While I was still bleeding, almost dying, they were celebrating in our wedding room. They stayed in bed for three days. Dozens of condoms filled the trash bin. One leg of the antique bed I brought as part of my dowry broke from how much they used it.
Michael took the handkerchief stained with Regina’s first blood and framed it. He even hung it on the wall where our wedding photo used to be. Since that day, I knew there was nothing left between us. I stayed in the marriage only because of the business between our families. I had nothing else.
I lowered my head again and didn’t say a word.
Michael handed me a bowl.
"I made chicken soup for you. Drink it while it’s hot."
I raised my arm, but a sharp pain shot through it. I gasped and looked at my bandages.
Michael turned his face away, guilt flashing across his expression for a second.
"Regina was hurt in the car accident. She’s afraid of scars ... so I had the doctor take skin from your arm. Just a small patch. You won’t even notice it."
I stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Even when I was hurt, even when I lost our baby, he still used my body to protect another woman. And he thought he was doing me a favor.