Chapter 3

After I was discharged from the hospital, we moved in together. Every day was filled with the mundane—cooking, cleaning, the rhythm of simple happiness.

I had to admit, Damien was an incredible partner. Stable, positive, never once raising his voice. In the year we lived together, we didn’t even have a single major fight.

And then, one day, he proposed.

In a room he’d carefully decorated, he knelt before me and held out a diamond ring.

I thought about it for a long time, then agreed.

I had no reason to say no.

He truly was a great lover. Over the past year, he’d worked tirelessly, putting in overtime just to earn extra money. The money he earned—after paying off his family’s debts—was spent on things I loved.

I could see it—the ring was the best he could afford, after paying off his family’s medical bills. It was his last sacrifice, and it was all for me.

I thought, I’ve found my happiness.

Two orphans, both having lost our parents, decided to marry, and so everything moved quickly. A month later, at our wedding, Damien confessed to me once more, his voice full of emotion.

The audience—our classmates, our friends, those who had witnessed our journey—watched us in anticipation.

The air was full of excitement and laughter.

And then I turned to Damien, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. “Damien, I will try my best to be a good wife, but if you ever lie to me, I’ll vanish from your world without a trace.”

I don’t know if he truly understood, and honestly, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that this was my line—my final boundary.

Of course, there was also the money.

I never intended to tell him about it.

Marriage was blissful at first, but as time passed, cracks began to form. We started arguing.

He wanted children, but I didn’t.

Damien didn’t force me. He simply held me close, let out a soft sigh, and said, “If you don’t want one, we don’t have to. We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

I nodded quietly, noncommittally. Seeing I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, he kissed my cheek and turned to sleep with his back to me.

After that, Damien would bring up having children every now and then, probably hoping to influence me, just like he did with his constant confessions. He wanted me to gradually accept it.

But what he didn’t know was that wanting a child meant something entirely different for me.

I couldn’t take the gamble. I couldn’t gamble on him being a good father. I couldn’t gamble on him continuing to treat me well, as he had.

I didn’t want there to be another woman like my mother—and another me—stuck in that cycle.

As the days passed, Damien brought it up more frequently, his patience wearing thin.

Finally, one day, we fought.

In the end, Damien stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I will never forget the deafening sound of the door hitting the frame that night.

But that night, I didn’t chase after him. I simply got out of bed, closed the door, and went back to sleep, lying on my side of the bed.

The next morning, Damien was back. He had made breakfast, and as if nothing had happened, he called me to eat.

After breakfast, he kissed me goodbye as usual and left for work.

In that moment, I suddenly thought, Maybe having a child wouldn’t be so bad.

After all, Damien grew up in a pack that valued lineage and tradition so much. The fact that he could accept my decision to not have children made me feel… maybe he was someone I could trust.

But then I remembered what my mother had always said: “Never trust any man.”