Novel & Cerita The Water Keeper

My husband, Steve Malone, thinks of himself as a highly-educated person. Not only that, but he's also very uninterested in physical intimacy. When we go to bed every night, we have to sleep with a bowl of water between us. In fact, Steve refuses to let me touch him at all. But on the day he returns from the volunteer teaching program in the countryside, I discover a pair of pantyhose all tangled up in his clothes. Upon hearing my question, Steve maintains his cool facade as he explains, "This is contraband that I've confiscated from a student." I never respond to Steve. Instead, I get in contact with the female teacher, Rebecca Cramer, who has gone teaching with Steve earlier. From the other end of the line, Rebecca's sarcastic voice drifts over. "Your husband sure is unstoppable, Audrey. He couldn't resist kneeling in the pig sty while licking the dead skin off that Paige widow's feet. No one could stop him at all. "I heard that Paige even intends to give birth to a child for him. They went at it once per day, you know. I think you should head over here and witness everything for yourself." As soon as I end the call, I contact my lawyer right away and prepare to file for a divorce. This time, I'm hell-bent on ending things with Steve.

In the third year of our marriage, I couldn't stand the sexless relationship anymore, so I slipped some drugs into my wife’s soup. Cindy's cheeks became flushed, her eyes became hazy, and she gave me a seductive look. This was the first time she had behaved like this around me... However, when she realized that it was me, she grabbed my throat, furious. "I told you, my career is my top priority right now. Romance should be set aside first. How could you drug my soup? Do you only think with your lower body?!" I tried to explain, but she tossed me into the cold swimming pool despite the fact that I was still recovering from surgery. "Soak in the pool water to clean your filthy mind!" I pleaded desperately, but she completely ignored me and even had people keep watch to prevent me from getting out. It wasn't until I was shivering and turning blue from the cold winter night that she finally showed mercy. I stumbled back to our room, only to hear her suppressed moans. And the guy on top of her was none other than her brother-in-law! This was what she meant by putting her career first? I wiped away my tears, went downstairs, and called my father-in-law. "Stanley, I agree to let Cindy be a surrogate, but you have to promise me one thing."

Betrayed me. Buried me like I was nothing. I was Sera Nightshade, Luna of the Crescent Moon Pack, the most powerful werewolf territory in North America. For five years, I stood beside Damien Blackwood, my Alpha mate, believing in our bond, our love, our future. I gave him everything: my loyalty, my body, my soul. On the night of our official mating ceremony, with the full moon as our witness and the entire pack gathered to celebrate, he made his choice. Her. Vivian Cross, his childhood sweetheart, his secret mistress, the she-wolf he'd been hiding in the shadows for years. In front of everyone, he rejected our mate bond and claimed her instead. The pain of a broken mate bond should have killed me instantly, but I survived. Barely. That's when things got worse. They couldn't let me live. A rejected Luna who knew too many pack secrets, who had too much support, who might challenge his rule. So Damien and Vivian made sure I'd never speak again. They poisoned me, wrapped my body in silver chains, and threw me off Widow's Peak into the frozen river below. I felt every second of my death. The silver burning through my veins. The ice-cold water fills my lungs. The darkness is swallowing me whole.

For a decade, my world had been measured in laundry cycles, grocery lists, and the ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink. I was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the remnants of another family meal, when it happened. A sudden, silent cascade of text flickered at the edge of my vision, like subtitles for a movie only I could see: [Gosh, the heroine is so tragic. Her husband's entire family has been feeding on her luck like parasites!] [Her husband stole her graduate school admission and her career!] [The in-laws are literally siphoning her health away. No wonder she's always sick.] [And the sister-in-law took her "romance" stat! No wonder her love life is a desert.] [Heads up! Her husband's about to give her another "gift." Let's see how much more he takes from her this time.] My hands, clutching a greasy plate, froze. Right on cue, my husband, Tristan, sauntered into the kitchen. A smug, self-satisfied smile was plastered on his face as he took my wet hand. He slid a flimsy, garishly colored plastic bracelet onto my wrist. "Look what I got for you, sweetheart," he announced, his voice dripping with pride. "I made a special trip after work. Found it at the dollar store. It's romantic and economical, just like you always say you want. You love it, don't you?"

On my fifth year anniversary, the first two things I receive are two bills for water and electricity. My wife, Whitney Chapman, comes home at a late hour. She's carrying a food container that's filled with food that has gone cold. "Sorry, I was dealing with an extremely difficult client. I can only make it up to you with supper." She puts down the container before walking into the bathroom. While she doesn't reek of alcohol, there's dust coating the hem of her windbreaker. I call Whitney's secretary, only to find out that she has not been to the company today. A second before I end the call, the secretary adds, "By the way, Mr. Spencer, the new warehouse manager, Maxwell Clarke, was also absent from work today." Maxwell Clarke? The illegitimate child who brings nothing but shame to the Spencer family? What a big coincidence… or was it? I quickly contact the property manager of the villa based on the bills I've received. "A father-and-son duo have just moved into the villa last month." The manager then sends the list of inhabitants to me. The name listed is also Maxwell Clarke. This villa happens to be a property my father left for me back when Whitney and I first got married. Since it's too far from the city, I've left it vacant all this time because I wanted to reserve it as a villa meant for vacation purposes. Now, the people I hate are the ones living in that villa.

