“I’m not asking you to stay,” I said immediately, my voice thick with pain.
“If you want to leave — take our child and go. I’ll make sure no one ever touches you again. Money. Passports. A newidentity. Whatever you need. I’ll sign the divorce papers right now if that’s what you want. I’ll let you walk away.”
I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“But if you’ll let me...”
My voice dropped, soft and broken. “I want the chance to earn the right to stand beside you. Not as the man who once owned you. Not as the man who broke you. But as the man who finally sees you. Who sees your pain. Who sees how much better you are than me.”
The space between us felt painfully thin.
Fragile.
Like it could shatter with one wrong word.
I lowered my head again, forehead nearly touching the floor.
“I know I don’t deserve that chance. I know I’ve lost every right to ask for it. But I’m still begging, Elena. If there’s even the smallest part of you that believes I could become someone worthy... let me prove it. If not, I’ll keep my promise. I’ll set you free. Just tell me what you want, and it’s yours. Even if it destroys me.”
“Then arrange the divorce papers,” she said, her voice cold and exhausted.
“Arrange a new identity for me. You should have to live the rest of your life knowing you will never get back the woman you treated worse than a slave.”
The words carved into me like broken glass.
“I... I will,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.
My voice was hoarse, defeated.
She held my gaze for a long, heavy moment, her eyes filled with a weariness that crushed me.
“Now take me to our son,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just slightly. “I need to see him. I need to know he’s still breathing.”
“Okay,” I answered, the pain in my chest making it hard to speak. “Come with me.”
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she slowly slid down the wall, her back scraping against the concrete until she collapsed onto the filthy floor.
She drew her knees tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around herself, shaking as if the cold from that room had never left her bones.
She looked so small.
So utterly broken.
“You almost killed me...” she whispered, the words barely audible.
“I’ll never forget that for as long as I live.”
The statement shattered what remained of me.
Every cruel word I’d ever spoken to her, every time I’d locked her away, every moment I failed to believe her — it all came rushing back at once, choking me with agony.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Just a broken sound.
She sobbed once—two short, jagged sounds—then swallowed hard and wiped her face with the back of her hand. When she spoke again her voice was almost gone.
