I had just transferred the entire $500,000 insurance settlement from my car accident to my husband when I received a photo from him on my phone.
In the photo, a woman was lying in a hospital bed.
The caption read: “Honey, I used your settlement money to pay for my true love’s medical expenses. Her health is fragile, she needs extra care.”
Before I could react, his call came through, his voice ice-cold:
“The money isn’t enough. Why don’t you get hit by another car and bring in more?”
…
Daniel Smith’s impatient voice rang out:
“Emily Parker, didn’t you say you loved me? If you love me, you should love what I love—Chloe Miller is my life.”
“That half a million dollars was bought with my life!” I rasped. “It was meant for our future home!”
He sneered.
“Your life? Is your life more important than Chloe’s health?”
I froze. This man—the man I had loved for five years—had actually said such words.
“If you hadn’t been distracted while driving three years ago, Chloe wouldn’t have been so severely injured and left with lasting health issues! This is what you owe her!”
The line went dead with a sharp beep.
I stared at the ceiling, my mind in chaos.
Three years ago, that accident… Chloe had swerved to avoid a child and crashed into a guardrail. I was a witness. I had even called an ambulance for her. Yet Daniel thought it was me who had hit her?
A nurse entered, seeing my pale face, and sighed:
“Your husband was just here. He signed your discharge papers, said it would be easier to take care of you at home.”
Daniel took me home. He didn’t say a word in the car. I tried to explain the truth about the accident, but he only gave me a cold glance.
When we arrived, he pointed at the storage room.
“You’ll live here. The master bedroom is for Chloe to rest. You reek of medicine; don’t let the smell upset her.”
The storage room? In our marital home, I was to live in the storage room?
Through the crack in the door, I watched him dismantle the massage chair I had hesitated to buy for myself and carefully set it up beside Chloe’s bed.
He held a bowl of soup, feeding her spoon by spoon, so tenderly that my heart shattered.
I remembered the early days of our marriage, when I had a high fever. Daniel had held me all night, crying, saying I was his sky—that the sky could never fall.
Now, his sky was Chloe.
Late that night, pain in my ribs kept me awake. From the living room, I heard voices. I pressed my ear to the door.
“Don’t worry, she loves me. She’ll believe whatever I say,” Daniel whispered gently. “Once she gets her worker’s compensation, we’ll have more money again.”
The next morning, Daniel threw a document onto my chest.
“Sign it. The company added another $30,000 in worker’s comp. The recipient’s name is already mine.”
I stared at the paper, a suffocating sense of injustice rising in me.
“About that accident three years ago—I have witnesses who can prove it wasn’t me who hit Chloe.”
Daniel sneered.
“Evidence? Chloe says it was you. That’s enough. Do your witnesses matter more than her words?”
His eyes held no guilt, only the arrogance of entitlement. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.
“Meow—”
My cat, Muffin, ran out from the balcony, meowing at Chloe.
Chloe instantly clutched her chest, coughing weakly. “Daniel, this cat…”
“Muffin!” Daniel grabbed the cat I had raised for five years and dragged him to the balcony, slamming the door shut.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” I rushed to open the door, but he shoved me aside.
“It’s just an animal. How dare it compete with Chloe for attention?” His glare was sharp. “If you don’t behave, I’ll throw it off the balcony.”
I stared at Muffin’s pitiful figure outside, my heart aching like it was being torn apart. That cat had been my companion through my loneliest years.
