She had spent most of her life doing farm work in the countryside—broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, and strong as an ox. I was no match for her. No matter how I struggled, I couldn’t fight her off as she forced the foul “blessed water” down my throat.
"I’m warning you—if anything happens to my grandson, I’ll skin you alive!"
Ethan Walker just stood by, watching silently.
It wasn’t until Martha Walker finally left that he gently reached out to smooth my disheveled hair, his voice soft and coaxing.
"Let’s not talk about divorce anymore. In this lifetime, I’ll never divorce you."
"Be good, take care of yourself, and once you’ve had the baby, I’ll take you to Norway. Haven’t you always wanted to see the Northern Lights? I’ll go with you then."
"In a month, it’ll be our fifth wedding anniversary. I’ve prepared a surprise for you—you’ll be so happy when you see it."
"Ethan Walker, you make me sick. I don’t want anything. I just want a divorce."
I was seething, but he only thought I was throwing a tantrum. He reached to pull me into his arms for comfort.
I sidestepped and grabbed the vase beside me, hurling it at him.
Ethan’s reflexes were quick—he took two steps back, and I missed. My weakened body, carried by the momentum, toppled off the hospital bed.
Pain crashed over me in waves, as though every bone in my body had shifted out of place. My abdomen twisted with sharp cramps.
"Claire!!"
Ethan’s voice wavered in panic. "Are you—are you okay? I’ll get the doctor."
He bolted out of the room.
I curled on the floor, my body growing colder by the second.
Minute after minute passed, but Ethan never came back with a doctor.
In the end, it was a passing nurse who heard my faint cries for help, screaming for assistance as they rushed me into surgery.
I stayed in the hospital for three days.
In those three days, Ethan never once showed his face.
Instead, my phone lit up daily with intimate photos from Isabella Reed.
When I was discharged, I ran into her in the hallway, wearing a patient gown. Her cheeks were rosy—she didn’t look sick in the slightest.
Seeing me, she lifted her bandaged finger. "I just nicked myself cutting an apple that day. Ethan was so worried he rushed home to slice the fruit for me."
Her smugness was laughable—and pitiful.
So that’s why Ethan had never come back that day—he’d been in a hurry to fawn over his beloved.
Isabella stepped closer, her breath warm against my ear.
"So what if you’re the highborn daughter of the Bennett family? Ethan’s heart belongs to me. Be smart—have the baby and then get out of his life."
"If Ethan really wanted to marry you, you wouldn’t need to be here threatening me now."
"He’s just playing with you—you know that, don’t you?"
A mocking smile curved my lips as I watched the calm on her face begin to crack.
Then, suddenly, she let out a sharp scream and collapsed to the floor in a dramatic heap.
Clutching her cheek, she looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.
"Miss Bennett, I only wanted to explain that Ethan and I are innocent—how could you hit me?"
"Isabella!"
Ethan rushed over, scooping her into his arms. His voice was a furious growl.
"I already apologized to you—how can you still hound her like this? She’s so delicate—how could she handle a slap from you?"
"Delicate? More delicate than a woman six months pregnant?"
"…"
For once, Ethan had no answer.
As I watched him walk away holding Isabella, the onlookers whispered and pointed at me.
It felt as if countless knives were stabbing into my heart—each one deep, each one bleeding.
