I was back home, scavenging chestnuts to
pay for college. Two pretty girls were taking
pictures on a precarious rock formation
overlooking a steep drop. A gust of wind, a
slip, and they both started to fall. I lunged,
grabbing one, my body halfway over the edge,
my arm shredding against the rock as I
hauled her back. The other girl…they found
<
At the hospital, the doctor told me my arm
was messed up, probably scarred for life,
limited mobility, maybe even disabled. The girl I’d saved was there. That’s when I learned her
name: Sarah Miller.
Three years later, I graduated college, unemployed. My arm, plus my less–than- marketable degree, meant two months of rejection letters. Then, miraculously, I landed a job at a Fortune 500 company. I thought it was divine intervention. My first day, I saw Sarah. And her CEO father. Turns out, it wasn’t God. It was her. Repaying her debt.
I didn’t refuse. She was interning at her dad’s company, and we fell in love. Her father was furious. Wrong side of the tracks. Sarah gave him an ultimatum: marriage or a shotgun wedding. He caved.
く
For years, I endured the cold shoulder from
her family, the subtle digs, the lack of
respect. But I never complained. I gave Sarah
everything, indulged her every whim, no
matter how unreasonable. Washing her feet
was the least of it. I thought we’d grow old
together. All I wanted was a child. Which is
why I’d flown to see her, timed with her
ovulation and “business trip,” hoping to
surprise her.
Surprise, I got. But not the good kind.
Ethan had just returned from overseas, and
my father–in–law insisted Sarah pick him up,
personally, and gave him a cushy executive
position. Me? Years at the company, and I
was still a low–level clerk, practically invisible. Company policy, apparently. My father–in–law
didn’t want me “tarnishing the family image.‘
<
I swallowed it. No complaints.
At Ethan’s welcome–back dinner, Sarah
greeted him with a full–on kiss. My jaw
dropped. She brushed it off as a European
thing, they were practically siblings. I bought
- it. Different upbringing, right? I didn’t want to
embarrass her. But I saw the look in Ethan’s
eyes. It wasn’t brotherly.
After that, they were inseparable, laughing,
whispering, working late. I tolerated it. But her
refusal to have my child, the perfectly timed
“business trips,” choosing artificial
insemination with Ethan’s sperm instead…
that was the breaking point.
I couldn’t sleep. The next day, Sarah banged
on the guest room door. “I’m starving!
Where’s lunch? Why are you still in bed? This
L
place is a mess! What have you been doing?”
I rolled over, a bitter smile on my face. After
we married, I’d pampered her so much, she
probably didn’t know which way the kitchen
door opened. I thought I was being a good
husband. Now I just felt stupid.
“Get up! Go make some food!” She shoved
me, like I was some obedient servant. Useful
when needed, disposable when not.
“Make your own. You’re not my wife
anymore.” I sat up, looked at her perfectly
made–up face, and walked out.
Panic flashed in her eyes, quickly masked. “What are you talking about? If I’m not your wife, who is? Are you going to keep this up?”
“Just stating facts.
“You!”
“From the moment you decided to have
Ethan’s baby, you stopped being my wife. It’s
over.”
*Did someone tell you something? Some lie?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.” I turned to leave.
She grabbed my arm. “I just borrowed his sperm! I want a child with good genes. Is that so wrong? Does biology really matter? The
