Loving You Is the Sin Beyond Forgiveness

He sneered, "How can anyone call that ugly?"

"Back then, I was stabbed eighteen times saving you; my intestines spilling out."

"You held my entrails with one hand and carried me on your back for miles across a blood-soaked road with the other. It was a horrific sight."

The mention of those bloody memories made the girl in Samuel's arms tremble.

Samuel immediately covered her ears, his brow tightening.

"Don't say that around her."

"She's not like you. If she hears that, she'll be terrified and won't sleep."

Of course, she was different.

At her age, had I seen Samuel beaten...

I would have drawn my knife and cut him down, risking my life.

Perhaps she feared I'd expose what happened before.

Samuel sighed and signaled his men to leave.

The girl was fragile, clutching the hem of his coat, unwilling to let go.

She only left after Samuel soothed her with patient words. When everyone had gone, Samuel sat before me. He lit a cigarette; the smoke obscured his face. His voice was calm, impassive. "You're an old fool—why argue with a child?" "I said you're the only one I love, but I'm still a man and have needs." He flicked ash from his cigarette. His eyes lingered on my reddened, frost-bitten chest, then looked away. "Look at all those scars, they're terrible." "Every time you stand naked before me, I see those wounds, great and small, and I feel..." He paused, but the word came precisely. "Disgust." Samuel rose slowly. He placed a jade token—bought with blood—into my palm. "But don't worry, I only love you." "No matter who else I am with, you have my place." "I've fought half my life; now I want to settle and live decently." For years, he had told me to wait. Wait until he owns all the docks. Wait to reach the peak. Then he'd retire and live well with me. For that promise, I endured beatings and scorn. Even pierced by bloody wounds, I never thought to quit. I pictured a quiet life for three, at peace. What Samuel pictured was a handsome wife and concubines, contentment and ease. I breathed, sensing the man before me both familiar and strange. The boy who endured insults for me, who swore to fight and massacre in Tongwan. The Samuel who had pulled me from a trash heap and promised a home. Now he seemed like another person. My fingertips stroked the gun's cold muzzle. I inhaled and told him, "Let's get a divorce." At nineteen, I would have raged. I would have stabbed the two in the act again and again and thrown them into the sea. But now... I touched my belly; bitterness rose in my throat.

For years, his promises were a steady drumbeat: wait, he said, endure a little more; the docks will be mine and danger will pass. I believed him because we had bled together, because when enemies came, he carried me as if my life alone mattered. I forgave punches, insults, late nights, and the way he sometimes watched other women with a greedy smile that tightened my stomach. I washed his wounds and mended his pride; he built an empire on my patience. At night, I imagined a small house, sunlight on a table, a child's laugh through the rooms. I held faith because love had been our shelter. But love can not restrain appetite, and appetite has teeth. The man before me spoke of settling, yet his hands still reached beyond comfort; his heart left room for others. That was the betrayal I could not accept and my trust.

That year—here in this casino—Samuel and I had hidden our not-yet-one-year-old daughter from enemies. To survive, we closed up in a box and covered her mouth. We held her until she stopped breathing. That day, Samuel's cries echoed across Harbor City. He swore on his severed finger to avenge our daughter's death.