My Husband’s Mistress Demanded I Kneel For Divorce

On our seventh wedding anniversary, Garrett's darling Rhea was startled by my dog, Buddy. In a fit of rage, he killed Buddy, shaved my head, and locked me in a dog crate.

"Jealous woman, every hardship Rhea faced, you must repay in full!" he sneered, his eyes ice-cold and unyielding.

Cramped in the cage, the suffocating space made breathing difficult. Hands clasped in silent prayer, I begged him to set me free. His response was as frigid as his stare:

"You can come out when you've given it enough thought."

With that, he left me there, turning away without another glance.

Three days later, he finally remembered me and returned home:

"As long as you don’t harm Rhea anymore, you can still be Mrs. Harris. Behave, and I’ll make it up to you next Thanksgiving."

He thought he was being lenient, oblivious to the fact I had nearly suffocated and no longer wished for another anniversary with him.

Prolonged confinement left me barely able to stand, numbness and aching seeping through my body. Garrett stood before the crate, watching me as I gasped for air, his voice tinged with guilt:

"Realizing your mistake is enough. I promise, as long as you don’t target Rhea again, I won’t punish you like this."

Summoning strength, I crawled to the couch. Reflected in the coffee table’s surface was a ghastly sight: my face sallow and drained, my scalp patchy, and Buddy, who once nestled in my arms, now nowhere to be seen. Only scattered tufts of white fur lingered on the floor.

I began to sob uncontrollably, despising the memory of the last three days. Garrett's expression turned impatient as he handed me a tissue:

"Stop crying; it was only three days."

"Do you know how Rhea's been suffering, waking from nightmares, her head aching for three whole nights?"

"Can’t you change your dreadful temper?"

My heart twisted painfully. Just because she was frightened, must I be caged like an animal? Did Buddy really have to die because she angered him first?

Shame and grief flooded over me, and I fought to contain my anger, sobbing as I spoke:

"Garrett, do you know what Buddy meant to me? Don’t you know how terrified I am of the dark and tight spaces? Do you truly not love me at all? Have you ever considered my feelings?"

"No matter how much you love Rhea, she's not your wife!"

The sharp sting of the slap snapped me back to reality. My cheek throbbed with pain, morphing into a dull ache. Garrett's eyes were stormy, filled with frustration as he glared at me:

"What nonsense are you spouting? How many times have I explained? There's nothing between us, just mutual admiration from back in school."

His gaze seemed ready to pierce through me. I was left gasping for air, words of complaint and entreaty stuck in my throat.

The air froze briefly before he hastily tossed a set of skincare products onto the table:

"A gift for our fifth anniversary. If Mom asks, you know what to say."

"Poor choice. If you behave next Thanksgiving, I’ll spend the day with you properly."

I stared blankly at his broad back as he walked away. Garrett Harris, have you truly forgotten, or did you never care to remember? This is our seventh year of marriage.

I realized then, there would be no next Thanksgiving for us.