The Perfect Victim

It was never hard to provoke Claire.

If the water I gave her was not exactly the temperature she wanted, she would throw the cup right at me.

So, I deliberately poured a cup of boiling water, and steam was rolling off the top.

I said, "Honey, here's some water."

I knew the camera was recording, but every time I faced Claire, I could not help feeling terrified.

"Thanks, honey."

She smiled as she reached for the cup, even though it was obviously scalding hot. However, I did not hand it to her.

Gritting my teeth, I pretended to lose my grip and spilled the boiling water all over her legs. I figured she would not be able to hold back and jump up in rage.

I closed my eyes and silently counted, 'One, two, three...'

Time passed, yet I did not feel the familiar fists crashing down on me.

I opened my eyes and saw that Claire had not moved. Instead, she was still sitting perfectly upright in her wheelchair.

Not only was she not angry at me, but she looked at me apologetically. "I'm so sorry, honey... I didn't catch it properly and spilled the water. Honey, did you burn your hand? That water looked really hot."

Her soft expression overlapped with the memory of her madness in my mind.

The last time I had simply poured her a glass of water that was not exactly the 55 degrees she demanded, she had gone insane and tried to hack me with a kitchen knife.

I stood there, frozen.

Meanwhile, the live comments were flying across the screen.

[Isn't this abuse? That water was hot enough to cook a steak!]

[Even if Claire can't feel her legs, you can't just do that to her.]

[He must be tired of taking care of her, so now he's taking it out on her.]

[If that's how he feels, he shouldn't have married her. He wanted to have a good reputation, and now he's abusing her.]

I could not help but wonder why Claire was acting so strangely that day.

Had she somehow found out about the interview and was deliberately putting on an act?

I immediately dismissed that thought.

When I met with Holly Lopez, the reporter, she had promised not to announce it online beforehand. Hence, Claire could not possibly know.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

My voice came out hoarse as I said, "I'll get you another cup."

It was fine. There would be plenty more opportunities.

I keep reassuring myself that Claire was volatile and quick to anger, so provoking her was easy.

Throughout the day, I either deliberately mopped and waxed the floor so it would tip over her wheelchair, or removed the toilet paper from the bathroom and pretended not to hear when she called for me.

I even went out of my way to go downstairs to find our female neighbor and gave her the fresh flowers I had just bought.

Despite all that, Claire kept that same warm smile.

I was getting desperate, and that anxiety reached its peak at dinnertime.

So, I decided to take a risky move.