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“Why have you never told me about her? Why was she not present at our wedding? Why did she slap you?” She fired out question after question. “When did?—”

“I will tell you everything. You can stop bombarding me with questions,” Edwin cut her off. “Yes, she is my mother, and as unlikely as it might sound, she has hated me ever since I was born.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of mother would hate a baby?”

Edwin shrugged. “My mother hated me, and the older I got, the more she made her hatred known. She would hit me for no reason. It was almost as though she derived pleasure from causing me pain.” He hung his head as memories flashed through his mind. “And then, when I was but a boy, she paid to have me conscripted into the army. I was gone for years.”

Ava clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. “But what about your father?”

“He was ill. But even before his illness, he did not care if my mother killed me.” Edwin took a deep breath. “I returned to London after his death, and I could see the disappointment inher eyes. I know she would have been happier if I had died at war.”

“But then she would have no child.”

“I suspect she would have preferred that—having no child. Upon my return, she did not hide her hatred for me. On the night of my arrival, she announced that she would move out of the house because she could not bear to live under the same roof as me. And as cruel as it might seem, I was relieved. However, on that same night, she tried to kill me in my sleep.”

Ava gasped.

“But she only ended up stabbing me in the stomach with a shard of glass. She claimed that I was a monster she must rid the world of. I still have the scar on my abdomen.”

“You did not report her to the constables?”

“She is an elderly woman. Moreover, she has promised to move out. I could not have her locked up for attacking me. As much as I hate to admit it, she was still my mother.”

The room fell silent, and for a moment, Edwin felt relieved that he was finally sharing his past with someone.

He had only ever told his friends bits and pieces of it. However, baring it all to his wife made him feel lighter. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulder.

He was still basking in the relief he felt when Ava scooted closer to him. Then, she placed her hand on his and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Edwin’s first instinct was to pull his hands away. He did not need comfort. However, he did not move.

“Edwin,” she whispered, “I am…”

He looked up and saw it etched clearly on her face: pity and compassion.

He yanked his hand from beneath hers and stood up, infuriated beyond words.

“You think I am pitiable, don’t you?” he barked.

Ava looked confused, but he was past caring. “No, I?—”

“I see it in your eyes. You pity me. I despise being pitied. I do not want anyone looking at me with pity.”

“I was simply being sympa?—”

How does she not understand?

“I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Pity!” he growled.

He paced up and down the room. He felt exposed, as if his pride and dignity were being stripped from his body.

Her sympathetic gaze infuriated him.

Does she think I am broken? Or worse, weak?

She looked at him as though he was some wounded animal that needed to be pitied and nurtured back to health.

The anger built up inside him. He could feel his body tense up and his jaw clench. He glanced at her, now standing a few feet away from him. She looked concerned.