My Wife, The Butcher

cessfully transplanted,

ded standard ward. Then, she vanished. Her days and nights

the foot of my bed, her arms crossed

d. "Faking these injuries just to mak

ventilator hissing wi

pping to a venomous whisper, "I will divorce you and leave you with every

a single, clear thought emerged. Divorc

aged

s. "Good. You have three days to write Matthew a formal apo

r saw her in tha

wist of the knife. The next day, my se

e fire. I saw Nicole. She was talking to the pyrotechnics operator, slipping him a thick envelo

one picked up her voi

hen you' re disfigured, when you can' t tempt other

lace. The fire. The burns. It

unit, arrived that night under the cover of dar

spital, leaving the city and my nightmare behind, I u

a divorce. It

rom my hand, watching it fa