My marriage to Julian was suffocating, oppressive. In public, we were the golden couple, the picture of adoration. At banquets, entertaining guests, we were always inseparable. The media frequently captured photos of him buying luxury brands or expensive jewelry for me, calling him a doting husband. But in private, he would unleash his fury on me, cursing me, telling me I was no diffe- rent from a prostitute. Each time our intimacy ended, he would throw expensive jewelry at my face. “That’s your service fee. Consi- der it gilded.”
I didn’t know when this life would end. I didn’t know how much longer I could endure. Thankfully, my mother’s condition improved, and she was discharged. I didn’t want her to worry, so I would praise Julian in front of her, calling him thoughtful and kind, a wonde- rful man. But no matter how well I pretended, how could a mother not see through it? Leaving a letter expressing her wish for me to find freedom, she followed my father. My spirit completely crumbled. I stopped eating, drinking, crying, or reacting. Before long, I fell into a coma, my vital signs gradually fading. My consciousness was clear. I, like a warped being, yearned for death, for comple- te liberation.
But Julian wouldn’t allow it. Each time I neared death, a pair of hands pulled me back. Julian sobbed, speaking in my ear. His tone was filled with a pleading tenderness I had never heard from him. He said he had lost to me. He had, in fact, fallen in love with me through our daily interactions. How laughable.
After being revived and regaining consciousness, the doctor informed me I was pregnant. The flower of pain had borne fruit, and I felt my entire life had been completely bound. I didn’t anticipate this child’s birth. I secretly scheduled an abortion at another hospi- tal. But Julian found me anyway. He held me captive, assigning round–the–clock guards. Until I gave birth to Liam.
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