My wife's first love manipulated his son into humiliating my daughter—and they took photos.
Looking at my daughter sobbing uncontrollably, looking at those vile photographs, my heart shattered. I slapped them both across the face.
When my wife arrived, her precious first love twisted everything. He claimed my daughter and I had bullied them, that we were the aggressors.
Without a word of explanation, my wife had me locked away in a closed facility called the Men's Virtue Program. She said I needed to learn proper etiquette and manners.
Six months later, she came with a group to take me home.
I served tea with steady hands. I spoke softly. I kept my head bowed, never daring to meet anyone's eyes.
Everyone remarked how effective the program had been. They said I finally had the air of a proper gentleman now—nothing like the arrogant, domineering man I used to be.
Then I knelt on the floor and said: "I'm the most obedient one here. Would any of you ladies like a taste?"
My wife slapped me across the face, trembling with rage. "Timothy Henson! I only sent you here to learn some manners! It was for your own good! Are you really throwing a tantrum over this?"
"You're putting on this degrading act just to disgust me, is that it?"
I smiled back at her—a numb, empty smile. "Isn't this what you wanted, ma'am? For me to become exactly this?"
She shoved me hard. "Where's our daughter?"
My face went blank. "Our daughter? She's been gone for a long time now..."
1.
"Timothy Henson, you have visitors." Instructor Knox's voice cut through the haze.
I flinched.
Another visitor.
Students of the Men's Virtue Program were not permitted to refuse guests. A moment's defiance meant severe punishment.
I had learned only two words in this place: complete obedience.
Instructor Knox had made it clear—only when I mastered obedience would I ever have a chance of leaving.
I walked to the reception lounge with my head down.
A group of familiar faces greeted me.
My wife, Celine Gilbert. Her circle of friends. And her first love, Brent Pruitt.
Six months of "correction" had left my mind... foggy. Slow.
Following my training, I bowed deeply the moment I entered.
Then I poured tea for each of them, presenting every cup with both hands held perfectly steady, exactly as I'd been taught.
Celine nodded with satisfaction. "The Men's Virtue Program really does live up to its reputation. You're so much more sensible now than you used to be."
"If I'd known this place worked so well, I would have sent you here years ago."
"Mrs. Gilbert is right," I murmured, eyes downcast.
She frowned at the formal address.
"The incident where you and our daughter attacked Brent," she continued coolly, "Brent has been gracious enough not to press charges, but you can't just pretend it never happened."
"I've transferred half of the company shares belonging to you and our daughter to Brent. Consider it compensation."
I said nothing. My head stayed bowed.
Celine's voice sharpened. "Timothy! Don't you think you owe Brent an apology?"
Her rebuke sent a jolt through me. Before I could think, I was on my knees in front of Brent Pruitt. "Mr. Pruitt, I'm sorry. I was wrong."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I pressed my forehead to the floor, again and again.
This was how it worked in the program. Never question right or wrong. When someone raised their voice, you dropped to your knees and begged forgiveness.
The faster you admitted fault, the lighter the punishment.
It had become instinct.
Celine yanked me back roughly. "Timothy, what the hell are you doing?"
My face drained of color. I couldn't stop shaking.
She released me, something flickering in her expression. "Timothy... what's wrong with you? I'm your wife. Why do you look so terrified? Why are you looking at me like you don't even know who I am?"
Brent's voice drifted from beside her, wounded and soft. "He must still blame me. That's why he's mocking us like this."
