Three months into my pregnancy, my husband, brutally beat me until I had a miscarriage. The scene was horrific.

When my mother went to confront him, he struck her too, leaving her with a bloodied head and needing overnight hospitalization.

Afterward, my husband would kneel on the floor, begging and pleading, "I'm sorry, Clara. I swear I'll never lay a hand on you again and I'll break off all ties with that woman."

Watching the man grovel on his knees, this time, I didn't just sit and endure. Instead, on his birthday, the night he was still tangled up in a hotel with his longtime mistress, I took action.

Under the pretense of celebrating his birthday, I invited friends and relatives, along with his parents and closest buddies.

As everyone sang the birthday song and pushed the cake into the room, they saw the woman lying in bed.

One of my husband's closest friends cried out, "Mom?"

***

Ever since my husband started his affair, he would regularly resort to domestic violence, abusing me to the point where it became his addiction.

I had often been left bruised and battered, crying alone on the couch in the dead of night, clutching my injuries.

Every time I brought up divorce, he would collapse in tears, kneeling and begging, "I'm sorry, Clara! I was wrong. Please don't leave me. I swear I'll change."

He printed an album filled with photos capturing every memory of our relationship, our first meeting, falling in love, the moments we shared.

With his sweet words, he managed to coax me into reconciliation countless times. I foolishly forgave him again and again, only to be left shattered each time.

He roared, "Even if love is gone, there's still the bond of family. Are you really willing to let go of ten years of love? It's like losing a family member. Think about the baby, if not for yourself!"

Gerald's fists cut like bone knives, driving me to despair. Yet his honeyed words would soften my heart time after time.

Until he beat me so severely that I lost our baby, leaving me critically injured and on the brink of death.

That night, when my mother heard the news, she went to confront him, only to be beaten bloody and rushed to the hospital.

That night, when I found out that my three-month-old baby was gone, I lay on the hospital bed, clutching my belly, tears streaming uncontrollably.

My father called the police and Gerald was arrested, but the next day his parents came with their relatives, smashing up our home. They stormed into the hospital, loudly accusing my family of being heartless.

Gerald's mother's voice echoed through the hospital halls and in her fury, she picked up a toothpick from a fruit tray and stabbed it repeatedly into my arm through my hospital clothes, making me scream in agony.

She screamed, "You had my son arrested, leaving a criminal record. What about his future children? Hurry up and tell the police to release him."

His father spoke calmly, "We're all family. Why take it so seriously? Clara, can't you be more forgiving?"

Their words tore me apart, inside and out. Their threats and bribes left my parents suffocating under the pressure.

"Gerald is a good man."

"Everyone gets out of hand sometimes. Hasn't every wife been hit by her husband?"

"A family needs understanding and harmony above all."

Gerald's parents and relatives surrounded my mother and me, preaching incessantly.

Hearing their twisted beliefs, I closed my eyes, my heart dead and numb. Divorce meant severing ties, but it was also a release.

To his family, Gerald was always seen as a well-mannered, good son. He was praised for respecting elders, loving the young and being gentle and courteous.

Yet, when he assaulted me, that facade shattered, leaving only a face twisted in rage.

"Reconciliation is possible, but he must divorce me!" My words left the hospital room in complete silence.

"Since he already has another woman, why not let him have her?" I was speaking not only to myself, but also to Gerald's family, relatives and friends.

One of Gerald's closest friends was Jonah Smith. His family ran a real estate business and he had loved martial arts novels since childhood, fascinated by tales of justice and vengeance.

After his father passed away due to illness, his mother, Sandra, took over the business.

From what I remembered, Jonah's mother, Sandra, was a charming woman in her fifties, still exuding elegance. She had always looked down on my humble family background.

When she found out about my relationship with Gerald, she vehemently opposed it. During my wedding, she even publicly humiliated my family, tearing us apart in front of everyone.

Jonah tried to persuade me with kind but patronizing words, "Clara, don't worry. You know what Gerald's personality is like. Aside from being impulsive and hot-tempered, he doesn't have any major issues. How could Gerald ever have an affair?"

Even he looked down on my family. All of them made every effort to speak highly of Gerald.

About the divorce? They dismissed the idea outright. But reconciliation, they insisted on that.

