Everyone in the room turned on me, indignant as if I were a heartless beast. Their voices rose, accusing me of neglect and cruelty.
Felix leaned weakly against Clara’s shoulder. “Ms. Clara, I’m dizzy. Don’t be angry with Ethan.” “He only wanted to threaten you with the child so he could seize the Lynn Group’s assets. Or he wanted a disabled heir to control us.”
I could no longer hold back. I threw the test results at him and lashed out, punching Felix in the chest. “You bastard—say another word. Who’s the cripple?” Grief and rage tore through me. The child I had waited for was gone; I could not accept that lie.
Felix collapsed with a thud, eyes rolling back. Clara screamed, clutching him. “Felix, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me!” Her voice was high. She stepped up, shouting, “ Ethan, if anything happens to him, I won’t forgive you.”
The onlookers’ anger sharpened. “How could you be so brutal? In public?” “Call the police! Men like him are dangerous.” “Domestic violence—call the police!”
Felix’s breathing stuttered, then steadied. He opened his eyes and, in a small voice, tried to soothe her. “Ms. Clara, you just had surgery. Don’t be angry. I’m fine. This is my fault—please don’t hit me again.” He looked at me with a timid, pleading expression. “If you really killed me, it would ruin Ms. Clara’s reputation.”
Clara’s expression shifted; the calculation returned. She clenched her jaw. “ Ethan, I’ve indulged you. It’s time you learned a lesson.” She called the police.
The officers arrived quickly. Felix still leaned in Clara’s arms, pale and breathless. “We received a report of a public assault,” one officer said. “Who is the suspect?”
Clara straightened, righteous fury painted on her face, and pointed at me. “Officer, it’s him. He attacked my friend in public. Arrest him.”
Spectators nodded. “He neglected his wife during a miscarriage and then made a scene—assaulted an innocent man.” “Arrest him now, or I’ll punch him myself.” Their voices closed in like a verdict.
I tried to explain the truth—that I had been attacked first and the consent forms were real—but my words dissolved under their judgment. I suddenly felt small in a room of witnesses. The police produced cuffs and approached. I stared only at Clara, and she did not flinch.
An hour later, we sat across from each other in an interrogation room. Under bright light, I told the officers: the debt collectors, my injuries, the treatments, the pregnancy, the abortion arrangement, and that Shane struck me first. The officer listened, bluntly.
“No matter the motive, there is clear evidence you assaulted someone,” he said. “Assault is a crime. Pregnancy complications are moral matters—tragic, painful—but they don’t excuse violence.”
Felix, clutching his head, took a few steps and then halted. “Officer, forget it,” he murmured. “I’m fine. Say a few kind words and drop it.”
Clara roared, voice shaking. “No, officer. You must hold him accountable. Put him where he belongs. Otherwise, who knows how brutal he will be next time?”
They pressed their case. Outside, rain began, each drop an accusation.
Memories flooded me—ten years of rebuilding, the nights we stayed late at the factory, the time she carried my jacket through winter, the promise she made when my ribs were broken. All of it now felt like a bargain she had rescinded. I had loved her with a trust that made me blind; now that trust lay in pieces. I wondered who had quietly replaced the woman I knew.
