The Scar He Hated
My parents saw their chance. They handed me over to the man they’d chosen, Ethan Thorne.
But Ethan despised me.
His heart belonged to someone else—the one that got away. Marrying me was just an obligation, a concession to his family’s pressure.
I thought a child might bridge the chasm between us, but after our son was born, Ethan started bringing her home. And Aidan, my son, who used to cling to my leg, slowly turned against me. He learned that insulting me was the quickest way to win his father’s approval, and hers.
They looked just like a family. A perfect, happy family of three.
Then, over something trivial, Aidan shoved me down the stairs. I hit my head. And in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, I woke up.
I remembered everything.
1
The flood of information was overwhelming, a decade of a life I didn’t choose crashing down on me all at once. My mother was sobbing beside the bed, a frantic, grating sound that made my head throb.
A vein pulsed violently at my temple.
“Stop crying.”
Her tears choked off instantly.
I frowned, the skin between my brows tight. “How is what you did any different from human trafficking?”
“I’m sorry, Clara,” she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “Your father and I… we just wanted to see you settled. To have a family.”
My gaze dropped to the burn on the back of my hand, the skin still puckered and angry. I’d gotten it a few days ago, making soup for my husband and son.
Neither of them took a single bite. Aidan dumped the entire pot down the toilet, claiming the sight of it made him sick.
Seeing my silence, my mother reached for my hand. “Clara, look, you have a child now. He’s a wonderful boy. Can’t you just… try to make a life with Ethan? For Aidan’s sake?”
I pulled my hand from her grasp. “I’ll think about it.”
My mind was a chaotic storm. I never wanted to get married. I certainly never felt equipped to raise a child. But the facts were unavoidable. The damage was done.
It felt like I’d woken up from a long sleep to find my world had ended.
Just then, the door swung open and Ethan walked in. His eyes flickered to the white gauze wrapped around my head before his face settled into its usual cold mask. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone flat.
“I’m fine.”
His voice deepened, already shifting into a defensive posture. “Aidan didn’t mean to push you,” he said. “You can’t put all the blame on him.” He turned toward the door. “Aidan. Come in here and apologize to your mother.”
A bitter, ironic laugh caught in my throat.
Aidan.
For Ava.
The son I had given birth to was just another piece of their twisted fantasy.
Aidan shuffled in, his face set in a sullen pout. He stood by my bed, silent, refusing to speak.
My mother gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, sweetie. Apologize to Mommy.”
He mumbled it, the words barely audible and dripping with resentment. “Sorry.”
“Okay.”
Aidan’s eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting the usual routine: me rushing to comfort him, absolving him of all blame, probably even apologizing for being in his way.
My mother quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Well, that’s that! All settled. We’ll just let bygones be bygones.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll drive you all home.”
2
Back in the house that had never felt like mine, Ethan grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door. “You should get started on dinner. Aidan hasn’t eaten yet.”
“I’m heading back to the office,” he added, shrugging on his coat. “Don’t wait up.” He was out the door before I could respond.
I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and expensive cookware, and felt a strange, detached sense of familiarity. The woman I was before the accident couldn’t cook to save her life. This woman, this ten-year stranger, could apparently prepare a gourmet meal.
The hands that had once played piano and held a paintbrush were now covered in calluses, rough as sandpaper.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you cooking? I’m hungry.”
Aidan stood behind me, his small face dark with impatience.
I pressed my lips together and turned to the sink, my movements stiff as I started washing vegetables. He watched me for a moment longer, then, satisfied, left the kitchen.
When the food was ready, I set the steaming plates on the dining room table.
Aidan took one bite and slammed his fork down. “This is disgusting,” he spat. “Can’t you do anything right? You’ve been cooking for ten years and you’re still terrible at it.”
I sat down and calmly tasted each dish. They weren’t terrible. In fact, they were good—as good as anything our family chef used to make.
Aidan muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Useless. Can’t even cook.” He sighed dramatically. “Not like Aunt Ava. She can paint, and she knows how to race cars. She can do anything.”
He looked me right in the eye. “I don’t know why Dad ever married you. You’re nothing compared to her.”
His words, sharp and practiced, hung in the air. Expressionless, I reached over and took his plate away.
