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Chapter 4
Maybe those words were what finally made Victoria give up entirely.
She staggered out of the postnatal recovery center.
I let out a long breath and lay back down on the bed.
When I had helped her up earlier, my C–section wound had started
bleeding again. It hurt like hell, but I calmly pressed the call button and
asked the nurse to change the dressing.
That night, the door to my hospital room was suddenly thrown open.
It was my father, Thomas. His face was dark with fury, barely able to
contain his emotions.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why did you send a mass message saying you’re divorcing Eric?”
It was only when he mentioned it that I remembered–after Victoria
left, I had just picked up my phone to watch a show, only to be
bombarded with notifications.
All of them were from Eric’s contacts: coworkers, relatives, friends,
even former clients.
One by one, they asked: Where is Eric? Is he badly injured? Have you heard anything?
Their messages annoyed me.
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So, just like Eric had sent out a mass SOS from abroad, I sent one too:
“Hello everyone. Eric and I will formally file for divorce once he
returns. I am unaware of his current condition in the war zone. For
more information, please contact his parents.”
After that, my phone finally went silent.
As I was thinking about all this, my father suddenly kicked the hospital
bed.
“This is how you are? Your husband’s life is still uncertain, and you’re
in a hurry to cut ties?”
“Is this what I taught you? You have no loyalty at all. Do you know the
family group chat is tearing me apart!”
I sneered.
“So you mean I should drag my still–bleeding, freshly stitched belly
around begging people for help–to save a man who flew into a war
zone for his ex–girlfriend?”
“Dad, you’re a man. You know how men think. Do you think Eric would
feel grateful for any of it?”
My father was trembling with rage.
I knew why he was so worked up.
Because years ago, when my mother was pregnant with their second
child, the doctor had said she needed to stay calm and stress–free for
the baby’s health.
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And what did he do? His mistress showed up at our home, causing such
distress that my mother died in childbirth.
He regretted it later, but what use was that?
The following year, he married that mistress. A year later, I had a half-
brother.
So yes, men understand men.
Eric would either die on the battlefield, or–like in every cliché novel or
TV show–he and his ex, the war correspondent, would fall back in love
amid bullets and danger.
Even if nothing romantic happened between them, how was I supposed
to face our marriage? How could I accept a husband who was willing to
risk his life for another woman?
If the end result was divorce anyway, why not minimize the damage to
myself?
My father had never been emotionally close to me. The only reason he
came in such a rush was because his “excellent” son–in–law was in
trouble. He couldn’t just sit at home.
He shouted at me a few more times and left without looking back.
He didn’t ask if my wound hurt, didn’t ask how my daughter was, didn’t
even glance at the crib.
But I wasn’t sad–only angry.
Because all his yelling had just woken up the baby I had only just gotten
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to sleep.