The Wife He Destroyed Returns

bed to a wheelchair, how to navigate a world that was no longer designed for me. Every movement was a struggle, a fr

, he brought

at was supposed to be sympathy. "Sarah, I was so horrified when I heard

a scholarship. He had stolen my collection to fund his gallery, which would no doubt featu

a huge help, sweetheart. She's been helping me catalo

g me, in every possible way, and flaunting it in my face. I just stared at t

I managed to say. "I'm

you'd understand. You've

he armrests of my wheelchair so hard my knuckles turned white. The tick

had changed. The old Sarah was gone. The trusting, loving art curator who saw beauty everywhere was dead. She died on that mar

would make them pay. That day, I made my final trip to the other side of the hospital and went through with the procedure. It was a quiet, clinical affair.

er. Busy spending my money and parading my stolen art as his own. The nurses would talk, their hushed whispers following me d

re. He had redecorated our apartment, he told me, to make it more acce

eplaced by art magazines with Emily's face on the cover. My personal sketches and notes w

e came to me wi

rity. "I know this has been hard, but I have an opportuni

lly neutral. I was wary. Every word o

s it?"

"It's an art film, really. About the human body, resilience, the intersection of flesh and machine. He heard about your

he avoided my eyes, set off alar

A tribute to your strength. And... it pays very we

o put me on display. A curiosity. A freak show. The full extent of his plan was st

arranged a meeting. We're going tomorrow. Hi

istrict. The building was grimy, the windows covered in black paint. This was no film studio. A short, greasy man with a thin mu

the faint outline of the medical device under my shirt. His smile turned into a leer. "And this must be the lovely Sarah.

nary artist. This was a predator. And M