Chapter 3

My husband was over ten years older than me, named John, and he was a man with a limp, unable to move easily.

He didn't talk much and often examined me with eyes that were hard to describe, making me feel an inexplicable sense of fear.

It would be a lie to say I didn't resent it, but I also accepted it. After all, for a woman like me, walking down this path was inevitable. It was just a matter of when my family would need me and which family could offer enough money to satisfy my parents.

What troubled me most was that I didn't even get the smallest bit of dignity from John, living like an animal.

The day my father sent me to him was our wedding day. Many people came to his home, mostly single men from the village. After getting drunk, some of them boldly said to me, "John is really lucky. He actually managed to find such a beautiful wife. If I had spoken up earlier, maybe I'd be the one getting married today!"

"Do you have any younger sisters? I'll pay a bit more, and you can send her to me!"

I pretended to be shy and didn't respond, but I felt afraid of their inappropriate jokes and touches. John stood off to the side, smoking a cheap cigarette and blowing the smoke towards me, causing me to cough uncontrollably.

I didn't dare to look at him, but I could feel his gaze on me, even though he didn't say a word.

At the time, I didn't understand that this was a sign of his anger, a prelude to the emotional storm that I couldn't handle.

That night, I was tortured by him, feeling as if I were dying. No one had ever taught me what was right or wrong. I just cried until exhaustion set in, numbly staring through the window at the moonlight.

I couldn't help but think of that girl, feeling a deep sense of envy.

I envied her for not being treated this way by strange men. I envied her even more because she could sleep peacefully in a place where the future still seemed possible.

One cannot be exposed to too many good things, or else longing and yearning arise. Then, when faced with the harsh reality, all that remains is unbearable pain.

Before dawn, John slapped me awake, dragging me naked into the hut without saying a word.

The early morning wind was chilly, seeping through the cracks in the walls, making me shiver uncontrollably.

When the whip struck my skin, I screamed in pain, and the burning wounds became even more excruciating as the cold air touched them. I kept trying to pull away, unable to understand what I had done wrong.

John, clearly enraged by my movements, grabbed my hair and slapped me again. Breathing heavily, he cursed, "Already trying to flirt with men? What's the difference between you and an animal in heat?

"I bought you! You're just an object, and I can treat you however I want!"

I didn't dare to defend myself. If I raised my voice, he would just hit me harder, and tears flowed endlessly from my eyes.

I saw the bloodshot gleam in his eyes, a twisted kind of excitement. The sound of the whip against my flesh mixed with the distant crowing of a rooster as if the soundtrack of my life had become this brutal moment, offering a glimpse into a future full of injuries.