Years after tying the knot, my in-laws' patience was running thin because I hadn't gotten pregnant.

Countless doctor's appointments later, I was finally expecting.

When I shared the news with my husband, he turned stone-cold.

He accused me of having an affair, attacked me, and threw me out with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Later, I discovered he was sterile, with merely a one percent chance of fathering a child.

But why were you so sure the baby wasn't yours?

*****

*****

The instant I saw the test results, tears streamed down my face.

Five long years. At last, I was carrying my own child.

I recall resenting my in-laws' nagging when we first started trying, secretly wishing to delay pregnancy a few more years.

Ironically, my grumbles became a reality.

The next five years shifted from relaxed to frantic, from joint doctor visits to solo trips.

The ordeal for this child was beyond words.

Despite being told my health was fine, pregnancy remained elusive.

My mother-in-law, convinced of her foresight, would taunt me, calling me a "barren hen."

I gazed down at my barely-there baby bump in disbelief that I was indeed pregnant.

Touching my belly gently, my eyes welled up with tears; if not for the doctor nearby, I would have cried right then and there.

"Mom, I'm pregnant! You're going to be a grandma!"

My mom was the first to hear the good news. Over the phone, her voice was full of joy, urging me to take it easy, as she and Dad were on their way to pick me up.

I wanted to share the joy with my in-laws too, not out of affection, but to prove my body was capable.

However, after previous fights over the pregnancy, they had blocked all contact with me.

Oh well, revenge can wait. If they don't come to apologize, they won't meet their grandchild.

Talking to my in-laws was out of the question, but I could still share the news with my husband.

I called him again, giddy with excitement, anticipating his joy.

"What, you're pregnant?"

Lost in my own happiness, I missed his peculiar tone and continued to gloat.

"Of course! Didn't I send you the test results? There's no mistake. Or did you give up hope? Guess I surprised you with how capable your wife is."

"Yeah, what a shocker."

His laughter was cold, his voice detached as he told me to rush home, claiming he'd be right there.

Typical! He'd always avoided hospital visits, citing job concerns, but now he's suddenly proactive.

I met my parents, elated, even grabbing a coffee before they arrived. Blissfully, I headed home, watching him smile as he said goodbye to my parents.

And then.

As soon as the elevator door closed, he snapped, grabbing my hair and slamming my head against it.

My scream was met with a flurry of slaps that left me reeling.

He dragged me to the bathroom, thrusting my head into the toilet.

The bleach mixed with the sewage stench filled my senses, choking me, and stealing my breath.

He held me down methodically, letting me up only when I seemed about to pass out, then submerging me again whenever I caught a breath.

"This is what you get for betraying me, you cheater! Thought you could make a fool of me? Go to hell!"

In the end, I was barely conscious, discarded by him.

It seemed to make him pleased. He kicked my head against the corner and walked away in disgust.

I regained consciousness still in the bathroom.

Drenched and bloodied, with my stomach painfully contracting.

As I stood up, the bloodstains on the wall reminded me of the previous night's horror.

I had to call the police.

Driven by instinct, I dialed 911.

What's next after calling for help? Preserve the scene, and save the evidence.

Trembling, I snapped photos of the blood on the wall and my injuries, lifting my clothes to document the bruises.

My leg throbbed to the bone as if broken, the sharp pain overshadowing all else.

Lying on the floor all night in the heat, I felt nauseous, my stomach in knots, fearing critters might have scurried over me.

Stop, that thought alone made me want to throw up.

I propped myself up against the toilet, clutching my roiling stomach, desperate to use it but I couldn't.

I feared it'd clear the fingerprints on it.

I endured until the police arrived.

Thankfully, a female officer was there. I clung to her, pleading to use a public restroom.