Unwanted Wife, Unseen Torment

Another wave of pain hit me, a familiar, gut-wrenching cramp.

I was bleeding again.

This was the tenth time.

Each time it happened, my husband, Liam Stone, would bring a woman home.

A woman who looked exactly like his first love.

Tonight was no different.

He stood in our bedroom doorway, a woman by his side he introduced as Maya, flatly stating, "She' ll be staying with us for a while."

His eyes never met mine; they were solely on her.

Then, his words like stones, he commanded, "You' ll be serving us."

I pushed myself up, the fresh bloodstain on the mattress a grim testament to my latest loss.

My body ached, my world felt numb, yet the familiar routine played out as I fetched the wine.

I returned to find them on my bed, Liam kissing her, a scene I had been forced to witness nine times before.

A single drop of red wine accidentally splashed onto Maya' s pristine white dress.

She gasped, theatrically exclaiming, "My dress! It' s ruined! This is a limited edition!"

Liam' s face turned to thunder.

He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

"You clumsy bitch," he snarled, then pulled out his phone.

He started a live broadcast, aiming the camera at my face, then at Maya' s stained dress, and finally, the blood on the bed.

"Look at her," he boomed to the world. "This is my wife, Chloe Miller. She can' t even do a simple task without messing it up."

Then, he shoved my face closer to Maya' s dress, barking, "Lick it clean."

My blood ran cold.

"Liam, please," I begged, humiliation clawing at my throat. "Don' t do this."

"Lick it," he repeated, his voice menacing. "Or I' ll find other ways to make you pay. Maybe you' d prefer to serve more than just one of my guests tonight?"

His threat hung in the air, vile and real.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, the taste of wine and cheap perfume filling my mouth.

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, then released my hair, and I collapsed.

"Get out," he spat. "And don' t come back in here tonight."

I crawled out, another sharp pain tearing through my abdomen, warm blood gushing between my legs.

He left me in the yard, naked, bleeding onto the cold, damp grass.

Ten miscarriages.

Each time, a new woman, a new cruelty.

Lying there, under the cold moon, clarity dawned.

This would never end.

He would only ever destroy me.

As the last warmth left my body, a new resolve settled in.

It was time to see Arthur Stone.

My "good fortune" was broken; I couldn't give Liam a child.

I was done.

I had to leave.

Arthur, his face etched with mirroring grief, agreed to help me.

But before I could escape, Maya found it-the small, simple urn holding the ashes of my nine miscarried children.

Liam, ever her protector, kicked me into unconsciousness.

I awoke to a new horror: a video compilation of my most private moments with him, twisted clips set to mocking music, broadcast for the world to see.

He then forced me to donate blood until my heart nearly stopped.

He froze my bank accounts.

I crawled home from the hospital, only to find Maya burning my mother' s jade hairpin, my last connection to her.

The urn was gone, its contents scattered.

The next morning, the nine pear trees I' d planted were uprooted, replaced by rose bushes for her.

That was the end.

With Arthur' s help, I left the country, divorce papers filed on my behalf.

Liam laughed when he received them, certain I' d crawl back.

He was wrong.

He only realized his mistake when he discovered Maya' s lies, the truth about her, and me.

He tried to win me back.

But it was too late.

I was gone, never coming back.

His family' s business collapsed, his health failed.

The last I heard, Liam Stone, once the man who had everything, was a reclusive, crippled beggar, haunting his desolate mansion, obsessively planting pear trees and crying out my name in his madness.

Another wave of pain hit me, a familiar, gut-wrenching cramp.

I was bleeding again.

This was the tenth time.

Each time it happened, my husband, Liam Stone, would bring a woman home.

A woman who looked like his first love.

Tonight was no different.

He stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his tall frame blocking the light from the hall. Beside him stood a woman, her face a near-perfect copy of the one in the faded photograph on Liam' s desk.

"This is Maya," he said, his voice flat, empty of any emotion. "She' ll be staying with us for a while."

He didn't look at me, his eyes were fixed on her.

Maya looked me up and down, a small, cruel smile on her lips. She was wearing a white designer dress, the kind I hadn't been able to afford in years.

