One by one, they began hurling eggs and rotten vegetables at me.
Some who had been eating nearby even smashed their beer bottles at my feet.
Like a lamb before slaughter, I stood in the middle of the filth, drowning in insults, reeking of garbage.
And then—through the chaos, a familiar figure emerged from the crowd.
It was Blake.
At the sight of his face, my lonely heart finally found a refuge.
To me, Blake had always been my strongest support.
No matter what grievances I faced outside, he would patiently comfort me, help me, shield me.
He was not only my husband—he was my safe harbor, my home.
At that moment, all my defenses fell.
I wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, to collapse into the warmth I trusted most.
So I did.
But the moment I reached him, he shoved me away.
The force caught me off guard. I stumbled back, losing balance, and crashed heavily to the ground.
Shards of broken beer bottles dug deep into my palms and thighs.
The sharp pain shot straight to my brain—yet compared to the agony in my heart, it was nothing.
'Even Blake... doesn't believe me anymore?'