The Timer of Death

The doctor told me that Xavier's sperm cells were highly deformed. But when I laid the test results on the dining table, Olivia ripped them apart. "If you can't have a child, it's your own damn fault! How dare you blame my son?" she shrieked.

"Why are you still looking for a job? In three months, you'd better be pregnant again, or you'll be out of my son's life for good!" Olivia, like a crazed animal, ripped up my job offer letter.

I wanted to fight back, but then I caught a glimpse of the crimson numbers ticking down over her heart. Oh, it was almost her turn. Fine, I wouldn't argue with her anymore.

Xavier sat there, silent as ever, busy texting his secretary, Yvette Snyder, the entire time.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror reflected my dull hair and the glowing red countdown pulsing against my chest.

I checked my own timer. As it turned out, I didn't have much longer than Olivia. We were both dying. For the first time ever, I felt a strange, inexplicable pity for the woman.

Just then, laughter echoed from downstairs. I looked over and saw Xavier wearing the tie I had bought him.

Yvette had come over. She stood on her tiptoes as she fixed his collar. "Stay still. I'll do it," she said sweetly. "It's a little crooked."

The man looked at the slightly crooked tie and chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Yvie, you did great, especially for your first time. You must be tired. Let me take you upstairs to try out the massage chair I bought." With that, they went up the stairs, arm in arm.

Ever since I had multiple miscarriages, my husband, who was now thriving in his career, had started shamelessly bringing Yvette home, claiming it was to discuss work.

Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden glow over them. The scene was so picture-perfect that for a split second, I was thrown back to the days when I used to knit scarves for him. That was when I still hoped he might praise me.

But he had thrown that scarf away like a rag because he feared wearing anything I gave him would curse him.

"Yvie, you're here! I'll add two more sets of plates and cutlery to the dining table," Olivia said, passing by with a bowl of creamy seafood bisque. The sound of the porcelain spoon clinking was sharp and jarring.

I watched as Yvette slid into the seat that used to be mine. My husband smiled and handed her a napkin. "Careful, it's hot," he said tenderly.

Olivia smiled warmly. "Yvie, you're too skinny. You need to eat more! If it weren't for you, Xavier's company wouldn't be where it is today."

But they had all forgotten that back when Xavier had nothing, it was my savings that funded his first step. My little photography studio had once earned more than he did. I was the one who helped him start his business, raised money for him, and even sold my photography studio to support his career.

"Could you... accompany me at the hospital again this afternoon?" I asked hesitantly. Xavier froze with the napkin in mid-air, while Olivia sneered and Yvette snickered.

"Mr. Lowe's company is about to go public, so we need to attend some business events," Yvette said, looking at my husband sweetly. "I heard a new restaurant just opened in the western part of the city. We're meeting Mr. Lane there this afternoon. Their foie gras is well-known."

"Yvie's too skinny. Since you're treating clients, you might as well order some nice food," Olivia said.

I spent a long time upstairs, lost in thought. Slowly, I packed up my things from the attic where I now lived. The room that used to be mine and my husband's was now Yvette's and his private office.

He even had the gall to tell me to move upstairs to the attic, claiming it was so he wouldn't disturb me while I slept.

Now, I lived like a ghost under my own roof, peeking out from the shadows, watching them live the life that used to be mine. Xavier was my husband. This was supposed to be my home.

Before he left, Xavier turned and glared at me. His eyes were cold and sharp, like a knife slicing through me. "By the way, don't bother cleaning the office upstairs. Don't think I don't know what you're up to. If anything happens to Yvie, don't say we didn't warn you!"