Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Agony radiated through my heart, magnifying with every passing second.

As I held her, the pain was unbearable. As a man, how could I stand by and watch the woman I swore to protect be humiliated? To be beaten?

Just imagining what she had just gone through made it painful even to breathe.

The shop owner had already called the police, and they arrived quickly. That woman began wailing and screaming at the officers, demanding to take her child to the hospital for a check-up. She threatened that if anything was wrong with the boy, she’d never let us off the hook!

An officer came over to ask for our side of the story, but my wife was still trembling in my arms, unable to utter a single word.

Looking at her like this, my fear grew. I told the officer, “Can we take my wife to the hospital first? She’s not right.”

The woman immediately started shouting, “What’s with the act? This fake, delicate routine is disgusting! When I used to breastfeed my kid, people saw me and I didn’t think it was a big deal. A real woman wouldn’t be such a manipulative bitch!”

I wanted to rip her tongue out, but in that moment, all I cared about was my wife’s safety.

Ignoring the police beside me, I carried her out and climbed straight into the patrol car, pleading with them to take us to the hospital first.

Once we arrived, the police noted that this would likely be classified as mutual assault.

The specifics would have to wait until the medical reports were out.

I tried to get my wife to see a doctor, but she was shaking so hard she couldn’t even walk. In the end, I had to carry her into the examination room.

The doctor began the check-up, but as it progressed, his brow furrowed. He asked me to step out.

I could only wait outside, consumed by worry. The little boy came out shortly after; he didn’t even have a minor injury. He ran to his mother’s side, clutching his face and crying about how much it hurt.

The woman hugged her child and shot me a vicious glare, coddling him. “Don’t be scared, baby. If anyone ever tries to bully you again, we’ll hit them back.”

I clenched my hands, my fingers interlacing tightly as I bit my nails, praying that she would be okay.

A moment later, the door opened. The doctor stepped out, but my wife didn’t.

He said to us, “The situation is complicated. The patient is experiencing palpitations and shortness of breath, and her mental state is highly unstable. I’m calling an ambulance to transfer her to the Central Hospital. She may be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

I froze. Even the woman looked stunned.

Then, she spoke up defensively, “Am I really the only one who thinks she’s overreacting? What year is this? So what if someone saw her? She was wearing pasties at the time anyway. If she’s really so old-fashioned that a little thing like this gives her a mental breakdown, then she shouldn’t be out in public causing trouble for everyone else…”