After my First Love Returned, I Decided to Divorce novel Chapter 2

Ethan had always been smooth when it came to matters between men and women.

He pinned me to the bed effortlessly, his hot breath grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

Yeah, he wasn't wrong—this was something married couples did all the time.

But now that it was actually happening, my stomach churned with nausea.

He spent his day messing around with other women, and now he was using me for fun at night?

What the hell was this?

What was I to him?

I struggled against him, but the difference in strength was obvious.

To him, my resistance probably felt more like playful teasing.

Until I couldn't take it anymore.

With everything I had, I slapped him across the face and screamed at the top of my lungs:

"Get off me! Don't you touch me!"

He froze.

Our eyes met, and in his, I saw my own reflection—a trembling, broken version of myself.

"Ethan, I'm not… I'm not like those other women you mess around with."

"You can't—you don't get to treat me like this."

"What do you even see me as?!"

A placeholder wife?

A dutiful employee cleaning up his messes?

Or just another disposable toy, no different from the women he picked up at clubs?

While he stood there, stunned, I grabbed the sheets and wrapped them around myself, my tear-filled eyes locked on him, ready to fight back if he tried anything else.

"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw tightening as he turned away, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on.

"Real nice, Emily."

"You're exactly the kind of ‘pure and proper' wife my old man picked out for me, huh?"

BAM!

The door slammed shut so hard it rattled the walls.

I curled up, shaking, staying like that for who knows how long before finally stumbling into the bathroom.

The hot water washed away the grime, but not the disgust.

I slid to the floor, letting the sound of the shower drown out the mess in my head.

I barely slept.

The nightmares kept me trapped in a restless haze, and I only managed to wake up around noon.

"That's not our turf, and the guy he pissed off didn't hold back."

"Smashed a couple of beer bottles over his head…"

He trailed off, but he didn't need to say more.

It wasn't hard to figure out—Ethan had been screwing around, crossed the wrong guy, and got his ass beat for it.

I must've looked so shaken that even a nearby nurse felt bad for me.

"Ma'am, your husband's going to be fine," she reassured me.

"It's just some surface wounds and a mild concussion."

"Worst case, he might need a little cosmetic surgery."

The relief hit me so hard I almost collapsed.

Then I realized what a mess I looked like—barefoot, hair tangled, wearing nothing but a flimsy nightgown under a loose jacket.

I nodded stiffly, trying to pull myself together.

One of the nurses, bless her heart, handed me a spare set of clothes to change into.

I gave her a grateful smile.

I didn't even have time to take a sip of water before Mr. Johnson Sr. finally arrived—

And slapped me across the face.