A Prison Built From Broken Promises

Ever since Eloise moved back to Portland, everything had changed. She seeped into every corner of Neil's life, leaving no room for me.

My festering insecurity fueled more and more fights with Neil. My depression deepened, and Eloise was always there, waiting around every corner to provoke me with surgical precision. She knew I was sick, which seemed to make her torment all the more delicious.

On a private Instagram account, she posted a picture of herself wearing a custom necklace, the miniature locket holding a childhood photo of her and Neil. The caption read: "Some bonds are irreplaceable."

Her words were a poisoned dagger, twisting in my heart with every beat.

When I told Neil about my depression, he accused me of being paranoid and over-emotional.

When I had a breakdown and smashed my favorite guitar, he called me hysterical.

When the ache in my soul kept me from sleeping, he said I was just overthinking things.

...

By the time I drove to the St. Johns Bridge, I was so numb I couldn't tell if I was dead or alive.

I stood alone on the bridge, the cold river wind whipping my dress against my legs. My phone screen glowed with the appointment confirmation email from the tattoo parlor. Neil was going to remove the matching tattoo we got when we married—a star chart of the night we met.

I stared at the city lights in the distance until they blurred into a single, sneering laugh.

A hundred-foot drop yawned beneath me, the wind howling in my ears like a thousand screaming voices.

Strangely, I felt no fear, only a profound sense of relief.

My phone vibrated again.

I forced myself to look at the new notification. It was a picture from Eloise: Neil's wrist, wrapped in a fresh bandage.

The attached message read: "He's finally decided to erase you."

My fingers twitched, and the phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the pavement.

A passing cyclist glanced up at the sound, his face twisting in horror when he saw me on the ledge.

Just as my consciousness began to fade, a car screeched to a halt. Neil threw the driver's side door open and scrambled out, his eyes wide with terror.

On the dimly lit bridge, my fragile figure teetered on the edge, as if a gust of wind could sweep me away.

He stumbled, his knees hitting the cold, wet pavement, but he didn't seem to notice the pain. He screamed my name, his voice hoarse and trembling with a primal fear.

"Wren! Get down from there! Look at me!" he roared, then snarled at the cyclist without looking away from me, "Call 911!" He began to crawl toward me, his movements agonizingly slow, terrified that any sudden move would send me plummeting to my death.

The moment I was pulled back to safety, he lunged forward, crushing me against him in a hug so tight I thought my bones would break.

"Hang on, Wren. Please. I can't live without you," he begged. I could smell the scent on him, a mixture of cold autumn rain and a strange woman's perfume.

In the hospital, Neil sat by my bed, his fingers nervously picking at the edge of the sheet.

"Wren, stop this," he said, his tone chillingly calm. "Is this what it takes to get my attention? Threatening your own life?"

I stared at him. He was frowning, his expression like a parent scolding a petulant child.

"Eloise's situation is different," he continued. "She developed severe anxiety after getting lost as a child. I became the only person she trusts. We grew up together, and her family always dismissed her fears, so she learned to rely on me."

He paused, his gaze falling on my empty eyes. "Now, she doesn't trust anyone but me. Ever since then, I'm the only one who can make her feel safe..."

His gaze drifted out the window, his fingers unconsciously tracing my IV line as if to prove his point. "Her therapist said it stems from an extreme lack of security."

He turned back to me, his brow furrowed. I met his gaze and saw the exhaustion and helplessness etched into his face.

"It's not what you think between us." A hint of urgency crept into his voice. "She's like a sister to me. You understand, right? Besides, you know her situation."

"You know she's sick," he said, his voice turning cold. "Why do you have to compete with her?"

He sighed. "Don't be like this. You're my wife. That will never change."

Neil gently tried to brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek, then abruptly pulled his hand back. "Once Eloise's condition stabilizes, I'll make it up to you. We'll go to the Greek islands, see those white-washed towns you love, alright?"

I saw his eyes flicker away, the telltale sign he was lying.