A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son.

The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints.

Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests."

I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own.

When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen.

My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes.

Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?"

The crowd quickly chimed in.

"Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty."

"Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?"

"Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them."

Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother."

But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now."

His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over."

At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

I turned around without a word and walked out the door, shutting all the shouting and chaos firmly behind me.

Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to my lawyer friend: [Stacy, I want a divorce.]

Stacy's reply came quickly: [What? Why? You just had a baby.]

Cammy: [He doesn't deserve to be my baby's father.]

It was already late autumn, and the wind howled as it whipped against my thin frame. Pain rippled through my abdomen where the incision was still raw, and the tearing pain below flared with every step.

The streets were desolate, with no sign of life except me standing under a flickering streetlamp in nothing but my flimsy pajamas.

Four hours passed since I left the house, and not a single call from Mark.

I thought about finding a cheap motel to stay the night, but then my thoughts drifted to my baby—he was still so small, and he needed to be fed every two hours.

With a sigh, I turned around and retraced my steps, my slippers dragging on the pavement as I made my way back.

When I entered the house, his friends had already left. The living room was in disarray—the table piled high with leftover dishes and wine glasses, the floor littered with muddy footprints and discarded fruit peels.

Mark lounged on the couch, shirt open, exuding smug indifference. At the sight of me, his eyebrows lifted in triumph, as if to say, See? I knew you'd come crawling back.

He got up and picked up a plate from the table, handing it to me.

"Can't believe a grownup like you would throw a tantrum over a young girl," he said, his tone full of reproach.

"You dirtied her expensive shoes, and she didn't even make a fuss. You should learn from her—be more generous. Running out in the cold like that, punishing yourself. Now you realize how foolish you were, don't you?

"Eat this. Lily saved it for you. She's such a kind girl. Stop making things difficult for her."

His words—young girl, kind girl—kept coming, one after another, as if he didn't notice how ridiculous they sounded.

I couldn't help but laugh silently. He'd probably forgotten that Lily was a year older than him.

I looked down at the plate in my hands. It held a cold serving of mushy oatmeal, wilted, browned greens, and a chicken drumstick with half the skin gnawed off.

So this was what she'd specially saved for me.

Without a word, I placed the plate back on the table.

His discontent flared immediately.

"Cammy, what's with the attitude?" Mark's voice was sharp and reprimanding

I glanced at him coldly, my voice calm. "I'm going to feed the baby first."

Mark froze, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words came out.

I didn't bother with him—what was the point? We were already heading for a divorce. My only concern now was my baby boy.

Pushing open the door to the nursery, I saw my son lying in his tiny bed, mouth open, crying so hard he was nearly choking. He must have been starving.

My chest tightened, and I hurried over to pick him up.

Mark followed me in, his expression turning awkward. The smell of alcohol on him hit me like a slap, and anger surged to my temples.

"Mark, you've stuffed yourself full, but it's been four hours. The formula is right there in the cabinet—couldn't you feed him even once?"

"Cammy, don't talk to me like some shrew!" He shot back indignantly. "Everyone knows breast milk is best for babies. You ran off and left him—how do you still have the nerve to blame me?"

"And what about his diaper?" I snapped, my voice rising. "You're his father. When I'm not here, you can't even bother to change one diaper?"

His eyes drifted reluctantly to the soiled diaper on our son. Disgust flickered across his face as if he'd just noticed how filthy it was.

"I'm a man. How would I know how to do that? You're the mother—that's your job. Stop looking for excuses to blame others."

His words stunned me, leaving me shaken and filled with regret.

I remembered his promises so clearly when we were trying for a baby. He'd bring me carefully compiled guides he found online, excitedly discussing how to prepare nutritious meals for the baby.

At the baby store, he'd hold up tiny clothes to make me laugh and point to diapers, vowing to take on every task of childcare.

He even insisted on trying a labor simulation machine despite my protests, saying he wanted to experience every ounce of pain I'd go through.

But once our baby was born, everything changed.

He'd shove our crying boy into my arms with irritation, complaining that the noise kept him from sleeping.

I had spent over ten grueling hours in the delivery room, teetering on the edge of life and death, enduring the agony of an emergency C-section after a failed natural birth. Yet, even with my wound still seeping pus, I found myself cradling and nursing our child.

My chest tightened, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Pride held them back.

My son was still crying in my arms, his tiny face scrunched in hunger.

I undid my blouse, letting him feed. Slowly, the cries subsided. He latched on, sucking intently, his little mouth busy as he filled his empty stomach.

Mark finally smiled, looking pleased with himself. He stepped behind me and began gathering my messy hair into place.

"Look how much our son loves you," he said. "He was crying for you the whole time you were gone."

I patted our son's back gently to help him drink more comfortably. "You only know how to sweet-talk. Just because our son cries doesn't mean he's looking for me. Maybe he was searching for you, his father."

Mark had tied my hair into a loose knot. Hearing my comment, he laughed smugly.

"I'm his dad—I know exactly what he's thinking," he said, grinning. "He wants me to work hard and earn money to take care of you two so you can live nicely."

I knew he was saying all this to keep me in my role as the dutiful wife and mother. Yet, in this moment, his words and actions created the fleeting illusion of a loving, ordinary family of three.

Somehow, my feelings of frustration and grievance began to ease.

Then the door creaked open, and a soft, coquettish voice floated in.

"Mark, this dress is too tight in the chest. Do you have another one?"

