The Husband She Tried to Cash Out

Estella couldn't even be bothered to buy a proper blood pack to make her act convincing.

"Most men recover quickly from blood loss. It won't kill you to draw a little more, so why don't you sell more of your blood? You wouldn't want to see me die in agony, would you?" A soft, pitiful note crept into her voice when I remained silent.

"Are you hungry? I'll cook something for you." I changed the subject as I turned and stepped into the cramped bathroom.

The coat she'd just taken off today lay soaking in a plastic basin. I plunged my hand into the icy water and felt a soggy wad of paper inside the pocket.

I took it out and carefully unfolded it. Although the ink had smudged a little, I could still make out the words on it.

It was a receipt for a lobster roll that cost 400 dollars and foie gras priced at 300 dollars. The payment had just been made at noon today.

I simply couldn't imagine a terminally ill patient eating a seafood feast. After all, every one of these dishes was strictly forbidden by the doctor.

Attached to the back of the receipt was a crumpled slip listing a 200-dollar fee for photocopying medical records at Cendollia Hospital.

I clenched the two pieces of paper as my nails dug deep into my palm.

Another violent wave churned in my stomach. I doubled over the sink and retched, but all that came up was stomach acid and yesterday's stale bread that'd yet to be fully digested.

In that moment, all I felt was a surge of overwhelming disgust.

I'd devoted the last five years of my life to loving Estella, working myself to the bone, only to realize that it'd all been a scam.

"What's taking you so long in there? My stomach hurts so bad that I can't stand it anymore. Hurry up and get me something warm to eat!" Her shrill voice drifted in from outside.

I turned on the tap, letting the cold water wash the vomit down the sink. Then, I laid the two slips of paper flat on the edge of the counter and dried them slowly using a hairdryer.

Once that was done, I folded and slipped them into the innermost pocket of my clothes. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bathroom.

"Coming," I walked over to the crude gas stove as I spoke.

There was still half a bowl of oatmeal left in the pot from yesterday. I lit the stove and warmed it before walking toward the bedside with the bowl in hand.

Estella's gaze flickered with open disgust when she saw the bland, watery oatmeal. The next moment, a crash rang out as she knocked it aside with a sharp swing of her hand.

The bowl crashed to the ground, sending the scalding meal splashing across the back of my hand. A patch of red blisters formed instantly as a sharp pain shot through me.

"I can't believe you expect me to eat this crap. Are you trying to starve me to death? I've been diagnosed with stomach cancer, and I need proper nutrition! Can't you even afford to buy some meat for me?" Estella cursed as she pointed her finger at my nose.

I stared at the blisters swelling on the back of my hand. She didn't even spare them a glance.

All Estella cared about was eating meat. After all, someone who'd just eaten a lobster roll at noon couldn't possibly swallow a bowl of plain oatmeal at night.

I crouched down and picked up the broken porcelain pieces with my bare hands. The sharp edges sliced my index finger, dripping blood onto the floor.

"I'll go borrow some money tomorrow," I said as I kept my head down. My voice was completely devoid of any emotion.

"I suppose you still have some conscience left in you after all." Estella let out a cold sneer before turning to face away from me.

"Hurry up and clean this mess. It's annoying to even look at," she continued.

I threw the shards into the trash and wiped the spilled oatmeal off the floor bit by bit with a rag.

That night, I sat on the cold floor with my eyes wide open until dawn.