No Longer Yours, Dear Husband

Last year, the school raised two pigs, but they got sick. I wanted to take them to the vet in town, but Ryder refused to help. So, I dragged them there myself, struggling every step of the way. Honestly, I must have looked ridiculous, but I had no other choice.

Ryder barely spared me a glance and scoffed. “She insisted on taking those pigs to the vet even though I told her not to. Wasted all that effort for nothing.”

“If the pigs were sick, she should’ve just slaughtered them and eaten the meat. What’s the point of going through all that trouble?”

Sage let out a giggle, linking her arm with Ryder’s as they strolled out of the store, their bags full of expensive supplements.

“Those pigs must have been at least two hundred pounds each, right? Guess my sister isn’t as weak as she looks," Sage said, amused. "But still, I’m glad she took them to the vet. I wouldn’t have eaten sick pork anyway.”

A shiver ran through me, but not from the cold. Ryder had a respectable job as the principal of the elementary school, earning a decent salary. But what no one knew was that most of his income went to helping the students, many of whom couldn’t even afford to eat.

We lived in near poverty. Some months, we didn’t even have a proper meal with meat.

I cared about him, so I found a way to buy two piglets for cheap—weak, underdeveloped ones that needed extra care. I spent months raising them, making sure they grew strong and healthy. When they got sick, I panicked. I loaded them onto a cart and pulled them all the way to town, my feet blistered and bleeding, just to save them. I thought if I could nurse them back to health, we’d finally have something decent to eat.

But in the end, they didn’t survive. Or at least, that’s what Ryder told me.

I still remember the day he made me return home for the weekend. When I got back, he told me both pigs had died and he had thrown them away. I blamed myself for weeks, thinking I had given them the wrong medicine, that my inexperience had cost us the only good meal we could have had in months.

But now, standing here, watching Ryder and Sage with their expensive bags of supplements, realization struck me like a punch to the gut.

He had lied.

Those pigs never ‘died.’ Ryder had given them to Sage, using them as a way to please her.

Tears welled up in my eyes—not just for his deception, but for my own stupidity. How could I have been so blind?

Ryder noticed me and, in a pathetic attempt to hide the evidence, shifted the bags behind his back. But Sage held onto his arm tightly, her expression smug.

“Oh, hi, Sis,” she said sweetly, “I haven’t been feeling well, so Ryder bought me some supplements. You don’t mind, do you?”

Her voice was dripping with mock innocence, but I wasn’t naive enough to fall for it.

Ryder, emboldened by her words, frowned at me. “Amber! Sage is your sister! She fainted at the train station because of low blood sugar. What’s wrong with me buying her some supplements?”

I didn’t respond, but before I could turn away, the pharmacist behind the counter spoke up.

“Miss, do you still want the burn ointment? It’s only eighty cents a bottle and it’ll last you a long time.”

I glanced down at the crumpled five-cent coin in my hand, then back up at the expensive bags Ryder was holding.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

“No, thank you,” I said quietly. “I can’t afford it.”

Then, I walked out of the pharmacy.

Ryder’s expression darkened, but before he could say anything, Sage let out a dramatic sigh, playing the victim as always.

“Ryder,” she whined, “you make thirty or forty dollars a month, right? How could Amber not afford a simple bottle of ointment?”

Then, with a sly smile, she added, “Looks like Amber still holds a grudge over what happened back then. She just wanted to embarrass me.”

She wiped at her fake tears. “Fine, if that’s how it is, I’ll leave.”

She turned as if to go, her performance flawless. Ryder’s face hardened. He strode forward, grabbing my arm to stop me in my tracks. “Amber, apologize to Sage!”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Why should I apologize?” I asked coldly.

Ryder squared his shoulders, his voice full of self-righteousness. “Because—”