Broken Vows, Buried Truths

Five years into our marriage, Vincent had sent me to his business partners' beds a hundred and forty-seven times. Every single night I was forced to stay with another man, he brought his young model home to party until dawn. For the sake of the baby in my belly, I chose to swallow my pride and endure it again and again. Then one night, that little model said she wanted to see the absolute limit of how much alcohol a human body could handle. Vincent dragged me straight from my prenatal checkup at the hospital to a VIP lounge and forced bottle after bottle of hard liquor down my throat. I threw up until tears and snot covered my face. The model pointed at me and burst into hysterical laughter. "Look at her! Doesn't she look just like a clown?" Blood poured out from between my legs, running down my thighs and pooling onto the floor, but Vincent didn't spare me a single glance of concern. He just looked at me in utter disgust, his lips curling into a sneer. "Disgusting. Where did this filthy street beggar even crawl out from?" "Do you bleed all over other men's beds too? Hahaha, you're right, babe—she's an absolute clown." I stared at the pool of crimson spreading beneath me. There wasn't an ounce of heartache or guilt in his eyes. Instead, he took his little model to the beach right after to celebrate the hundredth day since they adopted a hamster together. He forgot that today was my birthday, too. When I opened my eyes again, three days had passed. I stared at the ceiling for a long time before dialing his number. After a long stretch of mechanical ringing, he finally picked up. His voice was heavy with the breathless aftermath of intimacy. "Vincent, let's get a divorce." An overtly annoyed voice came through the receiver. "Serena, what kind of pathetic stunt are you pulling now?" "Can you go a single day without stirring up drama, or does your chest hurt if you don't?" It felt as if salt water had been poured straight into my heart, stinging my eyes until they burned. Vincent never asked about my feelings, and he certainly never cared about my health. "Vincent, the baby is gone." "I'm giving up my spot for Chloe." Five years. Five years of being tortured until I was completely broken, body and soul. This relationship had been held together by me alone, and I couldn't walk this path anymore. Vincent clicked his tongue. I could tell he was forcing himself to stay patient just to talk down to me. "Cut the crap, Serena. I'll have my assistant bring you a blank check. Fill in whatever number you want." "Vincent, you still don't get it." "I want a divorce." Vincent's patience with me had always lasted two sentences at most. He instantly exploded into a rage, screaming through the phone. "Serena, don't you dare push your luck!" "You're nothing but damaged goods anyway. Who even knows if that kid in your stomach was mine!" "It's gone, so what? You brought this on yourself. You never had any self-respect, completely trashed your own body, and that's why you miscarry every single time you get pregnant!" "And now you want to pin this on Chloe too?!" The breath was knocked right out of me. Once upon a time, I genuinely believed I had married for love, that I had found the best husband in the world. I truly thought I would be happy for the rest of my life. Yet every single piece of these past five years felt like a blade plunging straight into my chest. "Don't even dream about divorcing me. Even if you die, I won't let your ashes rest in peace!" With that, he hung up. My arm fell limply to my side, tears spilling over uncontrollably. That was our seventh child. Every single miscarriage had happened because of an unreasonable demand from him or Chloe. After my sixth miscarriage, the doctor had pleaded with me over and over. "If you lose another one, your chances of ever carrying a child again will practically be zero." I had told Vincent more than once that we had to protect this seventh baby with everything we had. Just last month, when I handed him the ultrasound, I begged him to be careful this time. Vincent had only rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Stop being so dramatic." "Your little attention-seeking tricks haven't improved one bit." He had slapped the ultrasound paper against my face and slammed the door behind him, leaving to go see Chloe without looking back once. After that, he still treated me like a party favor, shipping me off to the beds of his business partners without a second thought. I had even held a pair of scissors to my own throat, threatening to end my life, but it never earned me an ounce of mercy or understanding from him. He ordered his bodyguard to knock the scissors away, then slapped me across the face with everything he had. "Stop making a scene." "You just don't want to be useful." "You're a used-up whore anyway. Who are you trying to play pure and innocent for?" I had glared at him through bloodshot eyes, but there wasn't a flicker of emotion in his gaze. It was cold. Detached. Just like looking at an animal bred for slaughter. Every single memory tied to him was drenched in the stench of blood and bitter screaming matches. A crushing sense of helplessness wrapped around me, pulling me into the abyss, choking the life out of me inch by inch. With trembling fingers, I filed a petition for divorce set for a month later, took a screenshot of the confirmation, and sent it to Vincent. The message sank into silence, like a stone dropped into the ocean. Maybe he saw it. Maybe he just thought it was another one of my pathetic tantrums. Except this time, I was truly letting go.The next message I received from Vincent arrived late one evening. "Come over and take care of Chloe. She's pregnant with my child." I stared at the words on the screen, my mind going completely blank for a moment. Right above his text was the screenshot of my divorce petition. I chose to ignore him, just like he had always done to me. Not long after, my front door was kicked off its hinges by Vincent's bodyguards. They grabbed me by the arms, dragging me all the way to the penthouse where Vincent and Chloe lived. Every single corner was packed with the designer collectible figurines Chloe loved. Even the walls were covered in the pastel pink wallpaper Vincent used to despise—yet he had put it up with his own hands just to please her. I suddenly wondered when the last time Vincent had stepped foot into our actual home was. I couldn't even remember. All I remembered was that every time he came back, he was blackout drunk. He never cared if I was willing or not; he just dragged me straight to the bedroom. It wasn't