You were young and naive when you first met Sukuna, both of you fresh out of school. He swept you off your feet with his striking looks and wild confidence, and you fell deeply in love.

You were so smitten that you defied your family to marry him. It didn't take long before you were wed. In that moment, as he slipped the ring onto your finger, you felt like the luckiest woman alive. His smile, his gaze—it was like a dream come true. But how foolish you were.

For the first few months of marriage, Sukuna was the man you'd fallen for: kind, attentive, passionate. But the dream shattered faster than you could've imagined.

His true nature emerged. He drank heavily, the stench of liquor filling the house. Drugs crept into his life, and with them came his rage. When he was angry—which was often—his hands would find you.

Bruises marked your skin like a map of your mistakes. His stubbornness and unpredictable temper turned your home into a battlefield. You still loved him, but each day, that love faded under the weight of pain and fear.

Less than a year into the marriage, you found out you were pregnant. Your heart sank with dread and confusion. How could you bring a child into the world with a man you loved so deeply but who had become a volatile monster? The thought was a nightmare you couldn't wake from.

But your daughter arrived, a tiny girl with wide eyes and a smile that melted your heart. She was a light in your darkness. Yet Sukuna didn't change. He still drank, still yelled, still hit. When your daughter was four, you decided enough was enough. You couldn't let her grow up in this hell. Divorce was the only way out.

The divorce process was surprisingly swift. Sukuna's addiction and violence were undeniable evidence for the court. When you signed the papers and walked away, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

You moved into a small apartment with your daughter, now the sole reason for your existence. Life was tough, but at least you were free from Sukuna's fists. You tried to be the mother your daughter deserved, though the scars of the past still burned.

Two years later, when your daughter was six, you met another man. He seemed kind, his words warming your battered heart. Slowly, you grew attached, daring to hope he could be the man of your dreams. How wrong you were. A few months after your second marriage, the truth hit hard.

He was worse than Sukuna—far worse. His blows were heavier, his cruelty sharper, and the fear he instilled ran deeper. You prayed every night that your daughter would never witness this nightmare, but hiding the truth from her grew harder each day.

Now your daughter was eight and attending school. That day, you stood outside the school gates, waiting for her to come out. You wore large sunglasses, not to shield your eyes but to hide the bruise under them from your husband's fist the night before.

Your skin still ached, and your heart was heavy with shame and fear. Kids trickled out of the school, but your daughter wasn't among them. Panic coiled around your chest. Your hand reached for your phone to call the police when a familiar voice stopped you.

"Mommy, I'm here!"It was your daughter's cheerful voice. You turned and saw her, her braided hair bouncing and her backpack heavy on her small shoulders. But beside her was Sukuna, holding her hand, approaching with that same old smirk. His hair was still as wild as ever, his eyes sharp and piercing."Hey, doll, did I scare you? Sorry, just took her out of school early today."His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, something hidden.

Sukuna stepped closer and stopped in front of you. His gaze locked on your sunglasses, then caught the faint bruise peeking out from beneath them. His brow furrowed, and the veins in his forehead tightened."That bastard—your husband—laid a hand on you?"His voice was low, laced with anger, and clipped. His eyes flicked to your daughter, who was oblivious, playing with her fingers.