Chapter 1
When I was five months pregnant, Michael Quinn was diagnosed with intimacy disorder.
He couldn't handle physical closeness, struggled to form deep connections, and resisted any emotional communication.
When I fell in the bathroom and blood was everywhere, he stood there, watching me in agony.
"Mia, I can't bring myself to hold you. Every time I get close, my heart pounds and I get nauseous, I've already called an ambulance. Just hang in there," Michael said.
By the time we got to the hospital, it was too late. I had to have my uterus removed, and I could never have children again.
Michael knelt in front of me, his tears dripping onto my knees as he broke down in remorse.
"Mia, I'll be more proactive about my treatment. From now on, you're all I have. I'll love only you for the rest of my life." he said.
On my 35th birthday, my family, who hadn't spoken to me in years, unexpectedly showed up to celebrate.
My sister Jessie twisted her ankle, and Michael was scared out of his mind. He carried her in his arms to the hospital and looked after her with utmost care for half a month.
That was when I realized his so-called intimacy disorder was an excuse when it came to me.
Whatever. After loving this trash for ten years, it was time to throw him away.
*****
At two in the morning, Michael opened the door and saw me sitting on the couch, my face lit up with a sweet smile as I stared at the screen. The moment he walked in, my smile froze.
I purposely glanced at his phone, and he freaked out, taking a step back with obvious annoyance and disgust.
"What are you doing sitting here in the middle of the night? You scared the hell out of me. Don't you remember I'm still sick?" Michael snapped.
The scent hit me right away; Dior Fresh Eau de Toilette, retail price: 330 dollar. It matched exactly with the bill I checked this afternoon.
I wasn't heartbroken or sad anymore. All I felt was pure disgust, nausea rising in my throat.
On my 35th birthday, my family, who hadn't spoken to me in years, unexpectedly showed up to celebrate.
My sister twisted her ankle in the kitchen, whimpering in pain. Mickael, who was in the far bedroom, rushed over almost instantly and carried her to the hospital.
After that, he stayed at the hospital with Jessie for half a month.
During that time, I came down with a fever and ended up with myocarditis. I was being stalked by some creep sent by my company's rival, and the guy upstairs with the leaky ceiling kept picking fights with me.
Every time I called him for help, he gave me the same old excuse.
"What's the point of me coming back? I'm sick too. Just being near you makes my chest tighten. If it gets bad, I could pass out. Why would I want to make things harder for you?" he said.
"Besides, I'm taking care of Jessie for you. That's my duty. You should be cool with that, right?" he added.
The next day, the guy upstairs started yelling again. "What do you know about waterproofing? Is your husband dead or something? If you've got the guts, let your man come up here and argue with me."
Swallowing my frustration, I went to the hospital to find Michael, only to see him holding Jessie's hand, their fingers intertwined, looking way too close for comfort.
The patient in the next bed teased, "Your husband is so good to you, taking care of you nonstop these days.
"You really need to be careful not to fall. It's really easy to have a miscarriage early on. Hey, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"
For once, Michael actually smiled shyly and gently brushed Jessie's hair from her forehead. "Boy or girl, either is fine. As long as Jessie's okay, that's all that matters," he said.
At that moment, I brushed my once rounded, now hollow belly. A sudden, brutal epiphany crashed over me; my blood ran cold, and the whole thing reeked of bitter irony.
I pulled up the video I'd recorded that day, and threw it in Michael's face, my own face ashen. "I know everything about you two. Let's get divorced as soon as possible, and then get out of my house for good."
As if he'd seen this coming, Michael took his time, he slipped off his coat, brewed a cup of tea, and sipped it leisurely, totally unbothered.
Then he glanced at me, my eyes red from crying, and flashed a cunning, almost mocking smile.
"When you bought this house, you only put my name on the deed," he said.
So, looks like you're the one who needs to pack up and leave, huh? he added.