He turned to the housekeeper and said sternly, "Bring that beast here and get rid of it in front of her!"
"I was wrong, I was wrong! Don't hurt the cat!"
I lunged forward and grabbed his trouser leg, lowering my head heavily. The sound of my forehead hitting the ground made the surrounding servants turn their faces away.
I'd gotten used to apologizing. It started three years ago, the day I miscarried and nearly bled to death.
At the time, the doctor told me I might never be able to conceive again. My first reaction was to apologize to Jonathan, who had been rushed to the hospital. "I'm sorry, I couldn't keep our baby … "
At that time, he hugged me with red eyes and said it didn't matter. As long as we were together, it was enough.
Later, he was still very good to me, so good that I couldn't sleep whenever I thought of the doctor's diagnosis.
So, when he started coming home late, I didn't ask. When I saw lipstick stains on his shirt collar, I didn't ask. When he brought Wendy to me and said she would have a child for me, I still didn't ask.
But after my family died in a car accident, Jonathan changed.