Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. My husband, Mark, walked in with a woman who was young, Chinese, and very pregnant. He introduced her as his assistant, Mei, as she surveyed our home with an air of ownership, her eyes pointedly avoiding mine. Mei' s gaze finally landed on me, laced with cold condescension. "Sarah, right?" she purred. "Hand-wash my lingerie. And later, when Mark and I are together, you can kneel and serve us." My heart turned to ice as Mark just smiled, seeing nothing wrong. I saw the tech-neck, the calculated cruelty in her eyes - this wasn' t just an affair; it was a deliberate humiliation. Then, Mark scoffed, "Oh, here we go again. This tired act. Honestly, Sarah, I' m more bored of this than I am of sleeping with you." Their cruel laughter echoed, and I knew: something inside me had finally snapped. I walked forward, took their hands, forced them together. "For people from such a 'cultured' background," I said, my voice low and clear, "you both sure act like animals." "Since the 'Mrs. Miller' title is so great, you can have it. You two enjoy your happily ever after. Just leave the rest of us out of your mess." I turned my back, walking out, remembering my father' s forgotten warning: Men change, Sarah. Be careful who you give your heart to. I barely stepped onto the cold pavement when Mark' s voice cut through the air. "Come back here and sign the divorce papers." He thrust them at me, demanding I sign for Mei' s peace of mind, promising to remarry me later. His words were hollow, a broken record of lies. Then, his eyes landed on my jade pendant, a gift from our first anniversary. "Mei has been having nightmares," he said, demanding it. "She needs it." I hesitated, clutching the last symbol of the man I thought I married. "What, you can' t even pretend to be composed now? It' s just a necklace." With a sharp movement, I tore it off. Mei snatched it, her triumphant glint turning to feigned clumsiness as she let it shatter at her feet. "Oh, dear," she cooed, then gasped, pressing her leg. "Ouch! A shard... it cut me." Mark panicked, fumbling for his phone. Mei looked up at me, her voice just loud enough, "Sarah... I know you' re upset. But you didn' t have to do that. I know you weren' t trying to curse my baby on purpose... right?" Mark' s head snapped up, his fury now blazing at me. "What did you say?" he snarled. "It' s nothing, Mark," Mei sobbed, clinging to him. "Sarah didn' t mean it." His hand swung through the air. SLAP. I stumbled, falling onto the shattered jade. A sharp pain shot through my hand as green shards embedded themselves in my palm. Blood welled. Mark stood over me, chest heaving. "Apologize! What the hell is wrong with you, Sarah? You were never like this!" He roared for an apology, for a crime I didn' t commit. The man who once defended me was now a stranger, consumed by hate. I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. Slowly, I pushed myself up, ignoring the intense pain. "I can' t do it," I said, my voice steady. "I can' t apologize." His face turned a dangerous red. He grabbed my other arm, fingers digging in. "Fine! If you won' t apologize, then you' ll compensate her. Give me that bracelet." It was my mother' s, my last connection to her. "No! You can' t have this!" I clutched my wrist, pulling back. Just as he lunged, a terrifying grinding sound came from above. The huge chandelier swayed, then plummeted towards me. There was no time to think. So this is how it ends. Mark yanked Mei away, shielding her, not even glancing at me. "Sarah!" he screamed, but it was too late. The world exploded in a crash of shattering glass. I was alive, somehow. Mark, seeing Mei was safe, scrambled over, his panic replaced by cold suspicion. I woke in a sterile hospital room, Mark by my bed, his face stone. "You' re awake? Stop pretending. It didn' t even hit you." "The chandelier..." My voice was hoarse. "Don' t bother," he cut me off. "The servants confessed. You paid them to loosen the screws. You wanted to hurt Mei." It was a complete, fabricated lie. Mei was wheeled in, dabbing her eyes. "Oh, Mark," she trembled. "Don' t be so hard on her. I' m sure she didn' t mean for it to be so... dramatic. I forgive her." Her flawless performance painted me as the crazy, jealous wife. I wanted to scream, but what was the point? The truth didn' t matter. It was whatever Mei said it was. I just laughed, a dry, bitter sound. Exhaustion washed over me. It was hopeless. Mark took my silence as admission. "Since you refuse to apologize," he said, chillingly matter-of-fact, "we' ll have to find another way for you to compensate Mei." He gestured to Mei. "Her leg was scratched. The doctor said it might leave a scar. We' ve arranged a small skin graft surgery. We' ll use some of your skin to repair the damage." Skin graft? From me? "You... what?" I stammered. "It' s just a small patch," he soothed, "from your inner arm. A doctor will be here soon." He was serious. My body, to punish me. A primal scream tore from my throat. "NO!" I thrashed wildly. The IV needle ripped out, blood trickling. "You can' t do this! What did I do wrong? Why are you bullying me?!" He grabbed my shoulders. "Sarah, stop it! Mei is all alone here. She' s been crying nonstop!" His pathetic excuses blurred. He knew I had no one, having rebelled against my family for him. He was using it to destroy me. "Sarah, just calm down," he pleaded. "After the baby is born, I' ll divorce Mei. I' ll remarry you, I swear it!" The same old promise. The same meaningless lie. This lie, finally, gave me clarity. My screaming stopped. My thrashing ceased. "Get out," I said, my voice eerily calm. I reached for my phone, hands shaking, and scrolled to a single entry untouched for seven years: "A." I pressed call. He answered on the first ring. "Come and get me," I whispered, then hung up. My life was about to change forever, but first, I had to survive.
Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.
My husband, Mark, walked in with a woman who was young, Chinese, and very pregnant.
