“My wife of four years, tech CEO Eve Yates, moved her latest boy-toy into our penthouse. Our marriage was a contract: my absolute emotional submission in exchange for her love, governed by a strict "no-touch" rule she enforced like a religion. After her cruelty drove me to try and kill myself, she had her guards drag me from my hospital bed. My crime? I had to apologize to her lover for "frightening" him with my suicide attempt. In his room, she spoon-fed him the special chicken soup her chef always made for me when I was sick. When I refused to apologize, she forced me to drink glass after glass of whiskey, knowing I had a stress ulcer that could kill me. As I lay vomiting in agony on the floor, her lover clutched his stomach and announced he thought he was pregnant. I looked at my wife, expecting her to laugh at the absurdity. Instead, a calculating look crossed her face. She was actually considering this farce. In that moment, the last shred of hope that she ever loved me died. As I passed out from the pain and alcohol, they wheeled my gurney away. Eve leaned in close and whispered, "Since you want to leave me so badly, I'm having you sterilized. You will never have a family with anyone else." When I woke up, I set her world on fire and walked away to marry her biggest rival.”