Married To My Ex-Husband’s Rival by Jobet GraySon

Chapter Seventy Four (Kayden’s Backstory) Kayden’s POV.

Twenty-two years ago...

| stood still as my father kept hittingover and over again. | knew he wasn’t going to be satisfied until | shed a tear and showed him that | was in pain, but since that wasn’t going to happen, | prepared to continue getting hit until he would eventually get tired and leavealone.

“You should never forget whose son you are, you bastard!” he yelled angrily before punchingin the face.

Since | didn’t expect the impact of the punch, | staggered backward, and when he realized that | was no longer steady, he did what he did best. He kickedon my knee, causingto fall flat, and that was when it started. Again.

The drunken kicking was a habit my father had whenever he was drunk, upset, or unsatisfied about something. This time, | was unfortunately the scapegoat of his rage, because he had gotten a call earlier from one of my teachers who had reportedfor failing class.

He started to kickeverywhere he could, and | simply lay there, knowing that there was nothing | could do to stop him. | closed my eyes at a point, trying not to see his feet cinto contact with my skull, but | could still feel it.

| continued to lie still as my father’s boots collided with my body over and over again. The pain seared through me, leavinghelpless and broken. Each blow felt like a physical manifestation of my father’s disappointment and anger. | tried to shield myself to protect my body, but it was futile. His rage was relentless.

| could hear his voice, filled with venom and contempt, echoing in the air. “You're useless, Kayden! | won't tolerate your incompetence! You're a disappointment!” His words cut deep, embedding themselves in my consciousness and fueling the self-doubt that had becmy constant companion.

As | remained on the ground, my body aching and trembling, my father’s onslaught only intensified. The merciless kicks kept coming, drivingfurther into a realm of despair and hopelessness. Each strike struck at my core, shattering whatever remnants of dignity or self-worth | managed to hold onto.

In that moment, | remembered my entire life-a life dominated by fear, pain, and inexplicable rage.

14 23 sat, 2 Mar DC.

34%2 (Kayden’s Backstory) 5 Stars The abuse had becmy nom, whispering lies that convinced| was inherently flawed and deserving of the torment that plagued my existence.

Lying there, battered and broken, a voice insidewhispered, “You deserve this. You're worthless.” It was a voice that had grown louder with each passing day, echoing my father’s cruelty. It was a voice | had cto believe in with every fiber of my being.

After he was finally satisfied, seeing that | was now bruised and battered, he finally stopped. He was done, and | was finally free-at least for now.

As my father’s footsteps faded away, a heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the painful moans escaping my lips. | struggled to catch my breath, my body aching as if every inch of my skin had been set ablaze. The familiar taste of blood lingered in my mouth, a bitter reminder of the blows | had endured.

Sighing in frustration, | pushed myself up from the cold, harsh floor, my muscles protesting with each movement.

The pain shot through my body like an electric shock, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to let it consme.

Bruises adornedlike a macabre badge of honor, a visual reminder of my father’s rage and my weakness.

Looking in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, I winced at the sight of my battered face. My swollen eyes were starting to turn purple, and the cuts across my cheek were beginning to scab over. It was a sight that painednot only physically but also emotionally-a constant reminder of how my life really was.

Drawing in a deep breath, | mentally prepared myself for the next day. My father’s words echoed in my mind: | was to prepare for a guest's arrival the next morning, and he expectedto hide the evidence of his brutality. | couldn't afford to let anyone see any of my bruises, or else he'd kill 1. me.

With cautious movements, | rummaged through my wardrobe, searching for clothes that would sufficiently conceal my injuries. Long-sleeved shirts and sweaters-those were my go-to outfits whenever he hitto the point where my bruises would take days, sometimes weeks, to heal. And | couldn't afford for anyone to see the truth or get a glimpse of my reality.

Carefully pulling the fabric over my fragile body, | winced at the throbbing ache that accompanied every movement. | took a moment to study my reflection, adjusting the collar to hide the fading bruises on my neck. | looked like an average teenager, just another face in a crowd.

Candy Crush Soda Saga Play Now Taking a deep breath, | reminded myself of the excuse | had prepared football. If anyone asked, | would claim that my face bore the marks of a rough gand that it was nothing serious.

After preparing for the next morning, | sank into my bed, feeling exhausted. As | closed my eyes, attempting to sleep through the pain, the creak of the door broke the stillness. My mother entered, a guilty look etched across her face, her eyes filled with anguish.

“Kayden,” she whispered. “Would you like spainkillers? Maybe it'll help you sleep.” 215 Candy Crush Soda Saga From the makers of the legendary Candy Crush Sa....

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