He introduced her as his assistant, Mei, as she surveyed our home with an air of ownership, her eyes pointedly avoiding mine.
Mei' s gaze finally landed on me, laced with cold condescension.
"Sarah, right?" she purred. "Hand-wash my lingerie. And later, when Mark and I are together, you can kneel and serve us."
My heart turned to ice as Mark just smiled, seeing nothing wrong.
I saw the tech-neck, the calculated cruelty in her eyes - this wasn' t just an affair; it was a deliberate humiliation.
Then, Mark scoffed, "Oh, here we go again. This tired act. Honestly, Sarah, I' m more bored of this than I am of sleeping with you."
Their cruel laughter echoed, and I knew: something inside me had finally snapped.
I walked forward, took their hands, forced them together. "For people from such a 'cultured' background," I said, my voice low and clear, "you both sure act like animals."
"Since the 'Mrs. Miller' title is so great, you can have it. You two enjoy your happily ever after. Just leave the rest of us out of your mess."
I turned my back, walking out, remembering my father' s forgotten warning: Men change, Sarah. Be careful who you give your heart to.
I barely stepped onto the cold pavement when Mark' s voice cut through the air. "Come back here and sign the divorce papers."
He thrust them at me, demanding I sign for Mei' s peace of mind, promising to remarry me later.
His words were hollow, a broken record of lies.
Then, his eyes landed on my jade pendant, a gift from our first anniversary. "Mei has been having nightmares," he said, demanding it. "She needs it."
I hesitated, clutching the last symbol of the man I thought I married.
"What, you can' t even pretend to be composed now? It' s just a necklace."
With a sharp movement, I tore it off. Mei snatched it, her triumphant glint turning to feigned clumsiness as she let it shatter at her feet.
"Oh, dear," she cooed, then gasped, pressing her leg. "Ouch! A shard... it cut me."
Mark panicked, fumbling for his phone.
Mei looked up at me, her voice just loud enough, "Sarah... I know you' re upset. But you didn' t have to do that. I know you weren' t trying to curse my baby on purpose... right?"
Mark' s head snapped up, his fury now blazing at me.
"What did you say?" he snarled.
"It' s nothing, Mark," Mei sobbed, clinging to him. "Sarah didn' t mean it."
His hand swung through the air. SLAP.
I stumbled, falling onto the shattered jade. A sharp pain shot through my hand as green shards embedded themselves in my palm.
Blood welled. Mark stood over me, chest heaving. "Apologize! What the hell is wrong with you, Sarah? You were never like this!"
He roared for an apology, for a crime I didn' t commit.
The man who once defended me was now a stranger, consumed by hate.
I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. Slowly, I pushed myself up, ignoring the intense pain.
"I can' t do it," I said, my voice steady. "I can' t apologize."
His face turned a dangerous red. He grabbed my other arm, fingers digging in. "Fine! If you won' t apologize, then you' ll compensate her. Give me that bracelet."
It was my mother' s, my last connection to her.
"No! You can' t have this!" I clutched my wrist, pulling back.
Just as he lunged, a terrifying grinding sound came from above. The huge chandelier swayed, then plummeted towards me.
There was no time to think. So this is how it ends.
Mark yanked Mei away, shielding her, not even glancing at me.
"Sarah!" he screamed, but it was too late.
The world exploded in a crash of shattering glass.
I was alive, somehow. Mark, seeing Mei was safe, scrambled over, his panic replaced by cold suspicion.
I woke in a sterile hospital room, Mark by my bed, his face stone. "You' re awake? Stop pretending. It didn' t even hit you."
"The chandelier..." My voice was hoarse.
"Don' t bother," he cut me off. "The servants confessed. You paid them to loosen the screws. You wanted to hurt Mei."
It was a complete, fabricated lie.
Mei was wheeled in, dabbing her eyes. "Oh, Mark," she trembled. "Don' t be so hard on her. I' m sure she didn' t mean for it to be so... dramatic. I forgive her."
Her flawless performance painted me as the crazy, jealous wife.
I wanted to scream, but what was the point? The truth didn' t matter. It was whatever Mei said it was.
I just laughed, a dry, bitter sound. Exhaustion washed over me. It was hopeless.
Mark took my silence as admission. "Since you refuse to apologize," he said, chillingly matter-of-fact, "we' ll have to find another way for you to compensate Mei."
He gestured to Mei. "Her leg was scratched. The doctor said it might leave a scar. We' ve arranged a small skin graft surgery. We' ll use some of your skin to repair the damage."
Skin graft? From me?
"You... what?" I stammered.
"It' s just a small patch," he soothed, "from your inner arm. A doctor will be here soon."
He was serious. My body, to punish me.
A primal scream tore from my throat. "NO!"
I thrashed wildly. The IV needle ripped out, blood trickling.
"You can' t do this! What did I do wrong? Why are you bullying me?!"
He grabbed my shoulders. "Sarah, stop it! Mei is all alone here. She' s been crying nonstop!"
His pathetic excuses blurred. He knew I had no one, having rebelled against my family for him. He was using it to destroy me.
"Sarah, just calm down," he pleaded. "After the baby is born, I' ll divorce Mei. I' ll remarry you, I swear it!"
The same old promise. The same meaningless lie.
This lie, finally, gave me clarity.
My screaming stopped. My thrashing ceased.
"Get out," I said, my voice eerily calm.
I reached for my phone, hands shaking, and scrolled to a single entry untouched for seven years: "A."
I pressed call. He answered on the first ring.
"Come and get me," I whispered, then hung up.
My life was about to change forever, but first, I had to survive.
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