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.
Struggling to get out of bed, she tried to pour herself a glass of water.
After a long time without getting on her feet, her legs were weak and she stumbled and fell straight down, hitting her forehead on the coffee table.
It hurt so much that tears fell from her eyes on the spot.
Every day, it's like being in jail. No! It's much worse than jail. At least in jail she wouldn't be beaten up at will. And now, living in Otis' shadow, she had been completely reduced to his punching bag.
When he's in a good mood, he would never even pick up on her.
When things did not go well for him, 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 until he was satisfied.
She was treated like garbage that could be trampled on at will.
Yesterday afternoon, Otis came back with a stern face when she was drinking porridge. She had no idea what she had done to annoy him.
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