Lily hadn't left. She seemed to have just finished a shower, her damp hair draped casually over her shoulders. She was wearing my old nightgown from before I got pregnant, the fabric stretched tight over her ample figure.

When she saw me, she let out a startled gasp, as though I were an unwelcome intruder in her home.

"Oh, you're back, Cammy," she said with feigned surprise, her voice laced with artificial sweetness. "I just got back from abroad. My own place isn't ready yet, and Mark kindly offered to let me stay here. You don't mind, do you?"

Even as she spoke politely, her eyes ignored the open neckline of my nursing clothes, and she walked right up to me, her presence brimming with unspoken provocation.

Her lips, painted in an exaggerated pout, curved upward as she purred, "Mark, Cammy looks great even after pregnancy. She must have really taken good care of herself."

But in the corner of her gaze, the one Mark couldn't see, mockery gleamed. She stared pointedly at my sagging breasts and the stretch marks scrawled across my abdomen, as if to underline my imperfections.

Mark, oblivious to her veiled hostility, took her words at face value. "Are you kidding? She's lazy as anything. Ever since she gave birth, she hasn't even bothered putting on makeup." He chuckled, as though reciting a joke.

"Lily, you're too kind for your own good, always speaking up for her like this," he added.

His words flowed freely now, cruel in their ease. "Just look at her flab, piling up like layers of dough. I told her to lose weight, and she acts like I'm torturing her.

"Other women bounce back after giving birth like nothing happened. But it seems I've spoiled her too much, and now she's just… fragile."

Lily burst into giggles, her delicate arms playfully swatting his shoulder. "Oh, Mark, I never knew you were so funny! Stop it, or Cammy's going to get mad."

"Mad? Over what? I'm just stating facts."

I felt my hands tremble as I held my son tighter. If it had been only Lily's taunts, I might have endured it, brushing it off as insignificant. But my husband—my partner, my son's father—had no hesitation in slicing through my vulnerabilities, all for the sake of making her laugh.

The fragile threads of dignity I'd clung to shattered into shards.

I pulled my clothes tighter around me, trying in vain to hide my stomach. Blinking back tears, I forced myself to look Lily in the eye.

"Get out," I growled.

Lily froze, her expression faltering. "What did you say, Cammy?"

"I said get out. Get out of my house. Now."

Her shoulders shook, her face paling as tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks like a broken dam.

"Mark," she whimpered, her voice quivering with manufactured sorrow, "Cammy really doesn't like me. I shouldn't have come back. I shouldn't have imposed on anyone."

And just like that, she turned on her heel, still wearing my silk nightgown, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor as she fled.

"Lily!" Mark shouted after her, his voice frantic.

His gaze turned to me, blazing with fury. He shoved me roughly.

"Cammy, have you completely lost your mind?" he snarled.

"She was just being kind, and you threw a tantrum for no reason! Do you even know how cold it is outside? Lily's only wearing a nightgown. If she gets sick, will you take responsibility?"

"Come with me," he demanded, grabbing my collar. "We're going to find her, and when we do, you're going to apologize."

Our son, nestled in my arms, began wailing in fear, his cries piercing through the room. But Mark didn't care. He tugged at me forcefully.

My body hadn't fully recovered, and Mark's pace was relentless. I could only trail far behind, watching him frantic over another woman.

After combing through eight streets without any sign of Lily, he lost his composure entirely.

"Cammy, can't you stop dragging your feet on purpose?" he snapped, spinning around to glare at me. "What if something happens to Lily because of you?"

Before I could muster a response, his phone rang.

He answered it almost instantly, and even in my state, I noticed the peculiar ringtone—distinct and unmistakably personalized. From the other end came Lily's panicked scream.

"Don't touch me! Help—! Mark, save me!"

"Lily! Where are you? Don't be scared, I'm come for you!" His voice was sharp with desperation.

The line went dead with a harsh click before any reply came through.

Mark turned to me, his eyes wild, and yanked my arm, ignoring my resistance as he broke into a run.

"Let me go, Mark! My wound hurts!" I pleaded, but he didn't even glance back.

"Stop faking it already!" he barked. "At a time like this, you still want to put on an act? Do you want Lily to get hurt? Cammy, you're freaking vicious!"

The pain was unbearable now, and my protests choked in my throat. All I could do was let him drag me along.

Finally, in a narrow alley, Lily's scream pierced the air again.

Several men stood around her, jeering and taunting.

Mark charged forward, his fury palpable as he swung at them. In just a few blows, the men scattered like leaves caught in a storm.

"Mark… it's really you… You came to save me…" Lily's voice wavered as she clung to him, and before she could finish, her body went limp in his arms.

"Lily! Don't scare me. Are you okay? Stay with me!" His voice was trembling now, all gentleness and panic.

He cradled her in his arms and turned to leave without so much as a glance in my direction.

"Mark, take me too," I called out weakly, my voice shaking from the pain spreading through my abdomen and lower body. Warmth pooled beneath me, and dizziness crept into my vision.

But Mark didn't even pause.

"Stop pretending, Cammy. Were you scared too?" His words dripped with scorn. "If you hadn't been so jealous of Lily, would she have run off? Would she have gone through this? You did this to her.

"You've got hands and feet, don't you? Go back yourself. When Lily wakes up, I'll settle things with you."

With that, he ran out of the alley, Lily still unconscious in his arms, heading straight for the hospital.

Darkness began closing in on me. I clutched at my fading strength, barely managing to send my location to Stacy before everything went black.