Chapter 3

I kept telling myself Mark was working hard, and no matter how unhappy I was, I just gritted my teeth and endured.

Until one day, I went to grab groceries and saw him leaning against his car, intimately chatting with a pretty college student. The student even gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

After she left, he lit a cigarette and smugly chatted with the apartment building’s security guard.

"What do you think? Eighteen years old. Way younger than my wife."

"My wife’s an Ivy League grad, and what good did that do her? She still pops out kids for me, mops floors, and washes dishes."

"I’m not going home. If I go home, I’ll have to help with the kid, right? It’s so annoying…"

"You wouldn't believe it. After giving birth, her body just swelled up, ugh. Doesn’t wear makeup, doesn’t wash her hair. She’s a total mess. Just looking at her makes me sick."

Every word was a gut punch.

Each sentence hit me like a ton of bricks, pressing heavily on my shoulders.

He seemed to have forgotten.

The down payment for our apartment, the one we lived in, was paid using money he *borrowed* from my wedding funds. He still hadn't paid me back.

I couldn't take it. I stormed over to confront him, but he just saw it as losing face. Right in front of the security guard, he slapped me hard, twice, then kicked me. "You damn bitch, is that how you talk to your husband? You need to remember who supports this family! Who gives you the money you spend!"