"You' ll be serving us," Liam continued, his words like stones. "Get us some wine."

I pushed myself up from the bed, the mattress stained with a fresh patch of red. I didn't bother to hide it. He wouldn't care.

I moved slowly, my body aching. My whole world felt numb, except for the dull, persistent throb in my lower abdomen and the sharp ache in my chest.

I went to the kitchen and got the wine, my hands steady despite the turmoil inside me. I was used to this. This was my life.

I walked back into the bedroom.

They were on the bed, my bed. Liam was kissing her, his hands tangled in her long, dark hair. It was a scene I had been forced to watch nine times before.

I stood there, holding the tray, my feet rooted to the floor. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A part of me, the part that still foolishly loved him, screamed in silent agony.

"What are you waiting for?" Liam' s voice cut through the haze. He pulled away from Maya, annoyance flashing in his eyes.

I walked forward and placed the wine on the nightstand.

My hand trembled, and a single drop of red wine splashed onto Maya' s pristine white dress.

It was an accident.

Maya gasped, a theatrical, high-pitched sound.

"My dress! It' s ruined! This is a limited edition!"

Liam' s face turned to thunder. He moved so fast I didn' t have time to react. His hand shot out and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

"You clumsy bitch," he snarled. "You did that on purpose."

"No, Liam, I didn' t, it was an accident," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.

He ignored me. He pulled out his phone, his other hand still tangled painfully in my hair. He aimed the camera at my face, then panned down to the wine stain on Maya' s dress, and then to the bloodstain on the bed.

He started a live broadcast.

I saw the viewer count climb. Ten, a hundred, a thousand. Comments started flooding in.

"Is that Chloe Miller? She looks awful."

"What a pathetic-looking woman. No wonder her husband cheats on her."

"Look at her, she' s so useless she can' t even pour wine."

Liam' s voice boomed through the room, broadcast to the world.

"Look at her. This is my wife, Chloe Miller. She can' t even do a simple task without messing it up."

He shoved my face closer to Maya' s dress.

"Lick it clean," he commanded.

My blood ran cold. The humiliation was a physical thing, clawing at my throat.

"Liam, please," I begged, my voice barely a whisper. "Don' t do this."

His grip tightened.

"Lick it. Or I' ll find other ways to make you pay. Maybe you' d prefer to serve more than just one of my guests tonight? I can make a few calls. I' m sure some of my friends would be happy to come over."

His threat hung in the air, heavy and vile. He meant it. He had threatened it before.

My mind went blank. The world narrowed to the white fabric, the red stain, and the thousands of anonymous eyes watching my degradation.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward.

The taste of wine and cheap perfume filled my mouth.

Liam laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He finally let go of my hair, and I collapsed onto the floor.

He ended the broadcast.

"Get out," he said, his voice dripping with disgust. "And don' t come back in here tonight."

I crawled out of the room, my body shaking. Another sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I felt a warm gush of blood between my legs.

He left me in the yard, naked, bleeding onto the cold, damp grass. It was the tenth time. Ten miscarriages. Ten times he had brought a woman home. Ten times he had broken a piece of me.

Lying there, under the cold moon, I finally understood. This would never end. He would never love me. He would only ever destroy me.

As the last bit of warmth left my body, a new resolve settled in my heart.

It was time to see Arthur Stone. Liam' s grandfather.

My "good fortune" was broken. I couldn' t give Liam a child. I was done.

I had to leave.

I told him my good fortune was all used up, that I couldn't bear children anymore. I told him I was leaving.

Arthur Stone, his face etched with a grief that mirrored my own, agreed to help me.

But before I could escape, Maya found the small, simple urn I kept hidden in my closet.

The urn holding the ashes of my nine miscarried children.

Liam, ever the protector of his precious Maya, kicked me so hard I lost consciousness.

When I came to, I was a spectacle once more. A video of my most private moments with Liam, moments I thought were born of love, was all over the internet.

He wasn't done.

He forced me to donate blood to Maya, who he claimed was anemic. He took so much that my heart nearly stopped.