I came home from a night shift and caught my husband in bed with his secretary. After the screaming and the chaos, I ran out like a woman losing her mind. Derek chased after me. We ended up at the river, fighting. Somehow we both fell in. He nearly drowned trying to save me—the doctors said the oxygen deprivation had caused severe brain damage. When he woke up, he could barely function. No memory. No independence. He followed me around like a lost child. "Wifey, don't leave me. I'm scared." Looking at that helpless, broken man, I gritted my teeth and held this family together. The secretary vanished without a trace. Six years passed. Derek slowly seemed to recover. He was gentle with me, attentive, loving. I even got pregnant with our second child. Then came the family dinner. Derek knocked back two glasses of whiskey and suddenly slammed his hand on the table, his face twisted with frustration. "My oldest boy is already in first grade, and I haven't made it to a single parent-teacher conference!" I thought his brain was glitching again. MY sister-in-law Vanessa rushed to cover his mouth, but he shoved her away and let out a cold laugh. "You really thought the water scrambled my brains?" "Chloe gave me a son. I haven't forgotten about him for a single day!"

My younger sister, Celine Lowen, always goes home with her boyfriend, Jeffrey Burton. The thing is, she never uses any contraception when it comes to physical intimacy. When I ask her for the reason, that's when I find out that she gets her back entrance pounded all the time. I tell her that her anal region is very vulnerable, and that it's easy for her to pick up STDs if she keeps using it. In the modern times, everyone is very open-minded about physical intimacy. The one who truly loves Celine won't care about her virginity or lack of. Celine takes my advice very seriously. Later on, after she breaks up with Jeffrey, our mom introduces her to a rich scion named Gabriel Tate. On their wedding night, Gabriel gets into a fight with Celine simply because she doesn't shed any blood during their consummation. The next day, everyone knows about this incident. Feeling very humiliated, Celine pins the blame on me. She dunks my head into a pot of boiling water, her expression already twisted into one of ruthlessness and violence. "This is all your fault! I'd definitely be a rich wife by now if I were still a virgin! No one would make fun of me at all!" When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Celine tells me she doesn't use any contraception at all.

Every time I miscarry, Adrian Sadler brings home a new woman who eerily resembles his first love. He makes me put the rubber on him, forces me to watch their fevered passion, and then orders me to bring warm water for their intimate cleanup. I do everything I'm told, begging for just one night a month with him. That is, until I accidentally tear his favorite lover Peggy Olson's lingerie. That night, Adrian streams my humiliation for the world to see. He drags me onto the bed, twists my body to expose me fully to the camera, and pins me beneath an avalanche of shame. "Did you think her lingerie was suggestive? What about now? Look at yourself. Do you think you are any better? You love crawling into my bed, don't you? I'll help you get your fill. Maybe one man isn't enough to satisfy you. Why don't I call in ten men tomorrow?" As punishment, Adrian throws me outside, in my birthday suit, in the courtyard. Blood slowly pools beneath me. I experience my tenth miscarriage. I look for Derek Sadler and say, "I promised to help your family to repay your kindness. I tried my best. Ten miscarriages later, whatever blessing I once had is gone. I'll never have children again. Today, I've come to say goodbye."

I accompany my husband, Michael Yates, to a stationed assignment on a remote island. Out at sea, a sudden storm hits. The ship capsizes and begins to sink. As the commanding officer, my husband gives the last life vest to his so-called godsister, Naomi Hollister. I don't cry or scream. I just watch silently as he carefully fastens the straps around her body. In my past life, I had clutched my pregnant belly and begged him for help. After a brief hesitation, he finally put the vest on me. But Naomi was swept away by the waves, and her body later washed up on shore. Only half of it remained. Michael insisted it wasn't my fault. He also said that saving me was his duty, both morally and professionally. He even took leave to stay by my side before I gave birth. But when my water broke in the dead of night, he pushed me into the sea. His eyes were bloodshot and burning with hatred. "Leah, if it weren't for you, Mimi would still be alive! Did you really have to force me to give you the vest when you were just pregnant? Couldn't you have waited a little longer? Why do you get to live? Go down there and die with her!" I drown, and fish tear my body apart. I die without even a full corpse left behind. And then, I open my eyes. I'm back on the day of the storm.

My husband had a severe addiction for physical intimacy. However, in the seven years of our marriage, he never touched me, not even once. To suppress his urges, he soaked himself in bone-chilling ice water every night. His arms were covered in needle marks from constant injections. It broke my heart to see him like that. I offered myself to him many times, but he insisted on simply giving me a restrained kiss on the forehead before saying, “Don’t be silly, Summer. I’m not like those animals. How could I ever bear to hurt you? For you, I’d gladly live the rest of my life in a platonic marriage.” This strange, almost obsessive restraint of his lasted seven years. Despite the numerous times he pushed himself far enough to end up hospitalized, he still refused to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a young woman named Anna Brandt came in for her ninth hymen restoration surgery. After the anesthetic was administered, her cheeks flushed red. As her mind grew hazy, she started crying weakly like a lost kitten. Looking at the love bites scattered across her body, I shook my head and assumed she was just another girl who had gone astray. That was until I heard her last tearful whisper. “John Shaw, you jerk.” My hand trembled and I nearly dropped the scalpel. Because my husband’s name also was John Shaw.