Dying? Perfect. Now Watch Me Expose Your 'Perfect' Life, Ex - Chapter 109: Chapter 109

In the dimly lit, familiar room, my husband, who loved me deeply, lay beside me.
He carefully applied pregnancy oil to my skin and coaxed me into drinking milk with a fertility booster.
I stared vacantly at the diamond ring on my finger, a dull pain echoed in my head, as if a memory had disappeared.
I didn’t remember getting married.
Elon claimed we’d been married for three years and were now trying for a baby.
Before this, I had lost two children.
All I wanted was a happy, complete family, and I believed every word Elon said.
After all, I had liked him since high school.
But now, Elon felt somewhat unfamiliar.
He seemed to love me more than ever, yet he refused my every request, even denying me the chance to step outside.
I sat on the balcony of the rented apartment every day, watching the outside world.
Simple things—like visiting the fish stall or grandpa—were off-limits.
He said that the last time I went out, I had an accident and lost the child.
Keeping me inside was my punishment for making a mistake. I could only nod and comply.
Each day, I stayed home, tying his tie in the morning and waiting by the door at night, hand on my belly.
We looked like a loving couple.
Sometimes, when I managed to cheer him up, he’d let me video call grandpa.
Those brief moments were my only connection to the outside world.
Neighbors often praised Elon for being caring and taking excellent care of his wife.
But I no longer felt the safety I once did with him.
I traced the diamond ring on his hand, feeling it wasn’t the one I remembered.
The woman who married Elon didn’t feel like me.
The day Elon left for a business trip, I tied his tie, watched him drive off, then immediately broke into his room.
It had been abandoned since our marriage—he’d insisted on sleeping beside me every night.
I rummaged through the messy items, and unexpectedly found a pile of medications.
Every bottle had been opened and used, and they were all for stopping pregnancies and inducing abortions.
My heart sank as I looked at my still-swollen belly and feet.
For the first time, fear took hold of me.
If I really loved Elon, why would I have aborted our child?
The door suddenly opened, and Elon, who had come home early, stood at the entrance. His smile had no warmth.
He lit a fire and threw all the medication into a metal bucket, burning it all.
His cold, pale hand touched my flat belly, and Elon sighed deeply.
"Emma, you’ve made a mistake again."
This was a trap Elon had set for me, waiting for me to make a mistake.
From today on, my range of movement was limited to the room, confined to the bed.