Chapter 2

Clara's POV

I drove back to my hometown. I parked the car outside my parents' apartment building, sitting in silence for ten minutes before finally heading up.

My parents had spent their entire lives obsessing over what other people thought. I knew walking up those stairs that whatever awaited me wouldn't be pretty.

Still, I went up. I needed to hear my own parents ask me, just once, what kind of life I had endured in that house all these years.

My mother opened the door. Seeing me standing alone, she glanced past my shoulder. "Where's Jeremy?"

"He didn't come."

Her expression dropped instantly.

At the dinner table, I set my fork down. "I'm getting a divorce."

My mother's fork clattered loudly against her plate, and tears immediately spilled down her cheeks.

"Are you trying to humiliate our entire family? How are your father and I supposed to show our faces outside?!"

My father sat stiffly in his chair, his voice cold. "Men do stupid things sometimes. It's completely normal. You just have to endure it. Go back tomorrow and give Jeremy a proper apology."

Not a single person asked why I wanted out.

"I'm not going back."

"What did you just say?"

"I'm divorcing him. It's final."

My father slammed his palm against the table, grabbed the heavy glass ashtray beside his hand, and hurled it straight at me.

I didn't dodge.

The ashtray struck my left ear with a brutal, sickening crack. Instantly, all sound on that side vanished. Blood poured down the curve of my ear, soaking through the collar of my shirt.

My father stood panting, pointing a shaking finger at the front door. "If you ever dare say the word 'divorce' again, don't you dare think about walking out of this house alive!"

I didn't move. I just sat there on the living room sofa.

A high-pitched ringing echoed in my left ear. My mother's wailing and my father's cursing sounded warped and distant.

Dabbing at her tears across the dining table, my mother muttered, "You brought this punishment on yourself."

My collar was drenched in red, yet not one of them handed me a napkin.

I reached into my own purse, pulled out a pack of tissues, and pressed them hard against my ear.

Sitting there, the math finally became painfully clear: three people in the room, one throwing heavy glass, one crying for herself, and not a single one asking if my ear could still hear.

I had been the obedient daughter my whole life. I married a wealthy man who constantly showered my parents with gifts. Everything they bragged about to their neighbors was built on my marriage. And today, my reward was a glass ashtray to the skull.

A while later, my father stepped out of the bedroom, standing directly across from me. "Are you still getting that divorce?"

I looked up. My left ear was completely numb. Watching the movement of his lips, I slowly shook my head.

"I'm divorcing him."

My father's face flushed a furious red. Pointing at the front door, his voice trembled with rage: "Fine! From this day on, you are no daughter of mine! You will never set foot in this house again!"

My mother tugged at his sleeve, but he shoved her arm away violently.

I braced myself against the armrest of the couch and stood up. The blood on my left ear had already begun to clot, pulling painfully against the torn skin.

I raised a hand to cover the deafened ear and gave my father a single, quiet nod. "Understood."

I had walked in and out of this door for over twenty years. The moment it was permanently slammed shut in my face, one thing became entirely clear to me.

No matter how brutal my life became from now on, I would never, ever dream of coming back here.

I grabbed my bag from the sofa and walked toward the door. Behind me, my mother sobbed my name. My hand paused on the doorknob for a fraction of a second, but I didn't turn back.

This escape route was one I chose to sever with my own hands.