I said, "This isn't something we can decide on our own. Go talk to my older brother. If he agrees, I'll move."

I turned to leave, but Harold suddenly yelled, "Are you out of your mind?"

His words jolted me back to reality. As I took a step, I realized a shard of glass had pierced through my shoe and embedded itself into my foot. The blood was bright red, but I barely noticed.

"Get it bandaged," he said.

I almost thanked him.

Then he added, "And don’t mention this to my brother. I don’t want to deal with him."

I bit back the pain and replied, "Okay."

As we headed upstairs, Ashley spoke up, her voice filled with confusion. "Mr. Li, didn’t you say your wife was lifeless? But she seems so strong and resilient to me."

"Why is she acting so strange? I studied psychology, and this looks like a classic case of someone oppressed and silently enduring humiliation. Has she suffered in the Gray family all these years? Have you treated her poorly?"

Harold’s voice tightened, his anger barely contained. "She’s just being dramatic. She’s been like this ever since she lost the baby. It’s pathetic. All she does is mope around half-dead, and it’s sickening."

The child—our first and only—belonged to Harold and me. But Harold never wanted to marry me. He was forced into it, pressured by his elder brother, Anton.

In the second year of our marriage, Anton Gray, frustrated by Harold's reckless behavior, demanded that he have a child to settle down. One night, after drinking heavily, he stormed into my bedroom, pulling off his tie without a word.

I tried to stop him, saying, "I can handle your brother; we don’t have to force this."

But Harold just looked at me, his voice filled with bitterness. "The biggest compromise of my life was marrying you."

That night was my first time—and our first time together. The experience was far from pleasant. The process was rough, and the outcome was just as bad. I was tossed and turned all night, yet I didn’t conceive.

Then it kept happening—over and over again, whenever his mood struck. Sometimes it was in the living room, other times in the kitchen, or even in places separated by a wall from where guests sat.

Each time, he would say, "Sara, you have no right to feel ashamed. You already did the most shameless thing—marrying me."

With every incident, my heart grew colder and colder.

Fortunately, not long after, I became pregnant.