I froze, trembling as the cold metal pressed against my head. “Please, spare me!” I begged, clutching my belly protectively. “You can take my wallet, just don’t hurt me.” My thoughts raced, but one thing was clear. I couldn’t think of terminating this pregnancy anymore. I needed to protect my child, no matter what.

Then I heard a familiar voice chuckle. “Got you! I never knew I could prank you this good.”

I turned around, my fear melting into anger. It was Donald, Timothy’s younger brother, holding his phone like it was a gun.

“Donald!” I yelled, hitting him on the chest as he laughed. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry, Eden,” he said, still grinning. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll drive you home.”

I agreed, mostly because I was too shaken to argue. Donald dropped me off at the house, but as soon as we arrived, Timothy stormed out of the door, furious.

“Donald, I told you not to step foot in my house again!” Timothy barked.

Before Donald could respond, Sandra appeared from the doorway, looking smug. I couldn’t hold back. “So, your own brother can’t step into your house, but your mistress can?” I snapped.

Timothy’s face twisted in anger. He grabbed my hand, yanking me toward the house. “Let me go!” I shouted, but Donald stepped in to stop him.

“Don’t treat her like this,” Donald said firmly.

Timothy’s response was a punch to Donald’s face. Donald stumbled back, and Timothy dragged me into the house by my hair while I cried out in pain.

When we reached the bedroom, he shoved me onto the bed. “What’s a married woman like you doing with my single brother?” he demanded, his face red with rage.

I sat up, glaring at him. “Oh, you want to talk about married people? What’s a married man like you doing with a half-naked single woman? Oh wait, I know... you’re screwing her!”

His face darkened, and before I could react, he lunged at me, his hands around my neck. “What are you doing with my brother?” he hissed, tightening his grip.

Gasping for air, I managed to choke out, “If you can sleep with someone else, why can’t I?”

He shoved me back, still choking me, and growled, “Stay away from my brother!” Finally, he let go and stormed out of the room, leaving me coughing and in tears.

As I sat there, struggling to breathe, frustration and pain overwhelmed me. How did it come to this? I needed to leave this marriage fast, but my mother’s threat about my father’s hospital bills played in my head. I had to secure his care first.

I have a rich husband who doesn’t spend a dime on me. How can I get Timothy to cover my dad’s hospital bills? Such a useless man, Timothy is.

I woke up, realizing I had cried myself to sleep. It was late, past 1 a.m. Timothy was already snoring beside me. I got up, took a bath, and went to the kitchen. I made a quick pasta dish and sat at the dining table to eat.

While eating, I noticed a paper lying on the table. At first, I ignored it, but curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up and read its content.

Timothy bought house? Not for himself, but for Sandra. The value of that house was more than enough to cover my dad’s hospital bills! I froze, anger rising in my chest. How could he spend so much on her? What exactly was Sandra to him?

I couldn’t even eat anymore. My appetite vanished. But then, an idea struck me. It wasn’t the most appropriate plan, but I had no choice. I stared at Timothy’s signature on the paper and smirked.

By morning, Timothy was ready for work. As he grabbed the papers from the dining table, he looked at me suspiciously. “Did you poke your nose into these papers?” he asked.

I shrugged. “What papers?”

He didn’t answer. He just frowned, grabbed his things, and left. I rolled my eyes, listening as his car drove away.

Moments later, my phone buzzed. I checked the message: “It’s done.”

I smiled. My plan worked perfectly. I decided to skip work that day. Why not? I’m the wife of the boss, and it’s about time I started acting like it.

Later, while scrolling through social media, I saw Sandra’s latest post. She flaunted a Louis Vuitton bag, one that screamed luxury just from the photo. Her caption read: “Get yourself an intentional man who spoils you like mine does.”

I clenched my jaw. She was obviously talking about Timothy. I wondered how many gifts he’d showered her with while I stayed here playing the understanding wife.

