Chapter 4

When I was discharged, the hospital entrance was packed with people.

They were all women who despised mistresses, cursing and swearing.

Someone even threw a tomato at me.

It splattered.

Leaving a red stain on my forehead, like blood.

The nurse held them back, saying, "Have some humanity! She just had a miscarriage. She's a patient who needs to recover. She can't handle this kind of stress."

The women erupted, their mouths like a fermenting cesspool in July, buzzing annoyingly.

So I retreated back into the hospital.

As a result, those shrews spread rumors like wildfire. One lie led to another, and soon they were saying I had my uterus removed and would never be able to have children again.

Online, people were cheering, saying this is what happens to mistresses, they should all be sterilized.

This is the fate of a mistress.

...

Yes.

That's how I became a despicable mistress.

Eight years.