Steve took off his coat and pulled off his tie, smirking mockingly. "A homeless person like you can't survive without me. You've been a full-time housewife for seven years with no income. Even if we divorce, you won't get guardianship of the kids. Are you prepared to live in the street and scavenge for food?"
His words were insulting, shattering the little strength I had left.
But my resolve was firm.
I replied, "Whether I sleep under a bridge or scavenge for food, it's none of your business. I won't fight for guardianship. I just want a peaceful divorce. After that, whether I live or die has nothing to do with you."
Drunk people were easily angered.
Steve pulled out his belt and, in a sudden rage, charged at me.
I never expected him to resort to violence. He had never shown this side before.
Still, I gritted my teeth and stared at him.
He swung the belt but missed, perhaps because he was too drunk.
The belt grazed my clothes and hit the leg of the sofa.
Then he collapsed on the sofa, falling into a drunken sleep.
The air conditioner was set low, and he didn't have a shirt on since he had taken it off earlier.