CHAPTER 2 – PART 1
The Night I Finally Chose My Wife
The kitchen fell so silent that I could hear the faucet dripping into the stainless-steel sink.
One drop.
Two drops.
Three.
Anna stood frozen, her hands submerged in icy water, her shoulders trembling beneath the oversized sweater she had started wearing during the last few months of pregnancy. The sleeves were soaked to her elbows. Her long hair clung to her tear-stained face.
My mother's hand was still tangled in Anna's hair.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
For a heartbeat, the entire house seemed to stop breathing.
Then my mother smiled.
Not because she was embarrassed.
Not because she'd been caught.
Because she believed she could still control me.
"Oh," she said calmly, releasing Anna's hair as though nothing unusual had happened. "You're awake."
I didn't answer.
My eyes never left Anna.
Red fingerprints covered her wrist.
Her knuckles were pale from scrubbing dishes that should never have been washed by someone nine months pregnant.
She refused to look directly at me.
That hurt more than anything.
She wasn't ashamed.
She was afraid.
Afraid of what would happen after I walked away.
Afraid I would choose peace over truth.
Again.
My mother picked up a towel and casually wiped her hands.
"Your wife couldn't sleep," she explained. "I thought a little housework might help her relax."
The lie hung in the air like poison.
I looked at the sink.
There were only three plates.
One coffee mug.
A single spoon.
No one needed to wake a woman who could give birth any day just to wash three plates.
"You woke her," I said quietly.
Mother shrugged.
"Someone has to teach her responsibility."
Anna flinched before I had even raised my voice.
That tiny movement told me everything.
This wasn't the first time.
It wasn't even the tenth.
How many nights had she stood here alone while I slept upstairs believing everything was fine?
How many insults had she swallowed?
How many tears had disappeared down this same kitchen drain?
I turned toward Anna.
"Sweetheart..."
She immediately shook her head.
Almost desperately.
"Please..."
Her voice barely existed.
"It's okay."
No.
It wasn't okay.
Not even close.
My mother stepped between us.
"Don't encourage this drama," she snapped.
"Pregnant women become emotional."
I stared at her.
Really stared.
For the first time in my thirty-four years, I wasn't looking at my mother.
I was looking at a stranger.
The woman who had raised me.
The woman who had taught me to ride a bicycle.
The woman who had stayed awake beside my hospital bed when I caught pneumonia as a child.
She was gone.
Standing in front of me was someone cold.
Someone who enjoyed seeing another person afraid.
"You've changed," she said, folding her arms.
"I knew this girl would turn you against your own family."
"My family?" I repeated.
She nodded confidently.
"She trapped you with a baby."
Anna's head snapped upward.
"I never—"
"Quiet!" Mother barked.
Anna instinctively stepped backward.
The reaction happened so naturally that it made my stomach twist.
She obeyed without thinking.
Like someone who had been trained.
Like someone who had learned resistance only brought more pain.
I looked back at my mother.
"Don't raise your voice at my wife."
Her eyebrows lifted.
Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I had never talked to her like that.
Not once.
As a child, I obeyed.
As a teenager, I avoided arguments.
As an adult, I compromised.
Tonight...
Something inside me had finally broken.
Mother laughed softly.
"You think you're a man now?"
"I think," I answered, "that my wife is nine months pregnant and shouldn't be standing in freezing water at three in the morning."
"I carried you for nine months too."
"And no one treated you like this."
Her smile disappeared.
"I sacrificed everything for you."
"I know."
"I gave you life."
"I know."
"I made you who you are."
"I know."
"Then don't embarrass me over an outsider."
The word hit Anna harder than a slap.
Outsider.
Not daughter-in-law.
Not family.
Not the mother of her grandchild.
Just...
An outsider.
I saw Anna's eyes fill with tears again.
She quietly reached for the faucet to continue washing dishes.
Still trying to keep the peace.
Still believing that if she obeyed enough, this nightmare might end.
Before her hands touched the water...
I reached over.
Turned off the faucet.
The kitchen became completely silent.
Anna looked at me with confusion.
Mother's face hardened.
"What are you doing?"
I gently took the sponge from Anna's shaking fingers.
Then I placed it on the counter.
"No more."
Mother scoffed.
"She hasn't finished."
"I said," I replied, "no more."
Anna whispered my name.
I smiled at her for the first time that night.
"Go upstairs."
She didn't move.
"I'll handle this."
Fear filled her face.
She knew exactly what those words meant.
Leaving me alone with my mother had never ended well.
She shook her head.
"I don't want you two fighting because of me."
I walked closer until I could hold both of her cold hands.
They felt like ice.
"Look at me."
Slowly...
She did.
"You are my wife."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"You are carrying our daughter."
Another tear followed.
"And from this moment on..."
I squeezed her hands gently.
"...no one in this house gets to make you afraid again."
Behind us, my mother laughed bitterly.
"You actually believe you can stop me?"
I turned.
"Yes."
The confidence in my own voice surprised even me.
Mother's eyes narrowed.
"This is my house."
"No."
She frowned.
"What?"
I reached into my pocket.
Pulled out my phone.
Opened the banking app.
Then I turned the screen toward her.
Her expression slowly changed.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Disbelief.
Because the mortgage payment history was displayed right there on the screen.
Every payment for the past six years...
Had come from my account.
Not hers.
Not Father's.
Mine.
"You've been telling everyone this is your house," I said quietly.
"But legally..."
I locked the phone and slipped it back into my pocket.
"...it's ours."
For the first time in my life...
May you like
My mother's face turned completely white.
And upstairs, neither of us noticed that my father had been standing in the hallway, listening to every single word.