Just then, the front door burst open. Timothy stormed in, his face red with anger. I wasn’t shocked. I had been expecting this.

“Eden!” he shouted. “Did you forge my signature and pay for your dad’s hospital bills?” His voice was furious, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.

At this point, I was scared, but I decided to play it cool and ignore him. But then Timothy stormed at me, grabbing my wrist so tight it hurt. I hissed in pain, telling him to let go, but he just told me to answer him first.

“What would you do if I forged your signature to pay for my father’s medical expenses?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “After all, I’m your wife, and Sandra isn’t. But you’ve got the nerve to buy her a brand new house.”

Timothy looked at me, his face showing surprise that I knew. He hadn’t expected that. Then he sighed and said, “I asked you this morning if you’d been poking around reading the house papers, and you played innocent. Now you’re acting like you know everything.”

“I don’t know what’s more pathetic,” he muttered, “your lies or your attempts to cover them up.”

“Look who’s talking,” I snapped back. “A big liar like you calling me one? I’ve caught you with Sandra more times than I can count, kissing and doing God knows what. Yet you still deny it, and now you’re calling me a liar.”

I saw his face turn red. “You’re mad because your wife can’t ask you for money, so now she’s trying other ways to get what she needs, huh?” I shot back.

Timothy barked at me, saying, “It’s theft!”

“It’s not theft,” I fired back. “I’m not stupid. I know you bought Sandra a Louis Vuitton bag, and you gave her a house. How many other things have you gifted her?”

He just stared at me, speechless for a moment. Finally, he said, “You’re poking around too much. You stole from me.”

I glared at him. “I’m your wife, and you need to treat me like one. If you’re not ready to do your obligations, then divorce me. I want out of this loveless marriage.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You think I’ll divorce you?” he asked. “You have no one. No money, no family. Your mother would never accept you if you divorced me.”

His words hit me hard. I tried not to show it, but I could feel the weight of his words sinking in. He knew he had struck a nerve because he smiled.

“You’re stuck with me forever,” he said, his voice cold and full of finality.

I stormed out of the house, driving aimlessly. My mind was a mess, and my heart hurt. Timothy had done it again. He made me feel so stupid, so worthless. I tried hard not to cry, but the tears came anyway. My vision blurred, and the faster I drove, the more I felt like I couldn’t stop.

The road seemed endless, but all I could think about was the past, the accident that left my dad in the hospital.

I remembered that day so clearly. I was driving with my mother in the passenger seat and my dad in the back. We were arguing, my mother and I, of course, and she told me to pull over. She tried to grab the steering wheel from me. I fought back, and we struggled. I lost control, swerving to avoid an oncoming car. The next thing I knew, the car was in the bushes, tumbling over and over.

I woke up 14 days later, my head pounding and the news hitting me. My dad would never walk again. The memory was still so fresh in my mind, but now, it felt like I was reliving it. I was speeding again, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just felt this weight pulling me down.

And then, the crash happened.

The car slammed into a tree. The glass shattered, and some pieces pierced my skin. I gasped in pain, but the sobs took over. I cried, screamed my frustration into the emptiness around me.

Then I heard footsteps, a car stopping beside me. I could barely focus through my tears, but I felt the seatbelt unbuckle. It was Timothy.

He pulled me out of the car, his hands rough as he moved me. “I’ll take you to the hospital,” he said, his voice full of urgency.

But then his phone rang.

I heard Sandra’s voice on the other end, crying, begging him to come quickly. Timothy’s expression changed. He let go of me, tossing me roughly onto the ground. “I’ll call an ambulance for you,” he said coldly, “but I have to go.”

I lay there, staring up at him in shock as he left. He zoomed off, not caring.

The way he tossed me, it made my stomach hit the ground hard. Suddenly, I felt something warm and wet between my legs. Pain shot through my belly. I reached down slowly, my hands trembling, and that’s when I saw it. Blood.

My baby.

I whispered weakly before everything went black.