She Shines

I've been married to Leo Lincoln for five years. In those five years, I was pregnant five times, but the first four never lasted. The doctor said Leo has oligospermia, so getting pregnant was always going to be difficult. But each time I miscarried, my mother-in-law, Linda Clark, looked at me as if I were a worthless failure. "Ruby, can you even do this?" She always had that phrase ready, her tone dripping with contempt that cut like needles. When I found out I was pregnant for the fifth time, I felt no joy—only deep exhaustion and numbness. I didn't even dare to hope this child would be born safely. Leo Lincoln was indifferent to my pregnancy; he came home later and later, and the scent of his cologne felt increasingly unfamiliar. It wasn't that I didn't have my doubts—I just didn't dare to ask, afraid that breaking the surface would shatter even this fake shell of a marriage. Until that night, Leo Lincoln came home with a woman. The woman wore a red dress, her makeup was striking, and she looked at me with a challenging glare: "My name is Quincy Scott. From now on, I'm living here." Leo stood beside her, expressionless, and ordered me, "You're moving to the guest room." "This is my master bedroom." I clenched my fists, my voice shaking. "Not anymore." Leo's tone was ice-cold, not a trace of warmth. Quincy walked up to the bedroom door and deliberately bumped against me. "Be smart. Don't put Leo in a tough spot." I looked at Leo Lincoln, hoping he'd say something fair, but he just waved me off impatiently, "Just pack up and move, no more nonsense." That night, I was pushed into the tiny guest room. Laughter and joy spilling from the master bedroom felt like knives stabbing straight through my heart. Early the next morning, I found the living room in a mess—our wedding photos tossed on the floor, Leo Lincoln holding a lighter, ready to burn them. "Stop!" I lunged forward to grab it, but Leo Lincoln shoved me away. I staggered and fell to the floor, a sharp pain shooting through my belly, but he didn't even look at me. Flames shot up, devouring the smiles in the photo. Quincy Scott stood nearby, wearing a smug grin. Mother-in-law Linda Clark came out of the room, saw what was happening but said nothing. She just walked over to Quincy and handed her a glass of water. "Tired? Take a break." I lay on the floor, watching their mother-daughter act, my heart turning cold. In this house, I've always been an outsider. All they ever care about is whether I can give the Lincoln family a son. My days are strictly controlled—I can't leave whenever I want, can't talk to friends, never get near the family bank card, and even buying something means reporting to Linda Clark. "You eat our food, live in our house, and still have the nerve to waste money?" Whenever I suggest going out to work, she shuts me down, saying, "A woman's place is at home, having children." Leo Lincoln and Quincy Scott always team up to put me down. They treat me like a baby-making machine, like the house's unpaid maid. I do the laundry, cook, and clean every day—yet not a single ‘thank you' comes my way. In the third month of my fifth pregnancy, I miscarried again. That morning, when I got up, I found blood all over beneath me. I clenched my pain and called emergency for myself. At the hospital, the doctor told me it would be very difficult for me to get pregnant again. Hearing that, I didn't cry. Instead, I felt a strange relief—I didn't want to keep sacrificing myself just to have a child. After being discharged and going home, I didn't tell Leo Lincoln or Linda Clark about the miscarriage. I pretended my belly was still there, kept playing the role of the 'perfect' wife and daughter-in-law, and quietly started planning to leave that home. I know, Leo Lincoln definitely won't divorce me easily. He's still counting on me to give him a son.