I sat in my study with the laptop open in front of me for hours, yet I had not been able to complete a single task. My hand lay on the mouse, the cursor stared back, mocking me. It had been days since Maya walked out of the mansion, and the quiet in the house felt heavier than before. I had waited, threatened, yet each day passed without a glimpse of her, not even a single call from her. In the four years I had known her, Maya had always been the perfect, submissive wife. She listened to everything I said, not once did she ask any questions. When I told her to stop working and stay home, I had thought she would revolt, but she pestered me a little at first, but it wasn’t anything that one loud yell from me wasn't enough to make her quiet down. I had yelled, telling her it was for her own good, for our own good. The doctor said she needed rest, enough of it as stress was the major suspect of her miscarriages. She had accepted that. She always accepted what I told her. But no
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