Three Years In, My Husband Suddenly Let Go

Three years into our marriage, my husband suddenly embraced absolute independence, insisting I handle everything on my own.

When I was injured in a car accident, he made me go to the hospital alone.

When my mother was hospitalized with terminal cancer, he handed me a plane ticket:

“This is the only way I can help you.”

I developed depression after years of his emotional neglect. He tossed the diagnosis into the trash and said coldly:

“Being dramatic is being dramatic. What’s wrong with you? Depression is just the weak pretending to suffer.”

The night my mother died, my father couldn’t bear the grief and jumped to his death. I begged him to come back and help with the funeral, but he snapped:

“Would your parents come back to life if I came back? They’re gone, yet you still haven’t learned to be independent? Do you expect me to carry you forever?”

I handled the funeral alone and collapsed at the cemetery.

When I woke up, I learned I had miscarried. Broken, I attempted suicide by cutting my wrists.

On the way to the emergency room, I saw him clinging to his secretary, pleading with the doctor to treat the blisters on her feet from her heels.

The secretary told him to stop, but he, eyes filled with tears, said:

“With me, you’ll never need to be independent. If something hurts, just say it—I’m here.”

At that moment, I finally understood.

He hadn’t become an advocate for independence; he had simply stopped loving me.

But why, after losing everything, would he cry and beg me to keep being his innocent, carefree princess?

——

The lights in the emergency room were blinding.

The doctor picked up my blood-stained phone and dialed my emergency contact for the tenth time before it was answered.

“Is this Adriana Spencer’s husband? Your wife attempted suicide and lost too much blood. She’s in critical condition, and we need your signature immediately—” Lucas Sterling cut him off impatiently:

“She’s not a child. Let her sign it herself.”

A soft voice in the background called to him:

“Mr. Sterling, I’m fine on my own. You should go back and stay with her…”

He gently replied:

“No need. She’s very independent, unlike you—someone who always needs to be cared for.”

The doctors exchanged looks and quickly covered the stethoscope, afraid I would hear this piercing conversation.

But Lucas’s cold voice still came through:

“Tell Adriana that if an adult can’t live independently, then her staying alive is a joke.”

The doctor urgently explained my condition again.

“And she just had a miscarriage…” he added. Lucas let out a cold laugh:

“Wrist-cutting suicide? She’s terrified of pain. How would she cut her wrists? How much did she pay you to play along with her?”

His voice dripped with mockery:

“Someone who really wants to die won’t give anyone a chance to save her. Adriana, I know you’re listening. If you want to die, then die in front of me. I’ll collect your body myself.”

The line went dead.

The doctor tried calling again, but the call wouldn’t connect.

Still, that cold, merciless voice echoed through the disinfectant-filled air.

The monitor blared a sharp alarm.

My blood pressure kept falling, and my consciousness slipped into darkness.

With the last of my strength, I grabbed the doctor’s hand:

“If I die… donate my body and organs…”

I don’t need Lucas to collect my body.

With how obsessed he was with my so-called independence, he would only think my death inconvenienced him.

The ECG spiked wildly.

“If I can live…”

I will leave him forever.

Before I could finish, darkness swallowed me.

When I woke again, the doctors and nurses were all in tears:

“I thought you…”