10
Not long after hanging up, my husband video called again. I answered and saw him kneeling on the ground, wailing: “Don’t call the police, Ava you bitch, don’t you dare call the police!”
I took a cold look. Oh, he had new injuries on his face.
His once–high nose bridge was slightly deformed, with bright red blood flowing non–stop.
“Wife, I’m begging you, please transfer the money. As long as you transfer the money, they’ll let me go home.”
Seeing I had no reaction, my husband couldn’t help kowtowing to me. Perhaps remembering how he used to treat me, just like after he abused me before, he slapped his own face while apologizing and begging for my forgiveness.
“Listen up, let my husband go immediately, or I’ll call the police and make sure you all pay!” I said arrogantly, using a commanding tone towards the men whose faces I couldn’t see in the video.
As expected, my husband was immediately kicked hard several times. He was in too much pain to speak.
“I will never transfer the money. You’ll get nothing. You’d better release my husband soon!”
“By the way, I’ve already called the police. Don’t be afraid honey, the police will come rescue you soon…”
This time they hung up the video call before I could finish speaking. I knew my “dear husband” was probably in for another brutal beating!
[Please let my husband go!]
[How much money do you want? I’ll borrow it, just don’t hurt him!]
After I sent these messages, my “husband” had already blocked me. His phone was also turned off.
Once I was certain they wouldn’t contact me again, I immediately called the police.
The police came to our home that night. I told them about my husband’s durian business, mixing truth and lies.
Because of his pride, my husband had never mentioned that he got the supply through my friend.
Learning that my husband had sold our car and house, taking all the money to sneak across the border into northern Myanmar, even the police shook their heads.
By sneaking across the border illegally, he had essentially given up his rights as a citizen. Without any entry records, even our government agencies couldn’t reach out to the Myanmar government.
I also knew that those who snuck across illegally were different from those who were tricked over with proper entry records.
These people who became “piglets” would face inhumane punishment if they couldn’t complete assigned tasks. They might not even have a chance to call home.
The news that my husband had been tricked while sneaking into northern Myanmar spread throughout our neighborhood. When my mother–in–law found out, she had a stroke and was hospitalized. The doctor said she was paralyzed on one side. My father–in–law stayed at the hospital to take care of her.
Those who had previously envied my husband for making money were now gloating, saying there’s no such thing as free lunch.
Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, three months passed and the weather grew colder.
The police came by a few times as usual to inquire, but there was no news about my husband.
I took my daughter shopping and bought her several cute autumn outfits.
My mother–in–law was discharged from the hospital and taken back to her hometown by my father–in–law. I made time to visit her once.
As soon as she saw me, she couldn’t control her foul mouth, blaming me for not stopping my husband and causing him to be tricked in northern Myanmar. The half–paralyzed old woman chased me around the yard with a kitchen knife.
When she couldn’t run anymore, I tossed her a pregnancy test
report.
“Mom, I’m pregnant. It’s a boy.”
The old woman was stunned, a smile spreading across her twitching face: “It’s… it’s a son!”
“Yes, I’m 3-4 months along. We can tell the gender now. But unfortunately…”
“What’s unfortunate?” The old woman stared anxiously at my belly.
“Unfortunately, the miscarriage last time was too hard on my body. Your precious grandson was miscarried.”
“Gone… gone…” The old woman couldn’t handle the shock. She collapsed to the ground, wailing heartbrokenly.
I coldly watched my mother–in–law howl like a ghost. She hadn’t cried this hard when her son “left.”
What I didn’t tell her was that the child wasn’t accidentally miscarried – I had gone to the hospital for an abortion.
Ironically, I had gotten pregnant despite taking birth control pills every time.
Fortunately, my husband would never have the chance to come back.
Epilogue
After the New Year, my precious daughter turned three. I sent her to preschool.
I opened a small art studio nearby, teaching children how to paint.
Life was peaceful and warm.
Over the next six months or so, my husband secretly called me once or twice, letting me know about the inhumane treatment he had experienced.
“Ava, I’m sorry. Only now do I understand the despair and pain you felt when I abused you…”
“What? I can’t hear you clearly. Did you forget? You ruptured my left eardrum with a slap. I often have tinnitus now and can’t hear well.
“What? I can’t hear you clearly. Did you forget? You ruptured my left eardrum with a slap. I often have tinnitus now and can’t hear well.”
I interrupted my husband’s crocodile tear apology. He had no right to apologize to me!
I would never forgive him in this lifetime!
”
After a long silence, my husband said he could never come back. He would rot in northern Myanmar for the rest of his life.
His words didn’t soften my heart at all. Without him, my daughter’s company was
slowly healing my wounds.
In the domestic violence group chat, I secretly left the accounts of several active members in Rachel’s scammer group.
For those women suffering silently from domestic violence, this was all I could do.
Soon, as I lurked in the group, I learned that Rachel’s northern Myanmar scam gang had targeted the admin of the domestic violence group, just with a different scam tactic.
After waiting another six months, the domestic violence group’s admin suddenly disappeared, and several active accounts hadn’t been online for a long time.
I knew those abusive, perverted men had all been tricked into northern Myanmar.
I paid for trending topics to expose the chat logs and photos from the domestic violence group, causing huge waves of discussion online. Women who had suffered silently from domestic violence began to speak up.
Most people in the domestic violence group were identified online. The world finally learned that such an inhumane group of domestic
abusers existed!
I leaked the information anonymously without revealing my real identity. As the incident escalated, I was no longer needed. Women’s rights organizations got involved, rescuing countless sisters who had been legally abused in marriage but unable to cry for help.
After the incident ended, I brought a fruit basket to the hospital – the same one where I had stayed when my ribs were broken.
The mother of a man who had attempted suicide after being scammed had taken a job as a cleaner there, caring for her son who was now in a
vegetative state.
It was during my hospital stay that I had overheard them talking about the northern Myanmar scams.
I chatted with the aunty for a while. Before leaving, I secretly left $10,000 cash in her pocket.
Thank you to her for indirectly saving my daughter and me.
Later, the police came to see me a few more times. When they learned that my husband hadn’t taken the money from selling our house and car with him, I truthfully told them that before leaving, he was afraid of being scammed so he said to transfer the money after he arrived.
The police comforted me a bit before leaving to handle their business. In recent years, more and more scam incidents have been exposed.
It’s almost time for school to let out. I need to go pick up my daughter.
If I couldn’t send my husband to prison, I’d send him to a living hell instead.
No one knew that I had secretly pushed my husband towards sneaking into northern Myanmar.
