The Relationship Between the Murderer and Me

"Have you heard?” Mrs. Larson leaned in, her voice lowered to a whisper. “The old lady in Building No. 2 was hacked to death by her own daughter-in-law!"

I shook my head quickly. "Mrs. Larson, I really don't like hearing this kind of gossip.” My voice was firm, hoping to end the conversation before it started.

The weight of the grocery bag pulled at my arms. Today, beef was selling for four dollars per kilogram and I had bought ten.

Mrs. Larson’s eyes fell on the bag. "That’s a lot of meat for one day,” she remarked, her head slightly tilted.

I forced a smile. "I just bought a new freezer. Figured I stock up while prices are low.” After saying that, I adjusted the bag in my hand and waved her goodbye, eager to leave.

The door clicked shut behind me. Before I had the chance to set the meat down, I heard a knock. I opened the door to see the leader of my husband's department standing there, his face a mix of concern and seriousness.

He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, resting on me for a few moments longer than necessary. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed deeply. "No sign of Charlie yet?" he asked.

I shook my head, forcing myself to stay calm. “No, not at all,” I said, gesturing him to seat. I turned quickly, my hands trembling as I poured him a drink, tears threatening to spill. "I can’t reach him. His phone … maybe he doesn’t care about his family anymore.”

The man eyed the meat I had just bought, his brows raised. "Buying so much meat, did you carry it all by yourself?” Before I could answer, he stood and moved towards the door where the bags still sat. "Let me help you," he offered, already reaching for the bags.

Panic shot through me. I rushed to block his path and grabbed the bags from his hand. “It’s fine, I can do it myself. The freezer’s pretty full and I wouldn’t want to trouble you with it.”

The man smiled, his hand brushed mind as he let go of the bag. "You don't have to be so polite,” he murmured, his voice lowered. “It must be hard, being alone for so long. As Charlie's leader, I feel a certain responsibility.” He patted the back of my hand, making my skin crawl.

I instinctively stepped back. "I’m fine, really. I'm used to living alone,” I said, trying to sound resolute.

The man smiled again, sly and knowing.

He wiped his hands together and settled back onto the sofa.

Charlie's boss was nearing fifty now. His current wife, barely thirty, was his second marriage. She had been his mistress, whom he wed once he had the money to do so.

I busied myself with the freezer, forcing a smile as I sorted the scattered items and moved the meat into place.

When I was done, I closed the door and smiled again, this time genuinely.

The quiet days of my husband’s absence was a relief I hadn’t known I needed.

Charlie had always been the star employee at work. He never complained or refused any task. However, the moment he stepped through our front door, he became a different person.

He treated me like I was nothing more than an object, a body he had bought for 40,000 dollars, the price of my dowry.

To him, I wasn’t a wife. I was a possession.

Sadly, the 40,000 dollars had gone to buy my brother a wedding house. My family had sold me for bricks and mortar.

After our marriage, my mother never asked if I was happy, as if her job was done and I existed solely to fund my brother’s future.

The worst moment of my life came when Charlie beat me so badly my eardrum bled. I fled, barefoot and in pajamas, through the winter night. A kind stranger took me to the hospital and the doctor said that my eardrum was nearly perforated.

Later, when I finally had the courage to file for divorce, Charlie stormed into my parents’ home and caused a scene, demanding the 40,000 dollars back.

My parents, without hesitation, knelt in front of me, begging me to stay with him. They insisted my brother needed that house, completely ignoring the hell I lived in.

Just as I was about to proceed with the divorce, I got pregnant. Charlie promised he would change for the sake of the baby and I believed him.

However, it wasn’t long before he grabbed my hair and smashed my head against the table. That was when I realized, the man in front of me would never change.

The day I miscarried, Charlie disappeared.

People pitied me. They said it was tragic, my husband running off like that. They didn’t understand.

I hoped he never came back.