Divorce Amidst Revenge

I'd been married to Clayton for three years, but what did I get in return? Damaged hands, a heart full of grievances, and a body beyond repair. It wasn't until Arabella woke up that I discovered my husband had once been her boyfriend. Clayton married me purely out of spite. Yet, strangely, now that I'm at death's door, he seems more affectionate than ever.

By the time I arrived at the hospital, my sister was awake. Her bedside was crowded with people, including Clayton. "Arabella, you're finally awake, dear." "It's such a relief that you're awake." "Where's my sister?" Arabella glanced around but didn’t see me. Her face was pale, her brow slightly furrowed, and as soon as she spoke, Clayton's expression tensed up.

I tried to find my voice. When I finally spoke, it came out hoarse: "I'm here." As soon as I spoke, several pairs of eyes turned to me. I couldn't miss the disdain in Clayton's eyes. My parents quickly ushered me toward the bed. "You two were inseparable as kids. Now that Arabella is awake, you should have a talk."

Arabella’s eyes filled with tears. "Sister, I thought I'd never see you again." I patted her hand, my own eyes misting over. Three years ago, Arabella and I went on a spring hike in the Alps, but we ran into a gang of thugs. To save me, Arabella was not only violated but also hit on the head. If it weren’t for Clayton coming down the road that day, we might not have survived.

"Arabella, thank you." The events of that day have haunted me ever since. Arabella held my hand, her fingers tracing my knuckles. She lowered her gaze, exclaiming, "Sister, what happened to your hand?"

I followed her gaze to my own hand, now a mangled sight. My parents' eyes showed a flash of pain, while my husband gave me a warning look. Swallowing my grievances, I slowly said, "It's nothing, really. I got it caught under the piano lid during a performance. It doesn't hurt anymore."

Arabella cried over my hands. We talked a lot, and she asked if I'd been well these past three years. I hesitated for a moment, then said, "Pretty well." If only Clayton hadn’t brought other women home every other night. If only he hadn’t been the one to let the piano lid fall. If only he hadn’t subjected me to all those humiliations. Then, yes, these three years might have been good. But life doesn’t work that way.