Summer Has Ended, And Winter Is Eternal

My husband had a severe addiction for physical intimacy.

However, in the seven years of our marriage, he never touched me, not even once. To suppress his urges, he soaked himself in bone-chilling ice water every night. His arms were covered in needle marks from constant injections.

It broke my heart to see him like that. I offered myself to him many times, but he insisted on simply giving me a restrained kiss on the forehead before saying, “Don’t be silly, Summer. I’m not like those animals. How could I ever bear to hurt you? For you, I’d gladly live the rest of my life in a platonic marriage.”

This strange, almost obsessive restraint of his lasted seven years.

Despite the numerous times he pushed himself far enough to end up hospitalized, he still refused to cross that line.

Then, on our wedding anniversary, a young woman named Anna Brandt came in for her ninth hymen restoration surgery. After the anesthetic was administered, her cheeks flushed red. As her mind grew hazy, she started crying weakly like a lost kitten. Looking at the love bites scattered across her body, I shook my head and assumed she was just another girl who had gone astray.

That was until I heard her last tearful whisper.

“John Shaw, you jerk.”

My hand trembled and I nearly dropped the scalpel.

Because my husband’s name also was John Shaw.

After the surgery ended, I quietly slipped my watch into Anna Brandt’s purse. That diamond watch had been a gift from John. Inside it was the most advanced GPS tracker and listening device available.

That night, I sat at the dining table and stared blankly at the spread of food I had prepared.

Danny Young, my husband’s secretary, suddenly came in to deliver a bunch of luxurious jewelry that nearly filled room.

“Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw said that he has an important business meeting tonight and that he can’t make it back to celebrate your anniversary. He picked all of these out for you himself.”

I looked at the dishes, long gone cold on the table. Then, I opened my iPad and checked my watch’s GPS. It showed a location in an upscale gated community.

Years ago, I had been kidnapped. That brush with death left John unable to sleep properly for six months. He thus became obsessed with my safety and gave me that watch. To think that it was presently used to reveal his unfaithfulness…

“John, today’s your seventh wedding anniversary with your wife. Are you really not going home?”

Loud jeers and laughter erupted in the background. Once it died down, a low, magnetic chuckle cut through the calming chuckles.

“You want me to go back and be stuck with that fish-eyed face?”

His tone was casual, edged with mockery. I closed my eyes and could almost picture the scene, John lounging at the head of the table, a cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slow curls of smoke.

More laughter followed. Then, came the clink of glasses.

“I heard you haven’t touched Summer in seven years. Why are you holding out on a beauty like that?”

“Are you crazy? Everyone in our circle knows that John only sleeps with virgins. No matter how pretty Summer is, she’s been tainted by someone else. How could she compare to you? At least you are innocent.”

Anna let out a shy, coquettish protest.

A chill ran through my entire body. Even my hands began to tremble. It felt as though I had been dragged back to the darkest moment of my life, the memory I tried hardest never to think about.

The night before I married John, I was kidnapped by one of his enemies. To humiliate the Shaw family, they tortured me for seventy-two hours straight. When John finally found me, he was completely unhinged and acted like a possessed man.

After that, I developed a severe psychological disorder. Whenever anyone touched me, my body would react with uncontrollable nausea. John would choke up as he held me. He would repeat the same words over and over.

“Summer, you’re not dirty. You’re the purest, most beautiful woman in the world.”

Laughter broke out again on the other end. Then, someone asked, “Why did you marry Summer in the first place? Seven years is a long time. There’s got to be some love there, right?”

The room gradually fell quiet. It seemed everyone was waiting for John’s answer. In that silence, all I could hear was the pounding of my heartbeat.

John swallowed a mouthful of liquor and casually said, “Come on, are we five? I don’t touch her because she’s been defiled, but think about it, what if I had chosen not to marry her and caused her to kill herself? Who would want to be responsible for that?”

“Hahaha! Right, my bad. I almost forgot she might actually die without you. Anyway, she’s an orphan. Being able to marry into the Shaw family is already a blessing she should be thanking fate for. Women like that only need you to buy them a few luxury gifts to keep them happy here and then! Just treat them like little pets to keep around.”

Once the party was over and everybody had left, Anna finally spoke.

“John, I’ve got a surprise for you. Want to guess what it is?”

John finished the last of his drink and let out a low chuckle as he lifted her into his arms.

“Only one way to find out.”

Soon, a series of moans came through the device.

A cold wetness on the back of my hand jolted me back to reality. I had not even realized that I had started crying. Tears slipped through my fingers and dampened the wedding ring on my left hand.

My shoulders trembled for a bit, and then, I suddenly laughed.

I swept the elaborate dinner I had prepared off the table and began to retch violently.

The sounds coming from the other end of that screen did not stop until the sky began to lighten.

Anna’s voice was hoarse from crying.

“John, you jerk…”

I slipped the wedding ring off my finger while remembering the vows we had exchanged on our wedding.

“John, if you ever do something unforgivable, I’ll disappear from your world forever.”

Twenty-two-year-old John’s eyes had sparkled as he answered.

“I’ll never give you the chance to do that.”

Staring at my disheveled reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, I wiped the tears from my face. Then I picked up my phone and called John’s mother, Deborah Shaw.

“Deborah, I’ve made up my mind. I accept your terms.”