My husband has a bizarre fetish. Role-playing. And in his twisted scripts, I’m always cast as the devoted wife he casts aside. Today, he’s the ruthless tycoon who falls for the nanny. Tomorrow, he’s the brilliant professor infatuated with his student. Each time, he makes me sign a divorce agreement, only to tear it up with a laugh the next day. “Darling,” he’d say, “it’s just a game.” That is, until my mother was in a car accident and needed $50,000 for emergency surgery. On that day, he was role-playing a bankrupt loser. “I’m broke, darling, completely penniless. Where would I get the money to save your mother?” I watched my mother take her last breath. On the day of her funeral, he showed up with a beautiful young college student on his arm. “Honey, I’ve fallen in love with my student. Let’s get a divorce.” Frank pulled a document from his briefcase and handed it to me. This time, I didn’t wait for him to tear it up. 1 A fresh divorce agreement. His signature was already on it. The game again. He was starting the game again, right here, at my mother’s wake, just after I’d lost the only family I had left. I stared at him, at that handsome face I once adored. For the past three years, every time he produced one of these agreements, I would play my part. I’d cry, I’d scream, I’d demand to know why. And then he’d laugh, rip up the paper, and pull me into his arms, cooing that it was all just for fun. He called it spicing things up, a way to keep the magic alive. And I believed him. But now, my mother was lying in a coffin just a few feet away. Before she died, she had gripped my hand, her eyes fixed on the door, waiting. She was waiting for the son-in-law she’d always treated as her own to come and see her one last time. He never came. I knelt before her coffin and pressed my forehead to the cold floor in a final, silent goodbye. Then I stood, and took the pen from Frank’s hand. There were no tears. No hysterics. As he watched, I wrote my name, each stroke deliberate and firm. “There. It’s done.” Frank froze. The breakdown, the screaming fit he was expecting, never came. The woman standing before him was unnervingly calm. “Clara, what kind of trick is this?” he frowned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. The student, Mia, sensed something was wrong too. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Professor Vance… do you think she’s just in shock?” I ignored them. I picked up the second signed copy of the agreement, folded it neatly, and placed it in my purse. “Frank,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice even and clear. “The game is over.” 2 The next morning, I went to the courthouse. I filed the petition for divorce, along with the legally signed agreement. The clerk glanced from the document to my face, then processed the paperwork with bureaucratic indifference. I pulled out my phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls and texts from Frank. “Clara, have you had your little tantrum yet? Get home now!” “I’ve torn up the agreement. We can pretend this never happened.” “How dare you hang up on me? Who do you think you are?” The last one had arrived half an hour ago: “If you’re not back by tonight, don’t ever bother coming back at all!” I blocked his number. I rented a small apartment, and after a bit of cleaning, I started my job search. After Frank and I got married, he’d convinced me to quit my job to be a full-time housewife, a willing participant in his endless, tedious role-playing games. He said he loved me, loved me to his very core, and that’s why he wanted to experience the thrill of falling in love with me over and over again in different scenarios. He insisted the cruel, heartless men who cast their wives aside in his games weren’t the real him. It was just acting. How ridiculous that sounds now. Maybe he was never acting at all. Maybe those cold, selfish, cruel masks were his true face. The court summons reached Frank quickly. I was in the middle of a job interview when his call came through. “Clara! Are you out of your goddamn mind? You actually took me to court?” I calmly walked to the end of the hallway. “Frank, we both signed the divorce agreement. The legal filing is just a formality to speed things up.” “Formality? Let me tell you something, this divorce is not happening!” “Frank, my mother is dead,” I said, cutting him off. There was a brief silence on the other end. “I know,” he said, his voice turning cold. “But that was her fate. You can’t take your anger out on me. A game is a game, and reality is reality. Can’t you even tell the difference?” “You’re the one who can’t tell the difference anymore.” I hung up and went back to my interview. It was for a clerical position at a small firm. The pay wasn’t great, but it was enough to support myself. The interview went well, and they told me I could start on Monday. That evening, when I returned to my apartment, I found two people waiting at my door. Frank and Mia. Frank’s face was a thundercloud. Mia just looked smug, as if she were here to watch a show. “Well, Clara. You’ve certainly grown a spine. Daring to play games with me for real?” Frank stepped forward, blocking my path. “There are no more games to be played between us, real or fake,” I said, trying to step around him to unlock my door. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel. “Come home. Come back with me, and I can forget any of this ever happened.” “Let go of me,” my voice was ice. “Clara, don’t push your luck!” Mia fanned the flames from the side. “Professor, she’s just doing this for attention. It’s a classic move. Don’t fall for it.” Frank started to drag me away. “Frank, if you don’t let go right now, I’m going to scream.” “Go ahead! Scream! Let’s see who dares to get involved in a husband and wife’s private business!” he roared. A few neighbors peeked out of their doors at the commotion, but seeing Frank’s furious expression, they quickly retreated. I lifted my free hand and, with all the strength I could muster, I slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the hallway. Everyone froze. Including Frank. He touched his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you hit me?” 3 A furious fire ignited in Frank’s eyes. He raised his hand as if to strike back, but at the last second, he stopped himself. He stared at me, his gaze so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. “Clara. You’ve got guts. Real guts.” He released my arm, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “You