Chapter 1
Five years ago, I quit my job as CFO of a listed company to care for my paralyzed husband. I went from corporate shark to a shell of myself.
I thought it was a test of love. It turned out to be a setup.
His pregnant mistress showed up, shoving her phone in my face. A phote on her phone showed my husband, paralyzed for five years, working out and laughing like a free man. That was when I knew.
He was never paralyzed. He had a whole second family in the complex next door. Their kid just turned two.
He apologized desperately, tears streaming. "You're too much," he sobbed. "This marriage is suffocating me. I just need someone to care, to feel free and warm."
I watched him cry on cue. And I laughed.
He wanted someone to care? Fine, I'd give him that.
He wanted freedom and warmth? I'd give him twice as much.
He loved playing paralyzed? It was exhausting, right? I'd make it real.
"Claire, your husband isn't paralyzed!" A woman's voice called behind me. "He's been with me for three years. He can move around fine, and he got me pregnant! Please, let him go. My child needs a father."
Her voice cut through the suffocating afternoon like a blade, sharp and sudden.
I stopped outside my building, a bag of medicine in hand. The sun was blazing, yet I felt no warmth.
The woman in front of me was young and strikingly pretty, her pregnant belly pressing hard against her dress.
I knew her. Sophie Carter was an intern at David Miller's company. She stopped by a few times with files. Back then, she'd greeted me all nervous with her eyes down, always saying how good I was to David.
With a face full of spite, Sophie raised her phone high and thrust the screen at me.
A photo on her phone showed my husband, who'd been "paralyzed" for five years.
He wore gray dry-fit workout clothes I'd never seen, his muscles flexing as sweat poured off him. In a gym filled with blaring music, he steadily hoisted a massive barbell.
Sweat ran down his defined jaw, dripping onto his tense chest. The timestamp was clearly visible—3:00 PM yesterday.
Neighbors crowded around, pointing and whispering. The sympathy and praise they used to give me had all turned into gloating stares, like they were watching a show.
The bag dropped to the ground with a soft plop.
The medicine I'd so carefully chosen were scattered everywhere. I'd used every connection to get this prescription from a famous doctor, supposed to work miracles on spinal nerves.
Five years ago I was a corporate shark who didn't know the first thing about housework. Now I was a full-time nurse, acupuncturist, and therapist. My battlefield had shifted from boardroom to kitchen floor.
And it was all because of a lie. An outrageous falsehood cost me five years of my youth, my career, and my dignity.
My mind went numb as Sophie scrolled through her phone, showing me more proof.
There were a couple of photos from that popular café across the complex, a screenshot showing a large birthday transfer, and even a copy of a property deed with David's name on it, and the address was literally next door.
It turned out that every day after I massaged his "numb" legs, my "paralyzed" husband would wheel himself downstairs, stand up, and walk across to the apartment he shared with Sophie next door. They even had a two-year-old kid.
I carefully gathered the scattered medicine boxes, stuffed them back in the bag, and walked upstairs in silence. The neighbors' whispers were like countless fine needles, piercing my back.