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”
His jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you trying to starve me?”
A muscle tightened in my cheek. “You’re the one who said it was disgusting.”
“So make me something else!” he demanded, his face flushing with anger.
“I’m not your maid.” I turned my attention back to my own plate and continued eating.
With a furious scream, Aidan kicked the leg of the table, jumped down from his chair, and stormed off to his room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
3
“Why didn’t you feed our son?”
Ethan was home, his face a thunderous mask as he confronted me in the living room.
“Aidan didn’t mean to push you, Clara. Do you really need to be this petty with a seven-year-old?”
I glanced past Ethan’s shoulder. Aidan’s bedroom door was cracked open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. I could feel him watching, listening. When my eyes met the crack, the door silently closed.
“He said my cooking was disgusting,” I said, my voice even. I met Ethan’s gaze directly, without the fear and deference he was used to.
He yanked at his tie, his voice rising. “So you make him something else! He’s a child, for God’s sake. You can’t just let him go hungry.”
A softer figure appeared behind him. Ava. She slid her arm through Ethan’s, her touch instantly calming him. “Ethan, darling, don’t shout,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “You’ll frighten Clara.”
She looked at me, a picture of gentle concern. “We can talk about this calmly.”
Ethan’s posture relaxed. He took her hand, his expression softening. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just got worked up.” He looked at Ava, his eyes full of a tenderness I had never seen. “Did I scare you?”
She shook her head, her smile serene. “Just don’t get so angry. It’s not good for you.”
I was used to this. Used to Ava being a permanent fixture in our home. After Aidan was born, she was here constantly. She spent every Christmas with us. Every New Year’s Eve, the three of them would go outside to light fireworks, a perfect family portrait against the night sky, while I was inside, cleaning up the dinner party they’d left behind.
I had swallowed my pride and endured this humiliation for a decade.
And in that moment, something inside me finally snapped.
I had lived ten years of this pathetic, suffocating lie, all because of a memory I’d lost. Now that it was back, why should I live this way for one more second?
“I want a divorce.”
“What did you say?” Ethan’s voice was sharp with disbelief.
“A divorce.”
He stared at me for a beat, then let out a short, incredulous laugh, as if I’d told the most absurd joke in the world. “Your family was the one who forced this marriage on me, and now you want a divorce?”
“Clara, don’t be impulsive,” Ava said, her eyes welling with manufactured tears. She let go of Ethan’s arm and stepped toward me. “Is it because of me and Ethan? Did you misunderstand something?”
She looked heartbroken. “I’ll keep my distance from now on, I promise. Please, don’t do this. Don’t let Aidan grow up without a mother.”
The performance was so flawless it made my stomach turn. I had fallen for it before. The old, amnesiac Clara would have believed her, only for Ava to run to Ethan later, twisting my words and making me seem like the villain. It was a game they played, a game that had steadily poisoned my husband and son against me.
“My lawyer will be in touch with you to discuss the details.”
I didn’t waste another word. I walked past them and started packing a suitcase.
“Stop playing these games, Clara,” Ethan snarled from behind me, his voice laced with contempt. “Your pathetic little schemes don’t work on me.”
He stormed out. Ava shot me a triumphant, pitying look before hurrying after him.
“Ethan!”
4
Aidan stood in my doorway, beaming. “Are you really leaving?”
I didn’t answer him.
He clapped his hands together, practically dancing with excitement. “Great! After you’re gone, Aunt Ava can be my new mom!”
My hands paused for a fraction of a second over the suitcase before moving even faster. I had to get out of this house. The stupidity of the child, the insanity of the man—it was suffocating.
Aidan kicked the side of my suitcase. “Hurry up. Pack your stuff and get out.” He narrowed his eyes, mimicking his father’s disdainful expression. “You’re dragging this out on purpose, aren’t you? Trying to think of some new trick.”
He scoffed. “Dad was right. You’re a nasty woman, full of bad ideas.”
A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. For years, I had treated this boy like he was the center of my universe. And now he was telling me to get out, calling me a nasty woman.
You could raise a dog for seven years, and it would at least wag its tail when it saw you. I had raised a son for seven years, and he wanted someone else to be his mother.
