Instead, I slowly repeated, “I said, you are dirty.”
His body trembled slightly, unable to bear the extreme pain and anger and he suddenly raised his hand. I did not dodge.
The crisp sound of a slap echoed. He involuntarily took a step back, looking at his hand in disbelief, filled with regret. “I…..”
I said coldly, “Leave. If you don’t go, I’ll call the police to make you leave.”
He wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. He lowered his hands in despair and left, looking dejected.
