My abusive husband jumped off the balcony. Just thirty minutes ago, he was standing over me with a hammer, ready to smash my skull in. Now, he was lying in a broken heap three stories below. My mother-in-law shrieked that I was a curse, a plague on their family. If only her son had divorced me and married some rich heiress. But only I knew the truth. After my rebirth, I was bound to a system called "Empty Promises Come True." It punishes anyone who makes a promise they don’t intend to keep. 1 My mother-in-law, clutching a bundle of green onions, walked in just in time to see her son plummet from the balcony. "Oh, dear God, my son!" THUD. A sickening crack, followed by a spray of crimson. She collapsed to the floor, shaking like a leaf. Meanwhile, I was leaning against the balcony railing, sipping a cup of Earl Grey. It tasted a bit stale. An hour and a half ago, my short-tempered, abusive husband, Damian, had been threatening to cave my head in with a hammer. Now, he was a broken doll splayed on the concrete below. I owed it all to the "Empty Promises Come True" system I’d acquired upon my rebirth. Anyone who made me a false promise would be forced to live out its consequences. When my mother-in-law finally managed to lift her head, she saw me smiling and waving. She pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me and started screaming to the gathering crowd. "It was her! She pushed my son!" A moment later, the apartment door was kicked open. My mother-in-law, gasping for breath, her beady eyes burning with hatred, lunged for my throat. I sidestepped, and she stumbled, falling in a comical heap on the floor. "Are you alright, Mom?" I asked sweetly. "I know we haven't had steak in a while, but you don't have to be so dramatic." Clutching her back, she practically spat her words at me. "You vicious, evil woman! You pushed my son off the balcony! I'm calling the police!" I crouched down and showed her the photos on my phone—a gallery of my injuries, evidence from the county medical examiner. In the pictures, my eye was swollen shut, a grotesque shade of purple. One side of my face was a bloated, discolored mess from subcutaneous bleeding. "God is my witness, Damian jumped of his own accord," I said, my voice calm. "Besides, if the police see these photos, your son is the one who will be going to prison, don't you think?" I pointed to the security camera on the corner of the building. "It's all on tape." I remembered the last time Damian had beaten me. He’d knelt before me, begging for forgiveness, his voice thick with fake remorse. He’d sworn on his life it would never happen again. If he ever laid a hand on me again, he’d said, he would jump off the balcony. Well, he said it, not me. 2 My mother-in-law’s eyes were practically shooting sparks, but she was powerless. In the end, she scurried off to the hospital, defeated. Damian had landed a big contract today and had been celebrating. He was in a good mood when he got home. The trouble started when I discovered the private online group he’d created: "300 Ways to Tame Your Wife." In my past life, when he’d come home that day, I’d seen the exhaustion on his face and handed him a warm cup of herbal tea. "You must be exhausted, honey. Here, drink this." He’d snatched it, downed it in one gulp, and then looked me up and down with disdain. "My boss's secretary is a hell of a lot prettier than you. Look at you, all washed up." He took a shower, leaving his phone on the table. As I was setting dinner on the table, the screen lit up. A message from the group popped up, addressing him by name: Hey Damian, you gotta tell us more about how you beat your wife into submission. Share the wisdom, bro. The hand I was using to wipe sweat from my brow froze. I had a sick feeling I knew who they were talking about. I glanced toward the bedroom. Damian was fast asleep, snoring loudly. Quietly, I picked up his phone. What I saw made the blood drain from my face. In this group of over 500 men, there were dozens of pictures of me sleeping. Most of them had been taken right after he’d beaten me, while I was unconscious. There were even a few where my nightgown was hiked up to my thighs, my body exposed. 3 He was a mentor in this disgusting group, a guru of domestic abuse, sharing his "wisdom" with pride. Damian: Dudes, when you're picking a wife, find one with no family, who's ugly and weak-willed. Otherwise, it's nothing but trouble. SunnyBoy: I feel you, man. I slapped my old lady once, and her parents came and raised hell at my office for a month. Damian: Also, you gotta soothe them right after. Make a lot of empty promises. You don't want to scare them off, then you've got no one to play with. ;) Big_Z: Bro, I gotta thank you. Your method works like a charm. For the first time yesterday, I felt like a real man. Hahahaha. Damian: Don't worry, more tips to come. A well-trained wife makes for a happy life. (smirk/smirk) SunnyBoy: <3 <3 whistles The further I scrolled, the sicker I felt. The chat logs were filled with vile, degrading comments. I was being paraded like an object, judged and scrutinized by a pack of wolves. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto a chair, staring into space. I didn't even hear Damian come out of the bedroom. When he saw me with his phone, his face contorted with rage. He slapped me so hard my head snapped back. "Who the hell said you could look at my phone?!" It started with fists and feet. I was powerless, curled into a ball on the floor, begging him to stop. After ten minutes, he spat on me, loosened his tie, and walked to the utility closet. He came back with a rusty hammer. Tears of blood streamed down my face as I scrambled backward, pleading. "No more, please, no more…" He held up his phone, turned on the camera, and gave me a sinister smile. "You asked for this." CRACK. CRACK. I heard the sound of my own skull fracturing. Chunks of my scalp, matted with blood and hair, were flung against the wall with the swing of the hammer. 