Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She didn’t get to finish her sentence.

I lunged at her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her into the restroom.

The nearby police officers realized something was wrong and rushed to intervene, but I slammed the door shut before they could reach us.

Because she was holding her child, the boy was dragged into the restroom with her.

There was a frantic pounding on the door from the outside. She looked at me nervously and stammered, “What are you doing? You wouldn’t dare hit someone right in front of the police! You-”

I buried a fist in her abdomen, the force sending her crashing to her knees.

Clutching her stomach, she shrieked in agony, “Assault! Police, help!”

I grabbed her hair and dragged her toward one of the stalls. The little boy fell to the floor, sobbing as he swung his tiny fists at me. “Let go of my mommy!”

“Don’t close your eyes,” I said coldly. “Watch your mother closely.”

I gripped the woman’s hair and kicked open the stall door.

“What are you doing?!” she asked in a panic.

“I’m going to fuck you up,” I spat.

I shoved her head directly into the toilet bowl. With her face submerged, she began to retch violently. I pinned her head down and hit the flusher.

“Since your mouth is so filthy,” I roared, “I’ll help you wash it out!”

She struggled to pull away, but I forced her back down.

She tried to vomit, but was forced to swallow it back.

The child beside us wailed in terror, “Bad man! You’re a bad man!”

I turned my head and looked at him. “That’s right, I’m a bad man. Be a good boy and look closely. Don’t close your eyes. Remember this ‘bad man’s’ face well.”

The woman’s body was convulsing by the time the police burst through the door. I raised my hands and said coldly, “I won’t resist. Just please get my wife to a major hospital. Also, if this woman is traumatized, it’s only because she’s mentally fragile. Tell her not to come out and hurt people in the future, okay?”

I was taken to the police station. There, I told the officers that my wife’s situation and my actions were two separate matters. I had hit the woman, and I was willing to accept the punishment. But she had touched my wife, and for that, she had to pay a price.

However, life isn’t a TV drama; justice isn’t always served.

The woman was only detained for a single day. Because she had two children at home and was a nursing mother, she was released almost immediately.

We wanted to press criminal charges, but the police stated that because my wife had no physical injuries, it didn’t qualify as a criminal case.

As for the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, it didn’t meet the legal threshold for a “minor injury.”

Refusing to give up, I took my wife to consult a lawyer. The lawyer told us that in situations like this, we just had to accept our bad luck. At most, we could sue for civil damages. He advised us to try and move on.

Frustrated, I asked the lawyer if we could sue for the crime of insult-something I had researched online.

The lawyer shook his head. He explained that the law is lenient toward nursing mothers; she wasn’t going to jail over something like this. Aside from the mountain of difficulties in even bringing the case to court, even if we were lucky enough to win, she would likely only receive a suspended sentence or be released on bail pending trial.

When we walked out of the law firm, my wife kept her lips pressed tight, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.

My heart ached as I pulled her into a hug. She sobbed uncontrollably in my arms.

“Why?” she choked out. “Why don’t the bad people get punished?”

I had no answer for her.

To some, paying a little money is considered punishment. But to us, the cost of committing such a crime was far too low.