His Gilded Cage: A Husband's Escape

ke mine, filled with canvases I never painted and sculptures I never finished. For ten years,

just sat there, replaying the night's humiliation over and over in my head. The laughter. The sp

ket. I almost ignored it. It was probably one of Vanessa's assis

ng-term care facility where my father lived. My heart inst

wer, my hand tr

"It's about your father. There's been an incident. His vitals

from under me. "What

but it's critical.

ne wen

gh me. I scrambled to the studio do

d, my voice cracking. "It's my

le

have to go to the ho

d. I kept shouting, my throat growing r

d with sleepy annoyance. "What is all this noise,

e against the door. "The hospital call

se. Then, a sof

rick? This is a new low, even for you. Making up stories about yo

making my voice high and thin. "I swear, Van

tone final. "We'll talk about your

tsteps retreati

VAN

dying, and she had

looked around the darkened studio, my eyes searching for a way out. The windows. They were large, old-f

dn't

ears ago and abandoned. It was heavy, awkward. I hoisted it in my arms and st

shower of glittering shards. The sound was deafening. T

dripped onto the floor, but I barely felt it. I ripped thick canvas tarps from a stack in the corner and started tearing them into

ble and threw the other end out the window. It didn't rea

ld hav

e tore at my clothes and my skin. I gripped the canvas rope and started to lower myse

I heard shouting from in

end of the rope rushed up to meet me. For a terrifying second,

t ankle. I cried out, collapsing onto the wet stone. I tried to st

could hear the mansion's secu

mear of mud and blood behind me. I scrambled through the manicured hedges, thorns

I was on

ng, and in agony, wearing nothing but a ruined suit. I tried to flag down

down the long, private road, every movement an explosio

washed over me. A sleek black sedan slowed to a st

her face clearly in the dark, just the silh

trouble," she said. Her

l," I stammered, leaning against t

id, without a tr

lush leather seat, gasping with pain and relief. The interior of the ca

neral," I ma

eed to be told. The car pulled away from th

k any questions. She simply opened a compart

hands,"

ey were a bloody mess. I

ashing city lights. When we pulled up to the e

t know

mall, stiff card into my hand. "If you find you n

was pulling away, disappearing into the rain. I looked down at the card in my h

rse took one look at me and immediately got a wheelchair. As they were wheelin

poor Mr. Miller in room 304. Just passe

t me like a

o

uldn'

too

as a million miles away. My father was gone. After ten years of being a

ible thought surfac

f me was

in was

tinging, my suit ruined, and I felt the first, faint trem

mall and empty. In a small, locked cabinet, I knew they kept the urns of unclaimed patients. A few years ago, I ha

there, a box of dust and bone. I was utterly alone. And for

threatened to pull me under. I was exhausted. Exhausted from the years of abuse, from

so tired o

-