“Warren Douglas, you and your whole family are worse than animals!”
Christine Douglas had been lying in the ICU for seven days before she finally saw her husband Warren’s true colors for what they were.
Her face was half‑covered by the oxygen mask, and she stared at Warren and his mother standing by the bed, her teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached.
Autumn Morrison dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, pretending to be heartbroken as she said, “Since things have come to this, I’ll just spell it out so you won’t die confused. Maybe in your next life you’ll land in a better family. Our Douglas family has already treated you more than fairly.”
“You really think too much. Which husband doesn’t smack his wife around sometimes? Everybody just gets through it the same way.”
“A woman’s life is just like that, you know.”
“Just because he slapped you twice, you wanna divorce? You’re not embarrassed saying that out loud?”
“Warren never said he’d throw you out. Even though you couldn’t give him a son, he never complained. Yes, we took those gold bars from your family, but we never shorted you on anything.”
Hearing this, tears slipped down Christine’s temples, soaking into the pillow.
Her whole life had been one long, suffocating humiliation.
She used to have a decent home. Her father was educated, her mother came from a good family, and she had two older brothers—one working construction, the other in college.
Then someone got jealous, filed a false report, and her parents and brothers were all sent to that freezing wasteland in Beidahuang.
The moment her parents got wind of it, they hurried to marry her off.
No bride price, no wedding banquet. With their political status so bad, she didn’t even dare pack extra clothes. She just moved straight into the Douglas family and became Warren’s wife.
After that, Christine never saw her family again. One by one, they all died in that remote place.
Her husband Warren was a soldier, from three generations of poor farmers with spotless records. He himself was doing well in the army.
Outside, he was the perfect man—the good husband, the good father, always playing the role beautifully.
Everyone said Christine had luck on her side. Her parents didn’t drag her down, and she’d married a man with a steady job, hardworking, patient, never losing his temper.
So all the bitterness in her heart, she could only swallow on her own.
Most days, Warren really looked the part. After work, he never wandered. Any free time he had, he spent with their kid. Every so often he cooked or did chores, talked to everyone politely, and no matter what happened, he never raised his voice at her.
Only Christine Douglas knew the truth: Warren Douglas never touched a drop of alcohol on normal days, but once he got drunk, he would *definitely* lay hands on her.
Sometimes he had just stepped through the door when he’d kick her straight to the floor, then grind his shoe down on her like she was dirt.
Warren had been in the army and knew exactly how to control his strength. Every time he beat her, she’d curl up on the ground in agony, rolling and gasping, yet he never left a single obvious bruise.
And he was vicious about it too, always aiming for those shameful spots no one dared talk about, kicking her between the legs again and again until she screamed like her soul was tearing apart.
The next morning, once he sobered up, he’d look hollowed out, like his spirit had wandered off. Ask him what he did the night before, and he’d shake his head, mumbling that he couldn’t remember a thing.
She went to the neighborhood committee, then to the women’s federation, begging for help, but no one believed a word.
Warren had a spotless reputation outside, everyone thought he was a great guy—and she didn’t even have a bruise to show.
He kept apologizing, insisting he truly didn’t remember hitting her. He’d even sound wronged, saying, “Where are you hurt? How could it be me?”
Christine once thought about recording evidence secretly, but Warren always clamped his mouth shut when he beat her, not even a grunt leaking out. The recording ended up full of only her cries.
She played it for others, and all she got were nasty comments, saying she was making things up for attention.
The places he hurt her the worst were exactly the places she couldn’t show. Even if she burst into tears and stripped in front of everyone to prove it, people would just call her shameless.
She said she wanted a divorce, but neighbors insisted she didn’t know how lucky she was—leaving such a good-looking husband and her kid, how could she possibly survive?
Plenty of people gossiped behind her back, saying she was crazy, fabricating abuse to get pity, ruining a perfectly decent life for no reason.
Her mother-in-law, Autumn Morrison, nagged her endlessly. She’d say that when Christine married in, she only had a ragged old dress, and if the Douglas family hadn’t taken her in, she would’ve died outside with the other displaced folks. If she wanted a divorce, fine—but she wasn’t taking anything with her.
Christine never imagined that when her parents passed, they had actually given the Douglas family thirty whole gold bars just to secure her marriage.
And Warren had kept it quiet for all these years—not a single word.
They stole her money, and still wanted to wring her dry.
“Why? Why would you do this to me?” She trembled all over, wishing she could bite a chunk out of the mother and son standing before her.
“If you want someone to blame, blame your stupid good luck.”
Warren let out a cold laugh. “Why do *you* get to live comfortably as my wife every day, while Penelope Anderson had to die in that freezing river? Every time I see you living well, I feel sick inside.”
Christine’s whole body jolted. “Penelope…!”
Back then, Warren Douglas had a sweetheart in the village, a girl named Penelope Anderson.
But the Douglas family had been poor for three generations. They were so broke the walls practically echoed.
Yeah, Warren got a tiny allowance from the army, but both his parents were constantly sick, he had a younger brother waiting to build a house and get married, and a sister still in school. Everywhere you turned, they needed money.
Penelope’s family was poor too, but the bride price they asked for was sky‑high, so the marriage never happened.
And right at that time, Christine ran into Warren.
That year, she fell into a ditch while riding her bike, and it was Warren who pulled her out and rushed her to the hospital.
So Christine naturally thought he was a good guy.
She’d been in her prime then—fair skin, bright eyes, stunning in a way that stuck in your mind. You could search all of Ningcheng and still not find a girl prettier than her.
It was Warren who first set his sights on her.
And right then, the Morgan family was in trouble. Christine’s parents thought Warren seemed dependable, so in a hurry, they married their daughter to him and even handed over thirty gold bars as her dowry.
They asked for nothing else—just that he treat their daughter well. Warren even swore to the heavens he absolutely would.
Two years later, Christine finally heard that right around the time they got married, Penelope had thrown herself into the river.
Turned out Penelope had been carrying his child, her belly getting bigger by the day, and when she had nowhere else to go, she chose death.
“Penelope died miserably. You don’t deserve to live easy every single day!” Warren snarled, his face twisted, every word dripping with disgust.
Every time he thought about the girl who’d loved him to her last breath, leaving the world with their child, while Christine just lived her life cluelessly—eating well, sleeping well, days comfortable as ever—his heart felt like it was being set on fire.
He’d never thought about divorcing her, since life still had to go on. But every year, there’d be a few times when he’d get drunk and finally let that burning anger loose.
After enough beatings, it just became routine.
Sometimes, he even wished Christine would simply die sooner.
As Christine listened, a cold numbness spread through her limbs.
How had her life… turned out this tragic?