The child—our first and only—belonged to Harold and me. But Harold never wanted to marry me. He was forced into it, pressured by his elder brother, Anton.
In the second year of our marriage, Anton Gray, frustrated by Harold's reckless behavior, demanded that he have a child to settle down. One night, after drinking heavily, he stormed into my bedroom, pulling off his tie without a word.
I tried to stop him, saying, "I can handle your brother; we don’t have to force this."
But Harold just looked at me, his voice filled with bitterness. "The biggest compromise of my life was marrying you."
That night was my first time—and our first time together. The experience was far from pleasant. The process was rough, and the outcome was just as bad. I was tossed and turned all night, yet I didn’t conceive.
Then it kept happening—over and over again, whenever his mood struck. Sometimes it was in the living room, other times in the kitchen, or even in places separated by a wall from where guests sat.
Each time, he would say, "Sara, you have no right to feel ashamed. You already did the most shameless thing—marrying me."
With every incident, my heart grew colder and colder.