Despised Relationships (English Version)

I greeted my husband with a bright smile the moment he stepped through the door.

"I'm pregnant," I announced, my voice brimming with excitement.

But his reaction made my smile falter.

"How would you even know?" he asked, his tone cold and distant.

The question stunned me. He’s my husband. Who else could it be?

"Because you’re my husband… after all, right?"

He smirked, his eyes filled with contempt, as if I were something filthy beneath his shoes.

"I’m not sure I’m the only one who’s had you," he said. Without waiting for my reply, he walked past me into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and continued, "You disappear for days. And I’m supposed to believe that? Are you serious?"

"Just because I leave the house doesn’t mean anything."

I didn’t tell him about the countless women he’s been with. I didn’t tell him about the nights he never came home, or how I knew exactly what he was doing. I kept quiet—because I was afraid. Afraid that if I pushed him away, our family would shatter… especially now that I was carrying his child.

"But—"

"Brianna, stop!" he barked, his voice like a slap. "Enough of this crap!"

Each word sliced through me as he added, "Congratulations on your pregnancy, but don’t make me the father of someone else’s child."

He turned to leave but paused, his voice dripping with venom.

"Stop dreaming. That happy little family you’re imagining? It will never happen. Don’t picture yourself with me. You make me sick."

Since the day we married, he’s never once treated me like his wife.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

But I endure it. Because if I leave, he might never come back to me.

After he was gone, the tears came, hot and unrelenting. This pain wasn’t new—but it still burned every time.

I still cling to the hope that one day he’ll love me. That one day he’ll see me.

Yes, he’s cheated more times than I can count. Yes, he’s raised his hand to me when the alcohol took over. And now, he refuses to believe that the baby inside me is his. But I stay. I stay because I love him.

He married me, not them. No matter how many women he has, he always comes home—to me.

Even if he wishes he didn’t.

I walked back to my room, my sobs muffled against the silence of the house. He wouldn’t even share a bed with me anymore. The only time he touched me was when he was drunk… and somehow, that’s how this life inside me began.

Still, no one said anything. No one interfered.

So I’ll wait.

Maybe he’s just shocked right now.

Maybe, in time, he’ll accept this child.

Maybe, someday, he’ll give me the love and attention I’ve been waiting for.