Pathological Short Stories & Unattainable Love Cheating Novels

My husband's first love was scalded by boiling water. To punish me, he forced me into a customized steamer half my height, turned the heat to its highest setting, and sealed me inside. "I'll make you feel the pain Jessica suffered a thousand times over!" Trapped in the suffocating space, my breath came in ragged gasps. Heat seared my skin, and my body felt as though it would melt. I sobbed, begging him for mercy. "Please! I'm going to die!" But he didn't look back. Holding his beloved in his arms, he walked away. He even locked the door after he left the room. "Don't worry, you won't die. This is the only way you'll understand Jessica's pain." Despair swallowed me whole. I screamed, my voice raw, but the boiling water beneath me splashed up, scalding my skin, stealing even the strength to cry. He left the country with Jessica that same night. A week passed before he finally remembered my existence. "That wretched woman must have learned her lesson by now. Let her out." What he didn't know was that the water had long since boiled away, the heat had faded, and inside the steamer, my corpse lay rotting—swarmed with maggots.

During a fight with my husband, he shoved me. My stomach bumped into the couch’s armrest. Just then, his childhood friend called him, sobbing. “Caleb, hurry, come to Cloudpeak Hotel and save me! My boss got me drunk, and now he’s forcing me to serve our client…” I nearly blacked out from the twisting pain in my stomach. I begged him to take me to the hospital. However, my husband said, “There’s a life at stake here! Can you not be so cruel?” He left, slamming the door behind him. I had no choice but to call for an ambulance. That night, he spent the night with his childhood friend, while I lay in the operating theater, undergoing emergency surgery. Good news, Caleb Gordon! You'd never have children again! Weren’t you glad? You deserved it!

I married the same man nine times. And each time, he left me for his first love, divorcing me nine times as well. The first time we parted, I lost control and threw all his belongings out the door. By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind out of fear he might never return. The eighth time, I had learned to obediently pack his things, careful not to upset him. My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before. Until this time. This time, I packed my own things and left without telling him. A month from now, I will be gone for good.