I asked him what was wrong, but he hugged me and sobbed, “It's my fault. I made you suffer. I don't want the child anymore. It's just you and me in this life.”
I laughed at him and said he was a fool who loved me.
But I was obviously the stupid one.
How could his pathetic self-esteem allow me to give birth to a child smoothly?
I did not realize that the look of pity in his eyes was more of guilt and a guilty conscience.
It was the repeated repentance for killing his own child with his own hands.
I looked coldly at the man I had loved for twenty years and felt that I had never really understood him.
I could not help sneering in my heart, ‘Marlon, why didn't you discuss this with me?
‘My parents just wanted the first child to take my surname and I would give birth to a second and third child for you.
‘After helping your family change their fate and rise to higher social status, am I not even worthy of having the right to give my child my surname?’
I raised my hand and overturned the chicken soup in his hand. I was shaking with hatred.
‘Marlon, I'll be waiting for you to go crazy in a week,’ I cursed him in my heart.
Marlon frowned as he asked, “What are you doing?”