The wife who used as a tool by her husband

"I need to grab fresh gauze from the supply closet," Martha muttered, setting a plastic tray on the bedside table. "Stay put, Mrs. Thorne."

The heavy wooden door clicked shut.

I threw off the thin cotton blanket. Fire erupted in my lower back, sharp and agonizing. The marrow extraction. He really did it.

I gripped the metal bedrail to steady my trembling legs.

Maybe I heard him wrong.

The thought echoed in my skull as I stumbled into the hallway. I dragged my feet toward the elevator. Three floors up.

The VIP wing smelled of fresh lilies, not antiseptic. Room 402 stood slightly ajar.

"Is the broth too hot?" Michael murmured.

I froze in the corridor, peering through the narrow gap.

Michael sat on the edge of the mattress, blowing on a spoonful of soup. He guided it to Judy’s lips with total devotion.

"My chest hurts," Judy whined, leaning back against a mountain of pillows.

He set the bowl down and took her hands, pressing them to his lips. "I know, sweetheart. But whatever the cost, it is worth it to save you."

My stomach lurched.

"Even your baby?" Judy asked, tilting her head. "She lost her child today because of me."

Silence stretched across the room.

"We can always have another child," Michael answered, his tone perfectly flat. "But there is only one you."

A sob clawed its way up my throat. I slapped both hands over my mouth, biting down on my own palm to trap the sound.

Tears blurred my vision. I turned away from the door and ran.

I collapsed back onto my hospital bed, curling my knees to my chest. The physical agony in my spine was nothing compared to the hollow crater in my stomach.

The door handle turned.

"Martha, I don't need—"

"You look absolutely pathetic."

I whipped my head around. Judy stood at the foot of my bed. She wore a silk robe, her cheeks flushed with color. There was no trace of the fragile, dying woman from upstairs.

"Get out," I rasped.

Judy ignored me. She strolled toward the window, holding up her wrist. A diamond tennis bracelet caught the overhead light.

"Michael bought this for me yesterday," she announced, admiring the jewels. "A celebration gift. For a successful procedure."

"Leave my room."

She stepped closer, resting her manicured fingers on my bedrail. "You actually thought he loved you, didn't you?"

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give her the satisfaction of my tears.

"That rainy day at the coffee shop," Judy continued, a cruel smile stretching her lips. "The spilled latte. The charming introduction. You thought it was fate."

"Stop talking."

"It was a setup, Lina. I needed a marrow donor. Your medical file was a perfect match, but you were a stranger. Michael knew you wouldn't just give up a piece of your body for nothing."

The walls closed in. My chest tightened.

"He married you for my marrow," she sneered. "The entire romance was a scam."

"Why?" I screamed, throwing a pillow at her legs. "Why destroy my entire life?"

Judy easily sidestepped the cushion. She leaned over me, her face inches from mine.

"Because I wanted to live. And Michael makes sure I get what I want." She lowered her voice to a vicious whisper. "Just like he made sure I got my transplant today, without any delays."

"He orchestrated the crash. I heard him."

"Oh, he did more than that." Judy’s eyes gleamed with malice. "Did he tell you the impact killed your little fetus?"

"Shut up!"

"The doctor said the baby had a heartbeat, Lina. It could have been saved."

My blood froze. "No."

"Yes. But treating the baby meant delaying my marrow extraction by a week. So, Michael signed the papers to refuse maternal treatment. He killed your child on purpose."

A raw, jagged scream ripped from my lungs.

I lunged forward, swiping blindly at her. The IV line tore out of my hand. Blood splattered across the white bedsheets, hot and fast.

"You monsters!" I shrieked, swinging my bleeding arm.

The heavy room door slammed open.

"Lina!"

Michael rushed inside. He didn't look at my bleeding hand. He didn't look at the agony on my face.

He shoved me back onto the mattress and planted himself firmly in front of Judy.

"What the hell are you doing?" he roared.

Before I could form a word, Judy gasped. She clutched her chest, her knees buckling.

"Michael," she sobbed, collapsing onto the linoleum floor.

He dropped to his knees, catching her shoulders. "Judy? Are you okay?"

She pointed a trembling finger at me, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sister... why? She tried to kill me, Michael. She attacked me."

I stared at my husband, waiting for him to see the truth.

Instead, Michael lifted his head. The look he gave me held no warmth, no history, no love. It was absolute, freezing ice.

"If she stops breathing," he promised softly, "I will make you wish you died in that crash."