I Signed With The Wrong Husband Chapter 03
It was the ceramic doll my mother had made for me before she passed away—the only one of its kind in the whole world.
I walked slowly toward Miranda, my voice shaking. “That was the last thing my mother ever gave me.”
She trembled, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Hattie. My ankle—I couldn’t walk properly, and I stumbled into it by accident. Just tell me how much it’s worth. I’ll pay you back.”
She was lying. I had placed the doll deep inside the cabinet. How could she have “stumbled into it” there?
The thought pushed me over the edge, and I slapped her hard across the face.
“Pay me back? How? By bringing my mother back to life?”
Sylvester yanked me away with such force that I slammed against the wall.
“It was just an object. Stop being so melodramatic! Henrietta, since when did you become so unreasonable?”
He shot me a look full of disappointment, then dragged me into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Ice-cold water drenched me from head to toe.
“You’re drunk. Sober up—and learn what you can and cannot do.”
The water was bone-chilling. I shrank back, but he ruthlessly kept the high-pressure stream aimed straight at me.
Only when I was completely drenched, my lips turning purple, did he finally shut it off. “Stop acting spoiled,” he spat coldly. “I will never accept a willful shrew as my wife.”
The door slammed shut, the deafening sound shattering the last of my illusions.
Outside the window, the world was swallowed by swirling snow. Suddenly, the memory of Sylvester teaching me to shoot for the very first time washed over me.
I had been furious then, too—unable to steady the gun, missing every target.
He had stood behind me, his calloused hands covering mine, guiding me with infinite patience.
“Be patient. Lower the muzzle just a bit. Follow my breathing.”
I had stared at his serious profile and asked, “Everyone says I’m spoiled. Will you grow tired of me one day?”
He had looked down, the sunlight from the shooting range glinting in his eyes, his voice firm yet gentle. “Maybe others find you willful. But I’m the exception. That way, you’ll have no one else to cling to but me—for a lifetime.”
Now, standing there with water still dripping from my body, I almost laughed.
“Sylvester,” I whispered, “is this what you call a lifetime? How short it turned out to be.”
