A few days later.

The Heath residence.

It was night. Outside the glass windows, the winter rain was making a rustling sound, and the cold wind was whistling.

Charlotte lay in bed, looking out the window. The naked branches were unable to withstand the northwest wind, swaying in the cold wind, and the jagged shadows of the trees reflected on the window, looking distinctly horrible.

She had fallen asleep and was awakened by a violent coughing fit. Turning on the light, she sat up and looked at the time. Surprisingly it was just after 9 pm.

After the miscarriage, her body had not been able to recover. Athough the bleeding was not as worse as before, it had never stopped, and she could smell a vague and constant odor.

She knew in her heart that this time, her body has suffered a huge trauma, and the possibility of having children in the future had been zero.

without getting on her

fell from her eyes on

like being in jail. No! It's much worse than jail. At least in jail she wouldn't be

a night of fists and kicks would be a sure thing. He did not care about her death or life. And he always beat her up always

she was drinking porridge. She had no idea what she had done to annoy him. He used his belt directly and whipped her so hard that she spilled her porridge, and he forced her lick the floor clean. The humiliation

her sleeve and looked at the shocking bruises

she lived a life worse than a

her sick body, without any dignity, and living

like he's going to get her killed

felt like she was, already, a leaf in the wind. With a

so hard that her voice was hoarse. Even when she was growing up in an orphanage, she had never suffered as much as she

all the time, taking care

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