ManyWriters

In the eighth month of pregnancy, my water broke.
I endured the severe pain and begged my husband Dashiell to take me to the hospital.
He pushed me away: "I'm in a work meeting, I don't have time to watch you act!"
But in his computer video, it was clearly his white moonlight's face.
I was in so much pain that I couldn't speak, and I begged him desperately. During the struggle, the ice sculpture on the table suddenly shattered to the ground.
After a silence, Dashiell grabbed my hair and threw me into the fish pond full of ice.
"Didn't you say you were going to give birth? Give birth here!"
"If the ice sculpture is broken, you and the child will pay together!"
I lost consciousness in the freezing cold water, and the blood dyed the pond crimson. When I was covered with frost and was about to become an ice sculpture, Dashiell finally fished me out with a fishing net.
He kicked me in the face: "When we got married, I told you that I don't like jealous women!"
Later I learned that the broken ice sculpture was a gift from his white moonlight.
I and the baby in my belly were his frozen toys to vent his anger.

My Husband Froze Me and Our Child into Works of Art

The floor was littered with chickens, ducks, and fish - all live animals still covered in feathers and scales. Frustration and anguish welled up inside me as I pulled out my phone, scrolling anxiously through my contacts. My parents' messages remained pinned at the top, frozen in time since that winter day. In that moment, I realized I had no one to confide in.


One by one, the cooked dishes were brought to the table. Each time Dashiell came in, he'd either squeeze my hand or give me an enthusiastic hug.


Yet he never failed to tightly shut the kitchen door behind him when he left.


I screwed the lid on the thermos and tucked it away in the cupboard, then leaned silently against the door. My body was weak from exhaustion and the long hours of work; I was barely clinging to consciousness.


Suddenly, the door burst open. I lost my balance and stumbled into the room.


The man who had opened the door struggled to contain his laughter, pressing his palms together in apology:


"Sorry, ma'am, I just wanted to get another bowl of rice."


"Dashiell, I had no idea the housekeeper you hired could waltz!"


As soon as the words were spoken, the room erupted in laughter. Dashiell sat in the center, not sparing me a single glance, instead enthusiastically recounting memories with Iris.


I didn't cry or make a scene. Nor did I lack the sense to ask Dashiell to explain our relationship.She merely cast a fleeting glance at Dashiell, then silently turned away, opened the door, and walked out.


At that moment, the tipsy Dashiell instinctively looked up at me, his heart inexplicably tightening.


But in the next second, he shook his head and downed his drink in one go.


Everyone would betray him and leave him, but he was certain that I wouldn't.


Dashiell casually flipped through his phone, trying to quell the uneasiness in his heart, then picked up his thermos and walked out the door.


I had nowhere to go, and my body was far too weak, so I could only crawl into the basement garage.


It was filled with Dashiell's luxury cars, but as his wife, I don't think I'd ever sat in the passenger seat of any of them.


In front of others, he was always so careful, saying:


"Olyvia, I'm a public figure, I have to be mindful of my image. Try to understand, okay?"


Looking back now, he just didn't want Iris to know of my existence, didn't want to fall behind in his pure love's heart.


Leaning back against the seat, I carelessly turned on the stereo.


"Iris, I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?"


"I'm going abroad.Without any music playing, the conversation between Dashiell and Iris echoed instead, while the display screen looped through a carefully curated photo montage of Iris.


I didn't want to dwell on it anymore, so I gently turned off the switch. Because, honestly, I was a bit tired.


When I hazily woke up, Dashiell's face suddenly came into view. My arms, which were wrapped around his neck, instantly stiffened. I struggled to get down, but he held me even tighter.


Dashiell's breath tickled my face, his eyelashes distinctly visible one by one.


He carefully set me down on the couch, placed the cake from the table into my hands, and tenderly pinched my cheek:


"How'd you end up falling asleep in the car? Took me a while to find you."


"The new play premiered this afternoon. I brought back this cake especially for you to try. See if you like it."


"Thanks. It's nice that you thought of me, even when you're so busy."


Nice that you remembered to bring back a cake that fell on the ground and was covered in dust to pacify me.


But I didn't know how to voice that last part. I silently gazed at the man I had loved for eight years, with his chiseled features and deep-set eyes. I had imagined our child's appearance no less than a hundred times before.


Chapter 3