Without a second thought, Cedric turned and slapped me hard across the face.
A storm brewed in his eyes, as if he wanted to tear me apart. “Yvonne, have you lost your mind? Didn’t I warn you not to touch her?”
Years ago, when he faced Mr. Winslow, he had stood exactly like this, shielding me behind him with everything he had.
Only this time, I had become the “Mr. Winslow,” and they were the lovers being cruelly torn apart.
Bitterness flooded my chest. My eyes reddened despite myself.
Still, I laughed weakly through my choking voice as I looked at him. “She took my child from me. She took away my right to be a mother. The doctor said it’ll be very hard for me to get pregnant again. Sewing a few stitches into her mouth was already the lightest punishment.”
“Cedric,” I demanded, staring straight at him, “why do you believe everything she says? Who exactly is your wife?”
I stubbornly searched his face, desperately hoping to find even a trace of pain or guilt.
But there was none.