4 After that day, I was diagnosed with a grade-three disability. The blunt force trauma had caused irreversible intestinal damage. I had to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of my life. I also developed a severe, treatment-resistant psychological disorder. After the incident, not a single one of Damian’s family members came to visit me in the hospital. The only time I saw them was on the day of my discharge, when his sister and mother came to handle the paperwork, their faces etched with impatience. They walked in just as the nurse was changing my colostomy bag and immediately covered their noses. His sister, Wendy, gagged dramatically. "Mom, I'm not going in there. It's disgusting." My mother-in-law dragged her in anyway. Wendy kept her nose covered, her face a mask of disgust. "Honestly, what were you thinking, starting a fight with my son?" my mother-in-law snapped, dropping her purse heavily on the nightstand. "Now the whole neighborhood is gossiping. Have you no consideration for your husband's reputation?" The nurse couldn't hold back. "Ma'am, your daughter-in-law was nearly beaten to death. How can you say that?" Her face soured. "I'm the one who should be angry. I just asked the doctor. She can't even have children anymore." The nurse, intimidated, quickly left. The venom in her words was a physical pain in my chest. "Mom, don't be so harsh. She might sue us," Wendy whispered, tugging at her mother's sleeve. Her eyes darted around, and her tone softened. "I'm just trying to think of what's best for everyone. Can't we all just get along?" Under the covers, my hands clenched into fists. I had tried to call the police, but because we were married, they just told us to handle it internally. When Damian found out I’d dared to call them, the beatings only got worse. After I was discharged, she never let me forget that I couldn't have children. She placated me to keep me from making a scene, all while secretly looking for a new wife for her son. One day, my colostomy bag leaked in public. The stench was overwhelming. Passersby stared, their faces a mixture of pity and disgust, and hurried away. That night, I went home and killed myself. A month after my suicide, Damian married a woman he'd been having an affair with at his company. Six months after the wedding, she gave birth to a son. 5 After my rebirth, I returned to the day Damian beat me into a permanent disability. But this time, he was the one who was severely injured. The ambulance took my husband away. I sat at my vanity, meticulously applied my makeup, slipped on a pair of four-inch stilettos, and sashayed to the hospital. Our apartment was only on the third floor. He wouldn't die. A small crowd had gathered outside the operating room. When they saw me, their eyes followed me, each with their own thoughts. "Don't worry, everyone," I announced cheerfully. "He just broke his legs and has some internal damage. It's not a big deal." My sister-in-law, Wendy, screeched, "Not a big deal? How can you be so nonchalant?" I pointed to her brand-new, limited-edition Chanel bag. "If your brother and I hadn't given you the money for that bag, you probably wouldn't have even remembered we exist." "Whatever. Your money is my brother's money," she huffed, plopping down in a chair and burying her face in her phone. Wendy was the type to be all over you when she needed something and disappear when she didn't. In my past life, her sob stories had tricked me out of thousands for her luxury shopping sprees. When her brother was beating me, she would just hide in her room, ignoring my pleas for help, and then emerge later as if nothing had happened. My mother-in-law, her face a mask of anxiety, glared at my glamorous attire. "Your husband is in surgery, and you're dressed like you're going to a club? Go home and change!" I just smiled, touching up my bright red lipstick. "Relax, Mom. Even if he's crippled, at least he's alive. Even animals know it's better to be alive than dead." I pulled out my phone and put on some upbeat music. My mother-in-law’s face turned an even darker shade of purple. 6 The operating room doors opened. My mother-in-law rushed to the surgeon. "Doctor, how's my son? Is it serious?" "Please calm down, ma'am. A three-story fall is significant. It will take time for him to recover fully." "But nothing is certain. Try not to worry too much." She collapsed to the floor, wailing. "My beautiful boy, now he's half-dead! This is killing me!" I pulled her aside, reminding her not to cause a scene in the hospital. She shoved me away, tears streaming down her face. "I don't need your fake sympathy." Damian was moved to a regular room. It was two days before he fully regained consciousness. When he saw me by his bedside, he let out a terrified scream. "Mom!" My mother-in-law rushed to his side, shooting me a sideways glance. "I'm here, sweetie. Tell me, did Sarah push you?" "I don't know what happened… I just suddenly had the urge to jump." He conveniently left out the part where he was about to smash my head in with a hammer. I rolled my eyes and pried his hand off mine. The mere touch of him made my skin crawl. It was no wonder my mother-in-law suspected me. He was a successful manager at his company, well-respected, with a decent salary. A man like that wouldn't just jump off a balcony for no reason. As they were having their tearful reunion, a woman in sunglasses walked into the room. My intuition told me she was connected to Damian. 7 Sure enough, when she saw me and my mother-in-law, she pretended she'd walked into the wrong room. "Amber, over here!" Damian called out. My mother-in-law sized up the woman, with her designer clothes and expensive jewelry, a calculating glint in her eye. Amber, however, maintained a cool, polite distance, as if she were just a colleague paying a visit. I played along, greeting her warmly. Halfway through the conversation, when Damian's guard was down, I snatched his phone. His carefully constructed facade of a charming, witty boss crumbled. "Honey, what are you doing?" he hissed, his face contorting with rage. "Darling, this is a serious matter. I think your colleagues should know." He forced a smile, his jaw clenched. "Know what? I didn't want to worry them." He was terrified of his subordinates finding out about his humiliating suicide attempt. He'd been telling everyone he'd just had an accidental fall. I summoned my best acting skills, my eyes welling with unshed tears. "Honey, I know how loyal your team is to you. I'm sure they'd want to visit." With that, I opened his camera and took a picture of his bruised, broken body. As he stared at me, dumbfounded, I hit send. The veins in his arms bulged, but with Amber there, he didn't dare touch me. Not that a cripple could do much damage anyway. Amber looked at her phone. "Damian, there's nothing in the group chat." He visibly relaxed, sinking back into his pillows with a sigh of relief. He didn't know that I hadn't sent the picture to his work chat. I’d sent it to the "300 Ways to Tame Your Wife" group. The group immediately exploded.
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