I watched him in silence.
Just as he turned to comfort Charity, I spoke again.
"Oh, I almost forgot."
"You'd love to have a child of your own, wouldn't you? Too bad the father wasn't interested."
Everyone who knew Charity knew exactly what she'd done back then.
The moment the words left my mouth, two sounds rang out simultaneously.
"Naomi!"
Slap!
Charity stood before me, her raised hand striking down again.
I'd just given birth. I had no strength left to fight back—I took both blows full-force.
When I tried to dodge, the movement tore at my stitches. Waves of searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen.
Charity looked down at me, her voice dripping with acid and contempt.
"I only slapped you twice out of respect for Brendan. Sister-in-law, I suggest you remember this lesson."
My face had gone chalk-white. Through the agony, I turned to look at Brendan, who stood beside her without lifting a finger.
He'd been right next to Charity the whole time. Close enough to stop her.
Unless he never intended to.
Sure enough, after a brief moment of eye contact, Brendan's gaze drifted away, unbothered.
"Charity was right to hit you."
"You went too far, Naomi."
My heart plummeted.
Too far?
Compared to what he and Charity had said while I lay unconscious and vulnerable—this didn't even come close to a fraction of it.
I remembered drifting in and out of sleep, hearing Brendan discuss my most private moments with an outsider. That careless, dismissive tone.
And my daughter—the child I'd nearly died bringing into this world—when she cried, he hadn't even glanced her way.
His claim that he'd held her later? I didn't believe a single word.
"Brendan, I asked you a question. Answer me."
"Sister-in-law, don't be so dramatic." Charity crossed her arms, her face full of disdain. "You ballooned into that mess during your pregnancy, and Brendan never said a word about it. So what if he let us watch your delivery video?"
"Stop acting like Brendan owes you something. Who are you playing victim for?"
I froze.
"Us?"
"What do you mean, us? Brendan—explain yourself. Who else did you send that video to?"
A terrible suspicion was already forming.
And Charity, seeing my expression, couldn't hold back her laughter.
She waved her phone at me. On the screen was a group chat—flooded with screenshots taken from my delivery video, turned into mocking memes.
Mixed in were crude jokes. Vulgar comments. People laughing at my expense.
"One second her face is all twisted up, the next her eyes are rolling back—and she's so red and sweaty. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd never guess this was childbirth, haha."
"Leave it to Brendan to kick off the new year with entertainment like this. Think the missus will run away from home when she finds out?"
"Who cares..."
I closed my eyes, unable to stomach another word. The rage made my wound throb.
"Brendan. Are you still not going to explain?"
I'd assumed he'd simply shown the video to Charity.
I never imagined he'd screenshot the worst moments, turn them into animated memes, and share both the video and the images in the cash-gift group chat he used with his friends.
Over a hundred people in that group. Most of them strangers, maybe—but his close friends knew exactly who I was.
And right now, they were having the time of their lives discussing it.
Brendan frowned, clearly irritated by my confrontational tone.
He studied me from above for a long moment, as if finally deciding he was done pretending. Then he spread his hands, his expression utterly indifferent.
"There's nothing to explain. I was just having some fun."
