After I Faked My Death, My Cheating Husband Lost Everything

I sat in the car, cold all over, my nails digging so hard into my palms they nearly broke the skin. It was the only thing keeping my rage from swallowing me whole.

My hands trembled as I was about to hit "save" on the video.

The next second, the sender recalled it.

The blood drained from my face. I immediately told the driver to turn around and head straight for Bertha's place.

I had barely reached the front gate when Bertha came strolling out of the villa.

"Sharon! What brings you here all of a sudden?"

I pulled my lips into a cold, thin smile.

"Bertha. Where is my child?"

She kept up the act perfectly, even managing a look of surprise.

"Sharon, what are you talking about?"

"I know you lost the baby. It was stillborn. I understand you're grieving, but you can't just make up lies about me."

When she saw my face go even whiter, she leaned in close to my ear.

"Sharon, could this be postpartum depression? Maybe you're having some kind of episode? I seem to remember you were always paranoid about me and—"

Before she could finish, I swung my hand at her face with everything I had.

"You and Benjamin, you're both—"

My palm was an inch from her cheek when someone seized both my wrists with bruising force.

Then came Benjamin's voice from above me, cold and sharp. "Sharon, you said you were going out to clear your head. What are you doing here, making a scene?"

I thrashed and fought like a woman possessed, but I was no match for the bodyguard's grip.

It felt like the bones in my wrists were being ground to dust. Even that pain didn't amount to a fraction of what I felt in my chest.

I looked up at Benjamin, eyes burning red, my voice raw. "I know everything, Benjamin."

His pupils contracted for just a moment. Then his expression smoothed over, blank as stone.

"Benjamin, I'm begging you!" I screamed until my throat tore. "Give me back my child!"

Seeing my bloodshot eyes, he pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to say something. But Bertha spoke first.

"Benjamin, do you think she might be having some kind of psychotic episode? I know she's heartbroken, but the baby is already gone, isn't it?"

I jerked my head toward her, my mouth opening to respond, when I heard the coldest words I'd ever heard in my life.

"Take my wife to the psychiatric ward. This kind of behavior in public is unacceptable."

I fought with every ounce of strength I had left, screaming at their retreating backs.

"I'm not crazy! You're the ones who are insane!"

The hospital's evaluation came back quickly. I was "diagnosed" with hysteria.

Benjamin wasted no time arranging my admission for inpatient treatment. He even assigned extra staff to "watch over" me.

The doctors subjected me to electroshock therapy. Session after session, they nearly turned me into the very thing they'd labeled me.

After the treatments ended, I had almost nothing left. No anger. No grief. No feeling at all. I lay on the hospital bed like a hollow shell.

Then a faint signal chimed from the window.

I slowly pulled myself off the bed and walked to the window, perfectly calm.

The moment I moved to jump, the door behind me swung open. Benjamin stepped inside.

And so he saw me leap from the eighteenth-floor window.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. He lunged toward the window, arm outstretched, trying to grab me. "Sharon! Don't!"