"Fine!" I felt an unprecedented calm. Love was a feeling, intangible yet deeply sensed. It can bloomed in an instant and vanished just as quickly.

From beginning to end, no one uttered a single word of concern for me. Every conversation revolved around Gerald.

His parents dragged me, against the hospital's advice, out of the ward. Weakened and frail, I was forced to sign a reconciliation agreement at the police station.

In the mediation room, Gerald held my hand, solemnly promising, "Clara, I'm sorry. I lost control last night. I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you! In front of your father, I'll write a formal guarantee that I won't lay a finger on you again. As for the baby, it's gone, but we can always have another."

His casual dismissal of our unborn child, our precious bond of love, disregarded the life that had been growing inside me.

"You two need to get along!" Gerald's friend, Jonah, offered his 'blessings' from the side.

The two of them exchanged knowing glances, understanding each other perfectly. I forced a smile.

Yes, Gerald would indeed never have another chance to touch me. I didn't cry or make a scene.

I quietly watched the two of them put on their charade, completely indifferent to the act they were playing.

When I got home that day, I sat calmly on the couch and curiously asked, "Gerald, tell me, who is the woman? You've hidden her so well! Since things have come this far, why bother concealing it anymore?"

Gerald knew he had another woman and he knew that I was well aware.

We just hadn't broken through the final layer of pretense. But whenever I brought it up, it was like touching a taboo for him.

Sometimes, I could sense that Gerald wasn't doing all this to protect the other person, but to protect himself.

Gerald suddenly lifted his head, his gaze at me fierce and threatening. He never allowed me to bring up these matters in front of him.

He snapped. "Your skin's itching for a beating again?"

The moment he said this, he quickly shut his mouth.

He realized his mistake, remembering that he'd just gotten out of the police station not even a day ago.

"Your skin's itching for a beating again." At first, this was a playful tease he used on me.

But it evolved into a threat and now it signaled that he was about to get violent. I had fought back before.

But in front of a strong, muscular man, especially one who didn't love me, a woman was simply too powerless.

His phone rang, I thought he would avoid me to take the call. But this time, he openly answered it right in front of me.

A worried voice came from the other end, "Gerald, are you okay?" The voice was soft, warm and sweet.

Now, Gerald couldn't even be bothered to pretend in front of me. He responded with a gentle tone I hadn't heard in a long time, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

He still cared to save a shred of my dignity, ending the call after a brief conversation.

Then he waved his phone at me and said, "It's just a friend."

I remembered the first time I caught him late at night, locked in the bathroom, having a long conversation with her. I had screamed hysterically and tried to snatch his phone.

He had thrown me to the ground and kicked me in the stomach. The excruciating pain had overwhelmed me.

Afterward, when I occasionally saw him on the phone, I would coldly tell him, "Just avoid me a bit." And now, I faced it all with indifference.

What woman, upon learning her husband was openly cheating, could stand there, unaffected? It took countless tearful arguments and waves of hopelessness to reach this point of numbness.

"I'm going to sleep." Gerald pushed open the bedroom door and went inside.

I knew he was just changing locations to flirt and talk sweetly without restraint.

Sure enough, within minutes, hushed conversation drifted from the bedroom, reaching my ears. He was discussing his upcoming birthday.

"Birthday gift," "surprise," "can't wait to meet," "don't tell Jonah!" Key phrases reached me in fragments.

I was stunned. A horrifying thought took root in my mind, was Gerald's affair partner … are his best friend Jonah's mother? I remembered how he often visited Jonah's house under the pretense of checking in on him.

On the day of his birthday, Gerald dressed carefully in the early morning and told me he had an important meeting at the office.

He said he'd be busy all night and might even stay at the company until morning.

I nodded lightly, "Alright."

He didn't know that I had a tracking app on my phone linked to his location. At first, I installed it because he'd come home drunk every night and I worried he'd get into trouble.

A woman's wild imagination made me worry each night. Would he drink himself to death? Would he pass out drunk by the roadside and get run over? Or would he collapse somewhere, with no one there to take care of him?

But now, the tracker served a different purpose, to see which hotel he visited or which bar he was frequenting for his indulgent escapades.