The Heart That Turned Cold
After seven years of marriage, my wife told me she would no longer share a bed with me. She said she was frigid.
Once, after getting drunk, she ended up crossing that line with me.
When she sobered up and realized what had happened, she locked herself in the bathroom and scrubbed herself clean for three days, sick with disgust the entire time.
Later, she came back and demanded that I get a vasectomy if I wanted our dead bedroom to come back to life. I agreed, but I never went through with it.
When her belly eventually began to show, the woman who had once worshiped the DINK lifestyle suddenly started looking forward to the arrival of that child.
I told her I lied about the vasectomy.
She said nothing about it, but for two weeks after that, I was beaten up, stripped and thrown at the company's entrance, kidnapped and strapped to a roulette while perverts enjoyed the show like I was a monkey.
…
By the time I escaped from the hospital, I was already barely holding on. Then I saw her lying in the arms of her old classmate, calmly ending the pregnancy.
"I can't believe that bastard lied about the vasectomy," she said. "Just the thought that the baby might be his makes me sick. I'd rather not take the risk."
That was the last straw.
If she truly believed her body was nothing more than a graveyard, then I would make sure she got exactly what she wished for.