C9

"You wrench, how dare you?"

His voice thundered through the room, the venom in it slicing through the air like a whip. The sound of the slap cracked against the silence, reverberating off the walls like a cruel echo. Tina crumpled onto the cold tiled floor, her body folding in on itself like broken paper. Her cheek flared with hot, biting pain, but she didn’t cry. She knew better. Crying only made it worse.

She dared to lift her face, to look up at the man she had once loved and gave her heart to on a platter, the man she had once believed was her savior because of his kindness. Now, he was her tormentor, her monster in human skin, the very first person who broke her and taught her the cruelty of human

"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered, voice trembling, barely audible, master instead of husband, that's what he made her to.

“Sorry?” he sneered, his eyes flashing like coals. “What were you trying to prove, huh? Are you trying to make a fool out of me? Let the others think your husband isn’t man enough?”

“No! I swear it wasn’t that. Please, Elsa is downstairs, she is sleeping....”

“Ohhh, now you’re threatening me with my own child?”

He advanced toward her, fists clenched at his sides. Her voice caught in her throat, her eyes widened in fear. She scrambled backward on hands and knees, the floor scraping her skin. But it was no use.

“Okay then. Strip.”

Her eyes widened, lips parted in disbelief. “What? Please… I swear, I didn’t mean....”

A kick to the stomach ended her plea. The pain burst through her body like lightning, She choked on her scream, if she had dared let it out, it would have been much worse, she curled in on herself as agony bloomed in her gut. He tore her clothes with brutal hands, ripping fabric and dignity in equal measure. Then he took her, viciously, mercilessly, violently, while slapping and cursing at her, his fingers bruising her flesh, his belt cutting across her thighs and back

When he was done, he spat on her in disgust. The thick, bitter glob landed on her shoulder making her feel dirty. He adjusted his robes with an air of disgusting pride and strode out without a backward glance.

Tina lay on the floor, bloodied and trembling. Her legs were useless beneath her. Her private part throbbed in ways it should never have. Her skin burned where he had slapped, kicked, pinched, and twisted. Her mouth bled from a bite she hadn’t even realized he gave her. But she didn’t cry, there were no tears left.

She dragged herself into the bathroom, wincing at every breath. Her ribs screamed painfully with each inhale. She cleaned herself with trembling hands, very scalding hot water turning pink as it mixed with blood. Her reflection in the mirror was a ghost, pale, hollow-eyed, lips split, bruises blooming already along her neck. Her eyes had no spark left, only a dull ache of survival for her child.

No one could know, no one would believe her, her husband, William, had a perfect image in the village, devoted husband, generous benefactor, charming son of a wealthy and respected family. The golden boy of the region, a philanthropist.

She had once tried to confide in his mother. The woman who used to smile kindly at her, bring her fruits and warm soups, and call her "daughter." But the day she mentioned William’s cruelty to her, the woman’s eyes had turned to stone, that's when she knew, they all knew about his sick demented lifestyle, they left her to deal with it.

“If I ever hear you say such a filthy lie again,” she had hissed, “I will make sure you disappear.”

The warmth was gone, like it had never existed.

He was careful, always. He never struck her face if they were due to visit outside. He never left her skin bare where bruises showed. When he choked her, he made her wear scarves or turtlenecks. If she limped, he made her stay indoors until she healed enough to walk properly without any proper treatment, like a salve.

And through it all, Tina learned to live like a shadow, smiling when expected, nodding when spoken to, existing, but never truly living but she had to, at least for her child.

“It’s going to be alright,” she told herself as she dried off and wrapped herself in her robe. “You’re fine. Just hang in there a little longer.”

She had made the mistake of telling her grandmother once. Just once. And the next day, two masked men had broken into her grandmother’s house, ransacked it, and left a bloodstained note, nearly scaring the woman half to death.

“If she speaks again, her life is ours.”

Tina never spoke of it again, she kept to herself, not letting it slip.

Her ribs ached with every step, but she made her way to her daughter’s room. The nursery smelled of baby powder and lullabies. The soft hum of the rotating ceiling fan stirred the air gently. Elsa, her tiny miracle, lay sleeping in her crib, cheeks round and rosy, breath soft and even.

Tina bent over with difficulty, every movement hurting, and lifted the baby slowly into her arms. Elsa stirred, then curled into her mother’s chest, a tiny hand reaching up and grabbing hold of Tina’s hair.

Tina smiled faintly despite the pain.

