Walking Away for Good
My husband insisted that I wear high heels at the company’s annual meeting despite being pregnant. He compared me to his female secretary with a look of disdain.
"Can’t you learn from Lucille? She’s eight months pregnant and still comes to work in full makeup, handling her tasks efficiently. If you don’t wear them, don’t go. I’ll be embarrassed!"
He even tried to give the high heels to his secretary and take her as his date. Left with no choice, I forced myself to wear them.
However, on the balcony, the secretary tripped me, spilling red wine all over me.
Limping, I found my husband, only for him to sneer, "Tripping on flat ground? How clumsy!"
Furious and pale with anger, I turned to leave.
Someone urged him to chase after me, but he only got angrier. "How bad could it be? She’s so timid—she can’t survive without me! Just wait. When the event’s over, she’ll definitely be waiting in the car to drive me home."
Alas, he was wrong. I turned and went straight to the hospital for an abortion.