My Husband Pretended to Be Crazy for Another Woman’s Love

In the early days of our love, my husband, Duncan Moretti, sacrificed himself for me, taking a bullet directly to the head.

He survived, but his mind regressed to that of a three-year-old child.

For his sake, I didn't hesitate to abort the child I was carrying and personally test experimental drugs.

When the treatment failed, I crawled, prostrating with every step, across the entirety of Mount Ashland just to pray for his recovery.

Everyone said what we had was true, unwavering love. But that kind of deep, intense love was shattered in an instant by a single pregnancy test report.

Shaina Preston, the girl whom Duncan had secretly cared for over the past three years, came knocking on our door.

Her eyes gleamed with open provocation as she said, "You didn't really think Duncan became a fool just to save you, did you? He was just tired of the constant bloodshed and wanted a peaceful life with me."

She kept going, cold and smug. "I heard you damaged your uterus testing those drugs for Duncan, and can never have children again? That's okay. I'll give birth in your place."

Then, sharper, she added, "So why don't you hurry up and leave? You're not fit to be his wife."

She was pretty, admittedly. Her eyes carried a naive but fearless kind of courage.

There wasn't much point in arguing. I had Shaina tied up and recorded the footage of her screaming, sending it straight to Duncan.

When Duncan burst through the door, his eyes bloodshot with rage, I had just finished carving the last character into her skin.

I smiled and pressed the cold tip of the blade against her neck. "If you don't want this to end with both of us dead, you'd better sign."

——

Duncan did not come alone. He was flanked by a group of people I did not recognize, yet I knew their presence all too well. Their aura was lethal, and it set my nerves on edge.

The killing intent was unmistakable.

It was clear that tonight, Duncan was furious.

"Lauren, let Shaina go. She's innocent," he said.

How touching!

He couldn't even be bothered to keep up the act for the sake of a little girl.

I looked up at the face I had loved for so long. It felt both familiar and foreign now.

Tears spilled from my eyes as I laughed. "So I'm the one who deserves all this, is that it?"

Duncan had faked being mentally impaired for three years.

I'd devoted those same three years entirely to him. For more than a thousand nights, I didn't sleep soundly once.

In my desperation to cure him, I personally tested over a hundred different drugs.

When I was six months pregnant, I learned that a medical lab had developed a new drug.

The effects were unstable, and the side effects could include, but were not limited to, a permanent vegetative state. That same night, with trembling hands, I scheduled an abortion. I could have another child someday, but I couldn't imagine living without him.

After the procedure, I held the already-formed fetus in my arms and cried until I fainted.

When I woke up, I stepped into that lab without hesitation.

The drug trial nearly cost me my life. The doctors told me I would never have the chance to become a mother again. I have never regretted it.

And yet reality slapped me in the face, mercilessly.

The man I had poured everything into saving was never sick to begin with. He only pretended to be brain-damaged so he could escape the chaos and spend his days in peace with another woman.

And now, beneath the soft, ambient lighting, the husband I had sacrificed everything for became a man I barely recognized.

His face was twisted with barely restrained fury as he said coldly, "I can explain, but what right did you have to hurt her?"

Watching him play the righteous man for another woman, I felt anger flare inside me.

I lifted my hand and slammed the divorce papers into his face.

"What right? The right I earned with every damn thing I've sacrificed for you!"

I stood up, my smile sharp and bitter.

Lifting the hem of my long gown, I revealed the brutal, twisted scars on my knees.

They were the marks left from kneeling across the entire span of Mount Ashland.

In despair, people cling to gods and spirits.

Step after step, bow after bow, it hurt more than anything.

The skin on my knees was ground down to raw, bloody flesh. If left untreated, the flesh would rot, scab over, and then tear open again.

And still, with those legs, I crawled the entire way.

Even now, just thinking about that pain makes my whole body tremble.