The Obsessive Husband's Golden Prison

Addison Ball POV:

My stomach clenched. A sudden, violent surge of nausea overwhelmed me.

I clapped a hand to my mouth, sprinting towards the bathroom. I barely made it.

The porcelain bowl was cold against my cheek. My body convulsed, emptying itself of the meager contents.

The sharp ring of his business phone cut through the air. A harsh, irritating sound.

Addison was already on the move. "Duty calls, sweetheart!" he shouted, his voice muffled.

He didn't wait. Didn't even glance my way. He was already out the door, his footsteps fading.

He left the mug on the edge of the counter. A ceramic monstrosity, filled with scalding hot tea.

It teetered precariously. He hadn't noticed. He never noticed.

The mug fell. A slow, agonizing descent.

It crashed onto the tile floor, shattering into sharp pieces.

And the tea. The boiling hot tea splashed over my bare foot.

A searing pain erupted. White-hot, then throbbing.

I was curled on the cold floor, still reeling from the nausea, still dressed in my birthday finery.

I bit back a scream. The pain was immediate, intense.

I scrambled back, away from the broken ceramic and the scalding liquid.

Tears sprang to my eyes. Hot, angry tears that had nothing to do with the physical pain.

He didn't come back that night. The bed next to me remained cold and empty.

The burn on my foot throbbed, a constant, searing reminder.

It mirrored the ache in my chest. The deep, agonizing wound in my heart.

I lay there alone, surrounded by the silence of the vast, empty penthouse.

His absence was a gaping hole. A void that swallowed all the false promises.

The physical pain was awful, but the emotional pain was a thousand times worse.

I was alone. Utterly, completely alone.