Back to High School, I Refuse to Fund Her

It was our fifth wedding anniversary. The moment I stepped through the door, I saw a lavish array of dishes spread across the dining table.

My wife, Sharon Flores, placed a gentle hand on her abdomen and smiled up at me. "I've prepared a special surprise for you."

I immediately assumed she meant she was pregnant, and joy overwhelmed me to the point that I lost all sense of direction. I didn't question it even when I caught the faint, bitter odor rising from the bowl of soup she handed me.

Five minutes after I finished it, a searing pain tore through my stomach.

"Ow, my stomach hurts so much," I groaned.

Her lips curved into a chilling smile. "Well, it should."

Cold sweat drenched my body, and before I could fully grasp what was happening, she kicked me viciously in the gut.

Our marriage had never been as passionately intertwined as some young couples', but we had always enjoyed a peaceful harmony, never exchanging harsh words, let alone laying a hand on one another.

I looked up at her, overwhelmed by shock and terror. I didn't know what was going on.

Another wave of throbbing pain radiated from deep within me, and tears streamed down my face despite my efforts to hold them back. Through clenched teeth, I begged her to take me to the hospital.

Instead of helping, she turned around and locked the door. Her silhouette loomed above me.

"Please, help me," I pleaded, not understanding why she would turn on me like this.

She positioned herself with her back to the light, her face shrouded in shadow, her expression impossible to read.

"If it weren't for what you did back then," she hissed, "Harry would never have been hit by that car. He wouldn't have had to drop out of school, work degrading jobs, or marry into a family as little more than a servant. You ruined his life. Now taste what it's like to lose all hope."

Her voice cracked on those last two words. Blood began to seep from the corners of my mouth, and her curses burned in my ears.

Through the haze of pain, I pieced together the events that had led to this betrayal.

The previous evening, during a business dinner, Sharon had overheard colleagues discussing how Harry Hammond's in-laws had publicly humiliated him.

In retaliation, she had decided to inflict upon me every ounce of suffering he had endured.

Years ago, my only "offense" had been politely refusing to let her bring Harry along to my tutoring sessions. On his way home, he had been hit by a car, but that wasn't my fault.

Yet Sharon put the blame on me, hating me ever since. If her hatred ran so deep, why had she married me? Why had she accepted my kindness and support so readily?

I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to plead any further. The blood continued to flow, forming dark, irregular patches on the floor beneath me, as if it were carving a river of loss through my body.

My vision faded, and in the grip of unbearable torment, I closed my eyes.