The Fate of A Greedy Husband

As I hurried home, I was met with Grace's piercing voice. "Oh, so you finally decided to come back! What kind of woman is out at this hour? Aren't you embarrassed?"

I tried to explain calmly, "The doctor said it's good for pregnant women to walk more. It helps with the baby's development."

She placed her hands on her hips, glaring at me. "Don't give me that nonsense! Out late at night, all dressed up? What if someone attacked you? You'd bring shame to my son!"

Just then, John came out of the bathroom. Seeing he was fine, I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at him hopefully, wishing he'd stop Grace's outrageous accusations. His mother spreaded such vicious rumors about his wife.

But John just said, "I thought you died out there. Turns out you're still alive."

"Mom's right. Can't you behave? Always complaining about stomach pains and dressing like a streetwalker. People might think you're selling yourself!"

My heart sank. I wore a loose maternity dress because my chest had grown with the pregnancy, and it was too hot. Yet, John accused me of dressing like a streetwalker.

The more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt. Distracted, I tripped and fell. Clutching my belly, I noticed a banana peel on the floor.

Before I could say anything, Grace grabbed my hair and yanked me up. "Get up and wash the dishes. Don't think you can slack off."

"If you're going to enjoy my son's things and just laze around at home, I'll make sure he gives you a good beating!"

My scalp hurt, and my belly ached. Dizzy and struggling, I couldn't resist. Grace shoved me into the kitchen and slammed the door, telling me to hurry up and wash.

I collapsed on the floor, holding my belly, unable to hold back my tears. It was the peak of summer, and the small, unventilated kitchen soon made me short of breath.

I crawled to the door and opened it, hoping to catch some air from the air-conditioned living room. But John stormed in.

"What do you think you're doing? Can't you just wash the dishes? Why open the door?"

"You're comfortable, but what about everyone else? Do you think you're the only one who feels hot?"

He shut and locked the door. Grace yelled from outside, "Which woman doesn't have kids? None of them have issues, but she's always uncomfortable. It's because you spoil her!"

I sat there in a daze, my head buzzing. John and I met two years ago. I had just graduated from college and was harassed by some thugs on my way home. John stepped in to protect me.

We ran into each other often after that, and he told me he had just graduated too. He said he had given up a high-paying job to repay his village for supporting his education. Moved by his gratitude, I asked my father to help him secure an investment.

He started pursuing me, and despite my parents' objections, I secretly married him. My belly pain returned, and I banged on the door, begging John to take me to the hospital.

He refused to open it and angrily told me to stop making a fuss and wash the dishes. Tears fell onto the floor as I got up, swallowing my nausea, and quickly washed the dishes.

When I knocked on the door again, John finally opened it, but not to take me to the hospital.