I never imagined that, only three months into my pregnancy, I’d lose my child because of his treachery. At that moment, all the hope I had for him vanished. As I looked at Tom, still pretending to be the caring husband, his hypocritical face filled me with nothing but disgust. It was then that I made my decision.
“Tom, let’s get a divorce,” I said coldly.
Tom and I grew up in the same orphanage—we were childhood sweethearts.
From a young age, we experienced the harshness of the world, learning that we could only rely on each other.
His grades were much better than mine. After middle school, I took up odd jobs at the market, earning money to pay for his tuition.
There were times when he wanted to quit school, unwilling to watch me struggle. He’d say he wanted to take me to the city so we could work in factories and earn money together.
I slapped him hard, leaving him stunned.
Gritting my teeth, I told him, “Tom, listen to me. Even if it kills me, I’ll make sure you graduate from college. I’ll always be by your side, waiting for the day you get a good job, rise through the ranks and eventually marry me in a beautiful wedding.