…finish the job he started when he decided my life was no longer worth the cost of my medical bills. “Stop this drama, Nancy! Get off the bed and come with me!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the small room. I blinked, trying to process his words through the haze of medication. “I am not wasting my money on this nonsense!”
I stared at him in disbelief. I had been hit by a speeding car three weeks ago. For twenty-one days, I had laid here, praying for him to walk through that door, to hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. Instead, he was screaming at me to walk when I was unable to even sit up without assistance. “It is impossible, Ethan,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “My legs… they are broken.”
He did not even flinch. He stepped closer, the smell of his expensive cologne suffocating me. “You figure it out,” he spat, leaning over the bed rails. “Sell your jewelry. Sell whatever you have. I am not spending another dime on a wife who is useless to me.” The word hung in the air like a guillotine blade. Useless.