He froze my bank accounts.

I had to crawl home from the hospital, my body weak, my spirit shattered.

I returned to find Maya in the yard, a fire blazing in a metal barrel. My mother' s jade hairpin, my last connection to her, was turning to ash. The urn was gone, its contents scattered in the dirt.

Liam stood beside her, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

The next morning, the nine pear trees I had planted in the yard, one for each lost child, were gone. Uprooted. In their place, workers were planting rose bushes.

For Maya.

That was the end.

With Arthur' s help, I left the country. He filed the divorce papers on my behalf.

Liam laughed when he received them, so sure I would come crawling back.

He was wrong.

He only realized his mistake when he discovered Maya' s lies, the truth about her, the truth about his past, the truth about me.

He tried to win me back.

But by then, it was too late. I was gone, and I was never coming back.

His family' s business collapsed. His health failed.

The last I heard, Liam Stone, the man who had everything, was a reclusive, crippled beggar, haunting the grounds of his desolate mansion, obsessively planting pear trees.

Crying out my name in his madness.

---

The drive to the Stone family' s main estate felt impossibly long. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of pain through my battered body. I clutched the single plane ticket Arthur' s assistant had given me, the paper flimsy and precious in my hand.

I found Arthur Stone in his study. He was an old man, his back stooped with age and regret, but his eyes were still sharp. He looked at me, at the bruises coloring my skin, at the deadness in my eyes, and his face crumpled.

"Chloe," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I am so, so sorry."

He stood up and walked over to me, his steps slow and deliberate.

"I was wrong," he admitted, his gaze not leaving mine. "I thought... I thought if you married him, you could heal him. I thought your love would be enough to pull him out of the darkness his first love left behind. I never imagined... I never imagined he would do this to you."

His words were a balm on a wound that had been festering for years. For the first time, someone in this family was acknowledging my pain.

Tears I didn' t know I had left began to well in my eyes.

"It' s not your fault, Grandpa," I whispered, the name feeling foreign on my tongue after so long.

"It is," he insisted, shaking his head. "I pushed you into this. I saw a good, kind girl, and I sacrificed you for my grandson' s sake. It was selfish. It was cruel."

He looked away, towards the large window overlooking the sprawling gardens.

"What do you want, Chloe?" he asked, his voice soft. "Anything. A house, money... name it, and it' s yours. It' s the least I can do."

I thought about his offer. Money couldn' t erase the scars. A house couldn' t fill the emptiness inside me.

I held up the small, plain wooden urn I had managed to salvage from my room. It was empty now, but it was all I had left of them.

"I don' t want anything, Grandpa," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I just want to be free. I want to go somewhere he can never find me."

My request hung in the air between us. It was so simple, yet it felt like asking for the moon. Freedom was a concept I had forgotten.

He looked at the urn in my hands, and a fresh wave of pain crossed his features. He understood. He finally understood the depth of what I had lost.

"Of course," he said, his voice cracking. "I' ve arranged everything. A new identity, a place to live overseas. He will never know where you are. I give you my word."

A single tear traced a path down his wrinkled cheek.

"Go, my child. Be free. Find your own happiness."

The relief was so immense it almost brought me to my knees. I nodded, unable to speak. I turned and left the study, clutching the empty urn to my chest.

When I arrived back at the house I shared with Liam, the house that had been my prison, it was to find Maya waiting for me in the foyer.

She was lounging on the chaise, filing her nails, a smug look on her face.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," she drawled, not even bothering to look up. "Did you enjoy your little outing?"

She finally lifted her head, her eyes scanning my body with open contempt.

"You look like garbage. He really did a number on you this time."

Her words were crude, designed to inflict maximum pain. It was a familiar tactic. She took pleasure in my suffering.

I just stood there, my mind a blank slate. I had grown numb to her taunts. Over the years, Liam had found so many ways to torture me, and Maya had always been an enthusiastic participant. The constant humiliation, the forced servitude, the public degradation... it had all blended into a monotonous loop of pain.

Maya' s malice was just background noise now.

All I could think about was the plane ticket and Arthur' s promise.

Freedom.

---