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.