“Who’s mummy’s little star, hmm? You are,” she whispered.

“My beautiful baby… I will protect you with my last breath. You’re all I have.”

She rocked Elsa gently, the pain momentarily numbed by the warmth of her child’s tiny body. She stayed like that for a while, letting the comfort of her daughter shield her from the torment of reality.

When Elsa drifted back into deeper sleep, Tina laid her down with a final kiss and forced herself back into the role of mistress of the house. She applied a bit of powder to her bruised face, tied her scarf, fixed her robe, and straightened her posture. Then she descended the stairs like nothing had happened as she has always done.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Good afternoon, Jane.”

“Ma’am, good day.”

“Same to you, Adam.”

The house buzzed with activity. Servants moved about, cleaning and preparing the evening meal. No one knew and if they did they didn't dare to interfere. Rumors had swirled once, but William had silenced them quickly and violently.

Tina walked into the kitchen, her mind focused on routine. But suddenly, a wave of nausea hit her like a brick wall. Her vision blurred. Her stomach churned violently.

She gagged and barely made it to the sink before her body heaved. Her knees buckled as she vomited up bile, then blood. Red streaks painted the metal sink, vivid and terrifying.

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” the chef cried, rushing to her side. “Oh my God....is that.....is that blood?!”

His hands hovered over her like he didn’t know where to touch. He helped rinse her mouth, helped clean her face, but the bloodstain on her robe, thick and unmistakable, could not be hidden.

“Someone call the physician!” he shouted.

Another servant ran off, fear etched into his young face.

“Help me take her to her room. Now! Gently.”

Tina barely registered any of it. Her vision faded in and out. Pain radiated from her ribs, her belly, her thighs. Her breathing grew shallow. Her heart hammered like a trapped bird.

William entered the hallway as they carried her past. His eyes locked onto her limp form in the chef’s arms, and a shadow crossed his expression.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Sire,” the chef panted. “The Madam… she was vomiting blood in the kitchen. I sent for the physician.”

William’s lips curved into a false smile, teeth glinting. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

He approached them and took Tina from the chef, holding her tightly, too tightly. She groaned softly from the pressure, her eyes fluttering. But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The physician arrived moments later. A man in his early sixties, stern but compassionate. He examined her swiftly but thoroughly, lifting her robe gently and checking her injuries.

He frowned deeply.

“Sir… may I ask you a question? I hope I’m not being disrespectful.”

“No, go ahead. What is it?”

“Your wife… she has numerous injuries. Fresh and old. Some of them are dark, few weeks old bruises. Some are raw. With how pale she is and the blood she coughed up, I fear she may have internal damage.”

William’s face twisted into a mask of innocence and concern. “What?! She never told me anything. I had no idea she was hurt.”

“…Sir, forgive me for saying this, but I’m surprised. She looks like someone who's been severely abused. You share a bed, don’t you? How could you not notice?”

“Ahh… well, ever since we had our child, she’s been distant. She refused to stay in the same bed with me.”

“That’s strange indeed,” the physician muttered. “Perhaps someone else is hurting her… and she doesn’t want to trouble you.”

“What do we do now, Doctor?”

“For now, she needs rest. Nothing strenuous, no lifting heavy objects, no walking long distance. She needs to eat only liquid meals for a while, soups, broths, before taking any medication. I’ll leave a prescription, but if she’s disturbed or exerted in any way, she may not survive.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

The physician nodded, then turned to leave. But something lingered in his eyes. A suspicion, he felt discomfort. He glanced back once more at William, but said nothing. Still… he made a note to return when she is alone and awake.

The moment the doctor was gone, William stood by the bedside. His eyes darkened, his lips curling.

“You let another man touch you,” he hissed under his breath. “In the name of ‘carrying’ you. Slut.”

He raised his hand as if to slap her again, while she lay unconscious, weak and broken.

But he paused. The physician would return. And if she had fresh bruises… questions would be asked and his excuse won't work.

So he lowered his hand slowly, staring at her motionless form.

“You better wake up, wrench. And when you do… you’ll wish you didn’t.”

He left the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft finality that echoed like a tomb sealing shut.

Tina’s chest barely moved with her breaths. Her hands twitched, barely. Her lips moved slightly, perhaps whispering her baby’s name in sleep. Or maybe she was just dreaming of peace she might never truly find.

But her heart still beat. However faint. However fragile.

And somewhere deep within that battered body, the will to survive still burned.