lovemaking. It was assault, a sheer outlet to vent his stress and disgust. His gentleness was never meant for me. Or rather, it was no longer mine to have. Vincent sat on the leather sofa, his designer dress shoes gleaming under the lights. He sat there like a king on a throne, not even bothering to look me in the eye. "You've been pregnant so many times, you have more experience than any nanny." "From now on, you're in charge of Chloe's meals and daily routine." Chloe came skipping out of the bedroom, and Vincent immediately stood up to catch her. She leaped into his arms, and he caught her effortlessly. Clinging to him like a koala, she glanced at me standing broken in the corner, her eyes dripping with mockery and triumph. "Look at you. Pregnant, and you're still acting like a little girl." Vincent carried Chloe to the sofa and gently set her down. He walked back to the bedroom to grab her plush slippers, then knelt down to kiss her soft, bare foot with sickening adoration. "Put your slippers on, babe. If you catch a cold, I'm the one who has to worry sick taking care of you." Chloe took his hand and swung it back and forth playfully. The sweet sight of them together was like acid burning my eyes. I stood there like a sewer rat, forced to watch my husband fawn over his mistress. "It's fine, Vince! Serena is going to be taking care of me from now on anyway." She blinked at me with faux innocence. Stepping forward, she took my cold hand and led me closer to Vincent. "I'll be counting on you to look after me and the baby, Serena." "Vincent is so excited for this little one. You can't be as careless as you were with your own babies, okay?" Vincent scoffed coldly, though his eyes remained soft as he looked at Chloe. "Careless? She's just trash. She trashed her own body so badly she loses every single kid she carries." Chloe pouted playfully. "Don't be so mean to her, honey. It's not like she did it on purpose." "Oh, by the way, Serena... how many babies have you actually lost?"Seven. A wave of bitter agony surged through my chest, pressing down on my throat so hard I couldn't speak. Seeing my silence, Vincent cut in with a venomous tone. "She probably can't even remember the count herself." Choking back a sob, I forced my head up and locked eyes with him, my voice raw and cracking. "What about you, Vincent? Do you even remember how many of your children I carried?" Vincent froze for a split second, his face instantly souring. "Hah. You've slept with so many men, I don't even know how many of them were actually mine. You have the nerve to ask me that?" Sensing the tension, Chloe tugged on Vincent's sleeve, whining cutely for him to go grab her favorite blanket from the bedroom. The second Vincent stepped into the bedroom, Chloe turned toward me. Her gaze instantly turned razor-sharp, completely stripped of the sweet, fragile act she had just put on for Vincent. She leaned in, whispering right against my ear. "Seven, right?" She stepped back slightly, narrowing her eyes as her gaze drifted downward until it locked onto my lower abdomen. "Your first, third, fourth, and sixth babies... I made sure you lost every single one of them on purpose." "Vincent knew, but he didn't give a damn." "He doesn't even know the actual number of times you've been pregnant." "Do you want to bet? Even if you had one in there right now, Vincent wouldn't give a shit if it lived or died." A blinding rage ripped through my chest, drowning every shred of restraint. My vision blurred red, and my whole body shook with fury. "You deserve to die!" I lunged forward, locking both hands around Chloe's throat with every ounce of strength I had left. Just as my fingers tightened, Vincent stepped out of the bedroom and caught sight of the scene. He kicked me violently in the abdomen, then rushed past me to check on Chloe. My body had just gone through a miscarriage; it couldn't take that kind of blunt trauma. The agonizing pain tearing through my stomach felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside. Warm, sticky blood began gushing out between my legs, and cold sweat instantly soaked through my clothes. "Chloe! Are you okay?!" The moment Chloe caught her breath, she threw herself into Vincent's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "She didn't mean it, Vince... She just loves you too much... She doesn't want me to have your baby..." Vincent stroked Chloe's back with a gentle hand while throwing a chilling look at his bodyguards. "Since she's this jealous and desperate, drag her to the hospital and cut her uterus out." "The only woman having my children is Chloe." "Besides, she still has to sleep with clients for me later. This saves me the headache of wondering who knocked her up next!" The words buzzed faintly through my fading consciousness. Worse than the searing agony in my body, it felt as though my very soul had been torn in half. I could barely draw breath. As the bodyguards hoisted me up, blood ran freely down my legs, dripping onto the pristine floor. Looking at the pool of dark red, Vincent showed no remorse—only utter revulsion. "Where's the maid? Clean this damn mess up right now. Her blood is filthy." Using the last ounce of my strength, I gripped the bodyguard's sleeve to steady myself, pushing every syllable out through gritted teeth. "Vincent... have you forgotten... your brother...?" It was as if I had struck the darkest, rawest nerve buried deep inside him. Vincent's head snapped up, his eyes burning with murderous intent. A suffocating chill filled the room. "Tell the surgeons not to use any anesthesia. Cut the baby out of her alive to atone for my brother's soul." I was hauled to the hospital like a piece of cargo. It felt as though every drop of blood in my body had already drained out on the way there. I lay strapped to the cold operating table, the blinding glare of the surgical lights piercing my eyes. I didn't have the strength to fight back anymore. Even if I could somehow crawl off that table, the bodyguards standing guard outside the door meant there was nowhere to run. When the cold antiseptic swabbed across my skin, a suffocating sorrow swallowed me whole. The five years I had spent sacrificing everything for Vincent flashed through my mind like a dying film reel. The operating room fell dead silent, tears slipping silently down the sides of my face. The ice-cold scalpel pressed against my lower abdomen. In that moment, I couldn't even summon the voice to beg for help. I knew I wouldn't make it out of this room alive. Maybe dying like this was for the best. Vincent, if there is an afterlife, I will never, ever choose you again.