"I don't care about a child. I only care about you."
I could remember every word Alan said.
Back then, his business was booming. My mother was eager for me to have a child to tie him down.
Following her advice, I visited every famous hospital in the country, enduring injections that left my arms bruised, and taking medications that made my hair fall out in clumps.
Seeing me still not pregnant, my mother grew desperate, forcing me to take dubious herbal remedies.
I drank so much I ended up in the hospital for a month, nearly losing my life.
My mother gave me a break for two weeks before she started hounding me again, insisting I take more treatments, even pushing us into an uncomfortable routine as husband and wife.
I was filled with shame and guilt, but Alan said he didn't care and gave me the respect and dignity I needed.
How did he turn into this? I bit back my sobs, but the tears kept flowing.
Frustrated, Alan pulled out his phone and typed a few lines.
I wiped my tears and finally saw the words clearly.
"Calm down. I don't like troublesome women."
With a loud "bang," Alan slammed the door shut.
I pushed him away and let out a bitter laugh, "Fine, I'll go. You're free now."