Death on the Wedding Anniversary

"You'll need a kidney transplant soon, or your body won't last much longer."

The doctor was handsome, but he didn't know how to break bad news.

I guess not many people are as unlucky as I am.

I came home holding the diagnosis. The first thing I saw were two pairs of shoes by the entrance, one man's and one woman's.

Yep, that jerk brought another woman home again.

I kicked aside the woman's heels and walked to the bedroom door, listening for a moment. The sounds coming from inside were pretty intense.

That jerk's bedroom skills had definitely leveled up. No surprise given all the practice he'd had these past couple of years.

They say money makes men bad, and it sure seemed true here.

I planned to take a shower, but my stomach churned. I collapsed against the door.

The overpowering scent of perfume hit me.

Even through the chaos, I found myself admiring the man's body. After two weeks apart, I had to admit it still looked good.

He was lean in clothes but muscular underneath, with perfect features and long legs, exactly my type.

Back in high school, he'd strum a guitar, and I fell for him like an idiot.

The mistress shrieked and threw herself into his arms, terrified.

He turned around and saw me watching. With a smirk, he scooped her up in a princess carry and threw her onto the bed, nuzzling her.

If I weren't the scorned wife, this scene would look like something out of a romance drama.

From high school to the wedding aisle, I'd given my youth to this jerk.

We'd been married for five years, and he'd been cheating since year three.

It started subtly. Eventually, he didn't even bother hiding it. He brought his mistresses to our bed.

At first, I cried, yelled, and even considered suicide. In my rage, I clawed his face until it bled, but he never argued back or fought me. He just refused to change. Eventually, he stopped pretending to care.

I decided to get a divorce, but that sly man had planned his every move.

If I really left, I'd be an almost-thirty woman, and everything I'd worked for over the years wouldn't be mine anymore.

Easton would still elegantly pinch my chin, mocking me with veiled threats. He said if I quit my job and became the perfect housewife, he wouldn't mind rewarding me with a limited-edition black card.

There were times I couldn't believe that Easton could say such things.

I had cut ties with my family for him, so I had no way out. I wasn't willing to leave, but I didn't have the courage either, so I caved.

If this were an online forum, I'd be a classic example of a woman criticized for being too lovesick.

...

After a night of nightmares in the guest room, I woke up with a splitting headache.

"Sorry about last night, babe. I had a bit to drink."

While making breakfast, a pair of large hands suddenly wrapped around me from behind.

The hug that used to make my heart race now made me feel nothing but a little nauseous.

"I'm making porridge. It's hot, so don't mess around."

Without changing my expression, I brushed him off and went to grab a plate.

"Well, you haven't been home lately. Where've you been?"

Easton's complaint seemed casual, but I felt an eerie sense of danger.

It felt like if I said the wrong thing, he'd pounce on me and tear me apart.

I was actually a little scared of him now, even though he'd never really laid a hand on me.

I smiled and said, "Where could I have gone? I'm unemployed, so I went shopping with Mary in Vewell. Mmph..."

Before I could finish, he abruptly kissed me.

His expert kissing skills, sharp nose, and handsome profile were flawless. No wonder women always flocked to him.

Ugh, so much energy first thing in the morning.

I hadn't been this close to him in ages, and I couldn't handle such an intense "play."

"Mmph!"

This time, I couldn't hold it in. I threw up.