From Bruised to Ruthless, A Wife’s Revenge Guide - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Two weeks in the hospital, and I got discharged early because my husband refused to pay for extended care.
The moment I stepped back into the neighborhood, a pack of nosy old ladies spotted me. They swarmed around like vultures pretending to be concerned.
"Couples shouldn't go to bed angry, dear. Men have it tough out there making money..."
"That's right. What woman in our generation hasn't taken a few hits from her husband? We've all endured it for decades. For little Chloe's sake, just bear with it."
They clucked their tongues, offering their "wisdom" like it was some sacred truth—as if every woman was destined to be a punching bag.
I didn't snap. Instead, I smiled sweetly and nodded. "You're absolutely right. My husband is my world. I should stand by him no matter what."
I held up a grocery bag. "See? I even picked up some pork ribs on the way home—his favorite. Gotta get cooking before he's back from work."
Their wrinkled faces twisted in confusion, like they were wondering if the beatings had finally knocked the sense out of me.
I walked slowly toward the apartment, clutching my left side. The ribs weren't fully healed, and every step sent sharp jolts of pain through me.
Behind me, their whispers slithered through the air:
"Looks like Ava's finally learned her place."
"Told you—a few good smacks is all it takes to straighten a woman out."
The sun blazed overhead, but inside, I felt nothing but ice.
I grew up in a home where my brother was the golden child. I used to think it was just my mother's preference—after two daughters, she finally got her precious son.
But now I knew better. The whole damn world was rigged in favor of men. Even women had been brainwashed into believing they were worth less.
As I dragged myself upstairs, my mother-in-law took one look at me and smacked me across the face.
"Useless cow! Listen here—you're not divorcing my son until you pop out at least one boy!"
She jabbed a bony finger in my face. "That $20,000 bride price wasn't charity! We bought you. So what if my son takes his anger out on you? It's not like he's killing you!"
Her shrill voice filled the apartment. My daughter huddled on the couch, trembling, wanting to run to me but too scared to move.
When the old witch finally ran out of steam, I forced a smile. "You're right. I'll do better. I'll give the Wang family a healthy son soon."
She glared, then turned her venom on my daughter. "Worthless money-sucker," she spat before stomping off.
"Mom, rest now. I'll cook the ribs for when my husband gets home."
I slipped into the kitchen without another word. No more arguments about how that $20,000 was actually my own savings—seven years of backbreaking work.
What was the point? In their eyes, every cent I had became theirs the moment I married in.
I'd dropped out at fifteen—my parents didn't want to "waste" education on a girl. They shipped me off to a factory instead.
For two years, I sent most of my paycheck home. Then I met other girls like me—daughters treated like ATMs for their brothers. Slowly, we woke up. I started keeping more of my money.
I'd always had a knack for painting. Even without school, I scraped together cash for art classes at night. Eventually, I took on freelance gigs while still working days, saving every penny.
I met my husband at a coworker's wedding. That day, I was doubled over from cramps. He noticed—brought me hot water with this gentle smile.
No one had ever cared like that before.
After that, we kept "accidentally" running into each other. When he pursued me, he treated me like I was something rare and precious.
For the first time in my life, someone made me feel loved. I fell hard.
We were inseparable. I really believed I'd found my fairy tale.
Then came the marriage talks. My parents demanded $20,000. His family had just bought a house—no cash left.
I couldn't wait. So I handed him my life savings—$20,000 of my own money—to pay my way into his family.
I literally bought my own wedding.
When my parents found out I'd been hiding money, they called me a traitor. And later, when the beatings started, they just laughed and said I'd gotten what I deserved.
The moment I stepped back into the neighborhood, a pack of nosy old ladies spotted me. They swarmed around like vultures pretending to be concerned.
"Couples shouldn't go to bed angry, dear. Men have it tough out there making money..."
"That's right. What woman in our generation hasn't taken a few hits from her husband? We've all endured it for decades. For little Chloe's sake, just bear with it."
They clucked their tongues, offering their "wisdom" like it was some sacred truth—as if every woman was destined to be a punching bag.
I didn't snap. Instead, I smiled sweetly and nodded. "You're absolutely right. My husband is my world. I should stand by him no matter what."
I held up a grocery bag. "See? I even picked up some pork ribs on the way home—his favorite. Gotta get cooking before he's back from work."
Their wrinkled faces twisted in confusion, like they were wondering if the beatings had finally knocked the sense out of me.
I walked slowly toward the apartment, clutching my left side. The ribs weren't fully healed, and every step sent sharp jolts of pain through me.
Behind me, their whispers slithered through the air:
"Looks like Ava's finally learned her place."
"Told you—a few good smacks is all it takes to straighten a woman out."
The sun blazed overhead, but inside, I felt nothing but ice.
I grew up in a home where my brother was the golden child. I used to think it was just my mother's preference—after two daughters, she finally got her precious son.
But now I knew better. The whole damn world was rigged in favor of men. Even women had been brainwashed into believing they were worth less.
As I dragged myself upstairs, my mother-in-law took one look at me and smacked me across the face.
"Useless cow! Listen here—you're not divorcing my son until you pop out at least one boy!"
She jabbed a bony finger in my face. "That $20,000 bride price wasn't charity! We bought you. So what if my son takes his anger out on you? It's not like he's killing you!"
Her shrill voice filled the apartment. My daughter huddled on the couch, trembling, wanting to run to me but too scared to move.
When the old witch finally ran out of steam, I forced a smile. "You're right. I'll do better. I'll give the Wang family a healthy son soon."
She glared, then turned her venom on my daughter. "Worthless money-sucker," she spat before stomping off.
"Mom, rest now. I'll cook the ribs for when my husband gets home."
I slipped into the kitchen without another word. No more arguments about how that $20,000 was actually my own savings—seven years of backbreaking work.
What was the point? In their eyes, every cent I had became theirs the moment I married in.
I'd dropped out at fifteen—my parents didn't want to "waste" education on a girl. They shipped me off to a factory instead.
For two years, I sent most of my paycheck home. Then I met other girls like me—daughters treated like ATMs for their brothers. Slowly, we woke up. I started keeping more of my money.
I'd always had a knack for painting. Even without school, I scraped together cash for art classes at night. Eventually, I took on freelance gigs while still working days, saving every penny.
I met my husband at a coworker's wedding. That day, I was doubled over from cramps. He noticed—brought me hot water with this gentle smile.
No one had ever cared like that before.
After that, we kept "accidentally" running into each other. When he pursued me, he treated me like I was something rare and precious.
For the first time in my life, someone made me feel loved. I fell hard.
We were inseparable. I really believed I'd found my fairy tale.
Then came the marriage talks. My parents demanded $20,000. His family had just bought a house—no cash left.
I couldn't wait. So I handed him my life savings—$20,000 of my own money—to pay my way into his family.
I literally bought my own wedding.
When my parents found out I'd been hiding money, they called me a traitor. And later, when the beatings started, they just laughed and said I'd gotten what I deserved.
End of From Bruised to Ruthless, A Wife’s Revenge Guide Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to From Bruised to Ruthless, A Wife’s Revenge Guide book page.