Oscar's Cruel Choices

The physical therapist's hands were gentle as she guided my arm through its range of motion. Two months had passed since Mom's transplant surgery, and my own body was still healing from Salma's attack. The scars pulled tight across my abdomen whenever I moved too quickly.

"You're making good progress," Dr. Martinez said, her voice warm with encouragement. "The ribs are healing well, but you need to be careful not to overexert yourself."

I nodded, wincing slightly as she pressed on my side. "Some days are better than others."

"The colostomy bag is still uncomfortable?" she asked, her professional demeanor softening with genuine concern.

"It's... manageable," I replied, the word feeling inadequate for the daily humiliation I endured.

After the session ended, I gathered my things slowly, each movement still calculated to avoid pain. The parking lot was nearly empty as I made my way to my car, the afternoon sun beating down on the asphalt.

I was fumbling with my keys when I heard the engine rev behind me.

Before I could turn, impact slammed into my car, throwing me against the hood. Pain exploded through my body as I crumpled to the ground. Through blurred vision, I saw a familiar figure behind the wheel—Salma, her face twisted in a smile that chilled my blood.

"Surgery didn't fix you, did it?" she called out, her voice eerily calm as she reversed and prepared for another pass.

I dragged myself toward the building, screaming for help as security guards rushed out. But Salma was already speeding away, her taillights disappearing around the corner.

---

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors. Three broken ribs, the doctor had said. And the surgical wounds had reopened, requiring additional repair.

"The security cameras captured everything," Detective Morgan told me, her expression grim as she reviewed her notes. "It was clearly deliberate."

Oscar stood by the window, his back to us. "What happens next?"

"We're filing attempted murder charges," Detective Morgan replied, her pen poised over her pad.

"That won't be necessary." Oscar's voice was cold, decisive. "My legal team will handle this."

I stared at him in disbelief. "She tried to kill me. Again."

"She has PTSD," Oscar said, finally turning to face us. "From her trafficking experience. My lawyers will argue it was a dissociative episode."

"That's absurd!" I protested, trying to sit up straighter despite the pain. "She knew exactly what she was doing."

Oscar's expensive legal team arrived the next day, armed with psychiatric evaluations and expert testimonies about Salma's mental state. By the time they finished, what should have been attempted murder had been reduced to an unfortunate accident caused by untreated trauma.

---

The beachfront villa was my sanctuary—the one place where I could breathe without feeling Oscar's suffocating control. He'd given it to me shortly after our engagement, a symbol of his love that now felt like a beautiful cage.

My cats, Whiskers and Shadow, curled against me on the couch as I stroked their fur. My dogs, Max and Luna, slept at my feet. These animals had been my companions for ten years—through college, through my first jobs, through everything before Oscar.

"At least you still love me," I whispered to Whiskers, who purred in response.

The pain medication made me drowsy as I watched the sunset paint the ocean in shades of gold and crimson. For a moment, I could almost forget the nightmare my life had become.

"Mom's getting stronger," I told Shadow, who blinked lazily at me. "The transplant is working. She'll be able to come visit soon."

The routine doctor's appointment was quick—just a check on my healing ribs and a refill of my pain medication. The doctor seemed pleased with my progress, though concerned about my weight loss.

"You need to take better care of yourself," she admonished gently.

I promised I would, though we both knew I had more pressing concerns than my diet.

The drive back to the villa was peaceful, the coastal road empty in the late afternoon. I was looking forward to curling up with my animals again, to the simple comfort of their presence.

As I rounded the final bend, black smoke billowed into the sky ahead of me. My heart raced as I recognized the location—my villa.

I parked haphazardly and ran toward the inferno that had once been my home. Fire trucks blocked the driveway, firefighters shouting instructions as they battled the flames.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there!" someone grabbed my arm as I tried to push past them.

"My pets!" I screamed, struggling against their grip. "My cats and dogs are inside!"

The firefighter's face told me everything before he spoke. "We're sorry. We got here as quickly as we could, but..."

I collapsed to my knees on the driveway, watching as everything I loved burned to ashes. Through my tears, I saw a familiar figure watching from across the street—Salma, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she slipped into a waiting car.