Husband, Why Did You Send Me to Prison for Her?

"Marga, did you eat something you shouldn't have?" he asked gently. "I told you not to touch spicy food while you're on your period. Be good and listen to me. I'll get you something else to eat."

A few moments later, the call disconnected.

I sat there staring at my phone for a very long time.

I'd already given up on him. I knew that. I truly did. So why did it still hurt?

Why did it feel as though someone had wrapped a rope around my heart and kept pulling tighter and tighter?

I wanted to cry but I couldn't. My tears had dried up years ago.

So I laughed instead.

I laughed until my stomach hurt. Laughed until I couldn't breathe. Laughed until there was no sound left.

In the end, the person who paid for my surgery wasn't my husband. It was my childhood best friend. Violet Jones.

She sat beside my hospital bed and stared at me for a long time. Her eyes were red, just like always. Out of everyone in my life, she was the only one who had visited me consistently during those eight years. The only one who cried for me. The only one who never abandoned me.

She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag, and pointed at me. "Tell me something, Olivia. How the hell are you still alive after everything that bastard did to you? eight years, Olivia. Eight damn years, and he let everyone treat you like garbage while he protected that woman."

I looked at her quietly.

Violet let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "No, seriously. That man destroyed your life, yet you're still letting him stay in your world. If I were you, I would've slapped both of them already."

After a brief pause, her eyes flashed with fury. "Actually, forget slapping them. I would've killed them."

That made me laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh.

It was small.

Broken.

"You think I still love him?" I asked softly. "After everything that's happened, do you really think that's what this is?"

Violet nearly choked on her cigarette. "What else am I supposed to think? Most people would've lost their minds by now, but you're still sitting here acting calm."

I lowered my gaze to the blanket covering my legs. Kill them?

No.

Death was too easy.

Alaric had destroyed my life. He had put me on a stage and let the entire world throw stones at me. He had turned me into a criminal, a joke, a monster.

Meanwhile, he remained everyone's respected a don.

Margaret had done even better.

She had become a famous actress, the rising star of the entertainment world. People praised her talent, admired her success, and respected everything she stood for.

Nobody knew they had climbed to the top using my flesh and blood as the staircase beneath their feet.

One day, I would drag both of them down from that pedestal and make them experience everything they'd done to me.

I looked at Violet and asked calmly, "Do you know anyone at the City Clerk's Office or Vital Records department? Someone reliable."

She blinked in confusion. "Yeah, I know a few people. Why are you asking?"

I turned toward the window. The sunlight looked distant, cold, like something that belonged to another world.

"Can you do me one more favor?" I asked quietly. "In one month, erase everything connected to Olivia."

The room fell silent.

Violet's eyes widened.

For a long moment, she simply stared at me.

Then she understood.

Pain flashed across her face, but she didn't try to stop me.

"I'll handle it," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything. Just leave it to me."

...

A few days later, Alaric learned the truth.

He found out I had actually undergone surgery.

Found out there had been foreign objects inside my stomach.

Found out I hadn't lied.

The moment he heard it, he rushed to the hospital.

For the first time in years, I saw genuine panic on his face.

He brought in specialists. Demanded additional examinations. And reviewed every report personally.

From that day forward, he practically lived inside my hospital room.

Until the final test results arrived.

Benign and non cancerous.

Not life-threatening.

The moment he heard the diagnosis, his entire body relaxed. Then suddenly he wrapped his arms around me.

Tightly.

Almost desperately.

I could actually feel him trembling.

It was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"What's wrong?" I asked hoarsely. "I thought you didn't believe I needed surgery. Why are you so scared now?"

Alaric's body stiffened.

"Olivia, that's not what happened," he said quietly. "I found out the truth about the report. I found the person responsible, and I already dealt with her."

I remained silent.

Alaric took both of my hands and pressed them against his lips. "The report was forged by one of Marga's friends. She blamed you for everything Marga went through and thought she was helping. I made sure she paid for what she did."

"Really?" I asked softly. "What exactly did you do to her?"

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time, Alaric looked uncomfortable.

Finally, he lowered his gaze and answered, "She paid three times your hospital expenses. She covered your nursing fees, your recovery costs, and I warned her family. They know what she did."

I stared at him.

That was it.

That was his punishment? We both knew that wasn't justice.

Not compared to what had happened to me.

After a long silence, he finally admitted the truth.

"She's Marga's best friend," he said heavily. "If I punish her too harshly, Marga won't be able to handle it. She's already struggling enough."

Marga.

Again.

Always Marga! Everything was about Marga!

What about mine? Did my pain count for nothing?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash everything in the room.

I wanted to ask him why Margaret always mattered more.

Why I was always the one being sacrificed.

But my damaged throat wouldn't let the words come out.

Instead, I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt.

Alaric looked like he wanted to explain himself.

Wanted to justify everything.

But even he couldn't find the words.

Then suddenly his eyes brightened, as though he'd remembered something important.

"Olivia, trust me," he said urgently while leaning closer. "There are only three wishes left. Just two. Once I finish them, everything will be over and we'll finally be okay again."

His eyes searched mine desperately.

"After that, it'll just be us. I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I promise you won't regret staying."

I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to hear another word.

"Alaric, I'm tired," I said quietly. "I want to rest. Please leave."

The room fell silent.

Neither of us spoke again.

Eventually, I heard the door close softly behind him.

And I was alone.

…

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Alaric drove me home himself. I sat quietly in the passenger seat and watched the city pass by outside the window. Neither of us spoke much during the drive.

When the car finally stopped, I stepped out and looked at the house before me.

It had been eight years since I'd last stood here. Everything looked familiar, yet none of it felt like mine anymore. My gaze drifted toward the courtyard where I used to grow tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, and fruit trees. I had spent countless afternoons caring for them, but now every trace of them was gone. In their place stood rows of bright red roses.

Beautiful. Expensive. Completely useless.

Inside the entryway, I instinctively searched for my old blue slippers. The pair I'd worn for years had disappeared, replaced by a delicate pink pair that perfectly matched Margaret's taste. I stopped walking.

Alaric noticed immediately. Without a word, he kicked the pink slippers aside, opened the shoe cabinet, and pulled out another pair. "Here," he said awkwardly. "I threw your old slippers away because they were worn out. I just haven't had time to buy new ones yet."

I lowered my eyes without responding. Old slippers, old flowers, old memories. Some things were surprisingly easy to replace.

The silence seemed to make him uncomfortable. Before he could explain further, my attention shifted toward the living room. Women's clothes were scattered across the sofa. A designer handbag sat on the coffee table beside lipstick, perfume, and hair accessories. The signs of another woman living here were impossible to miss.

Alaric followed my gaze and immediately explained, "Marga had another episode a few days ago, so one of her friends brought her here. Don't worry, she's staying in the guest room."