Ethan’s genes were truly something else.
I zipped the suitcase shut and walked past him without a word.
As I reached the front door, he called out, his voice giddy with victory. “Don’t bother coming back! Nobody wants you here. Aunt Ava is my real mom. She’s the lady of this house now.”
5
After leaving the Thorne residence, I went to my own villa—a place Ethan knew nothing about.
A text from him came through: Where did you go?
Without hesitating, I deleted and blocked his number, along with all his social media profiles. He didn’t know about the properties in my name; I wasn’t worried about him finding me.
But you should never tempt fate. It has a way of slapping you in the face.
The next day, Ethan was standing on my doorstep, his face dark as a storm cloud.
Without a doubt, my parents had sold me out. Again.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, holding the door open just a crack.
He reached for my arm. “Come home.”
I recoiled, pulling back before he could touch me. “I wasn’t joking about the divorce.”
He frowned, his expression a mask of genuine confusion. “You want to end our marriage just because Aidan accidentally pushed you down the stairs? He apologized, Clara. What more do you want?” He sounded exasperated. “Is it really worth throwing everything away over one little incident?”
I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that threatened to boil over. “Mr. Thorne, a divorce is the best option for both of us. You’ll be free to pursue your great love and be with the person you actually want. And I can finally live the life I want.”
He laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “The life you want? Isn’t that with me? A happy family of three? Isn’t that why your mother called me, pressuring me to come get you?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low snarl. “Stop the act, Clara. I know your games.”
I had told my mother last night I was leaving him. I should have known she wouldn't listen.
His anger washed over me, but I remained perfectly still, my face a blank canvas. “That was their dream, Ethan. Not mine.” My voice was calm, clear. “And I will make it clear to them that they are to stay out of our business from now on.”
His brow furrowed, skepticism etched into every line on his face.
“I never wanted to get married,” I explained. “My parents took advantage of my amnesia after the accident. They lied to me. Now, my memory is back. And I want my own life back.” I paused, looking him directly in the eye. “I am sorry that you were forced to marry me. I truly am. But for the last ten years… you owe me an apology, too.”
Ethan froze. His pupils dilated, his face a kaleidoscope of shock and disbelief.
“Pick a day,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s go sign the papers.”
6
After Ethan left, I drove straight to my parents’ house to settle the score.
I found them in the living room, sipping tea and watching television, looking startled by my sudden arrival. I dropped onto the sofa without a word.
Mrs. Chen, our longtime housekeeper and a master at reading the room, immediately appeared with a glass of my favorite mango juice, a silent offering of peace.
“Mrs. Chen, could you give us a minute? I need to speak with my parents alone.”
She glanced nervously at the couple, who were practically begging her with their eyes to stay. Then she looked at my face, which was as black as thunder. She wisely chose to obey me, disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Clara,” my father began, his voice trembling slightly. “What a nice surprise. What brings you home today?”
“Have you decided to formally adopt Ethan as your son?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Planning on handing the company over to him?”
They both waved their hands frantically. “No, no, of course not!” my mother insisted. “We’ve doted on you since you were a little girl. Why would we ever do that?”
My eyes narrowed. “Then why did you lie to me? Why did you make me marry him?”
“We just wanted to see you settled,” my mother stammered. “Happy.”
“Happy?” I repeated. “Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past ten years?”
She looked genuinely surprised. “But your mother-in-law always said you two were so happy together. And you seemed to like Ethan so much.” She wrung her hands. “He was always so good to you, so respectful to us. He did whatever I asked.”
I held out my hand, showing them the angry red burn. “This is what your ‘good son-in-law’ looks like.”
I lowered my hand. “A person with no memory who is forced into a marriage doesn’t fall in love. She becomes dependent on her husband because she has no one else. That isn’t love.” I stood up, my voice hard as steel. “Instead of trying to stop me from getting a divorce, why don’t you do some research into what he’s actually been doing for the last decade.”
“I am divorcing him. And I don’t want the child.” My voice didn’t waver. “I will not raise a child who has already betrayed me.”
First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "254595" to read the entire book.
MotoNovel
Novellia
Bookworm« Previous Post
She Thought I Was His Ex
Next Post »
His Five-Year Regret