will regret this.” With that, he grabbed Mia’s hand and stormed away. Watching them disappear down the stairs, I finally noticed my hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage. I went inside the empty apartment and shut the door, sliding down against it until I was sitting on the floor. There was no trace of Frank here, yet I still felt like I was suffocating. His so-called games had left a deeper scar on me than I had ever realized. The next afternoon, I got a call from the bank. Our joint account had been frozen. It held all our savings—though, of course, most of it was money Frank had earned. I had expected this, so I wasn’t panicked. I still had a little money my mother had left me. If I was careful, it would be enough to last until my first paycheck. On Wednesday, while I was still getting the hang of my new job, a gaudily dressed woman burst into the office and pointed a finger right at my face. “Clara Vance! You shameless homewrecker! How dare you seduce my husband!” I stared at her, completely stunned, as every one of my new colleagues turned to gawk. “Ma’am, I think you must have the wrong person,” my supervisor said, stepping forward. “No, it’s her!” The woman brandished a photograph. It was a picture of me with a man. He was an old friend from college I hadn't seen or spoken to in years. I had no idea where she got it. “Everyone, look! This is the woman who destroyed my family! My husband is divorcing me because of her!” she shrieked, collapsing into a heap on the floor, wailing and tearing at her hair. The office descended into chaos. I was trapped, unable to defend myself against the baseless accusations. I knew, with a sickening certainty, that this was Frank’s handiwork. He was trying to ruin my reputation, to leave me with nowhere to turn. My supervisor called me into her office. Her face was grim. “Clara, while I want to believe you, the company has to consider its image… Why don’t you take a few days off to sort things out.” It was their polite way of firing me. My phone rang. It was Frank. “How does it feel?” he asked, a smug smile in his voice. “I told you you’d regret this, Clara.” “You’re a despicable bastard, Frank.” “Despicable? I learned from the best,” he chuckled. “I’m giving you one last chance. Come back, beg me, and I might consider forgiving you.” “In your dreams.” I hung up. I would not beg him. Never. I walked in the rain for what felt like hours, until I was soaked to the bone. When I finally made it back to my apartment building, a cloying cloud of perfume assaulted me in the hallway. Mia was standing at my door, leaning against the frame as if she owned the place, a contemptuous smirk on her face. “What do you want?” I asked coldly. “Just came to see you,” she purred. “To see just how miserable you are now that the professor has thrown you away.” Her eyes raked over my drenched, pathetic state, and she laughed. “Tsk, tsk. So pitiful. You lost your job too, didn't you? The professor said he’s going to make it impossible for you to survive in this city. He said you’ll come crawling back to him on your knees.” “He can wait forever.” I pushed past her and unlocked my door. “Still acting tough, are we?” Mia followed me inside. She walked over to the small table where I’d placed my mother’s portrait and picked it up. “You know, if your mother knew what a stubborn little fool you’re being, do you think she’d jump right out of her coffin?” “Take your hands off that,” my voice trembled. “What? Getting angry?” Mia tossed the frame lightly in her hand. “Oops. What if I… accidentally… dropped it?” “I said take your hands off it!” I lunged at her, trying to snatch the picture back. Mia let out a little shriek and deliberately let go. The frame hit the floor, and the glass shattered into a thousand pieces. My mother’s smiling face, fractured by a spiderweb of cracks. Something inside me snapped. 4 I don’t know where the strength came from. I grabbed Mia by the hair and slammed her to the ground. She screamed, clawing at me, her nails digging bloody tracks into my arms. I didn’t feel a thing. All I knew was that she had crossed a line. She had desecrated the memory of my mother. I was like a wild animal, ripping at her hair, slapping her face over and over. “I told you not to touch it! I told you!” Mia was dazed, her protests turning into terrified sobs. “You’re crazy! You’re a psycho! Frank! Help me!” The door was suddenly thrown open with a crash. Frank stormed in. His face turned white when he saw the scene. “Clara! Stop it!” He rushed over and shoved me away. I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall with a painful thud. Frank helped the hysterical Mia to her feet. When he saw the red welts on her face and her disheveled hair, his eyes turned murderous. “Clara, you’ve really lost your mind!” He advanced on me, his face twisted with a ferocity I had never seen before. “You dare touch her?” Seeing him shielding Mia like that, I started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. “Frank,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “She broke my mother’s portrait.” Frank paused. He glanced at the shattered frame on the floor, then back at the weeping Mia. Mia immediately started defending herself. “I didn’t mean to! She just charged at me and I lost my grip!” Frank’s brow furrowed. He didn’t pursue the matter of the frame. Instead, he turned his cold gaze back to me. “Even so, you have no right to attack her. Apologize.” Apologize? He wanted me to apologize to the woman who had insulted my dead mother? “I said, apologize,” Frank repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if I don’t?” I stared right back at him. “Then I’ll have to find another way to make you.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Hello, Captain Miller? I have a situation here… Yes, at a friend’s apartment. I’ve discovered some… illicit substances.” He was going to frame me. “Frank, you’re shameless!” “You forced my hand,” he said, ending the call. He looked at me, his eyes cold and hard. “The police will be here any minute, Clara. When they find the drugs, red-handed, what do you think will happen to you?” Mia had stopped crying. She was now looking at me with a triumphant smirk. “You can’t win against the professor, Clara. If you get on your knees right now and beg him, maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a change of heart and let you off the hook.” A chill washed over me. I looked at Frank’s familiar face, now a complete stranger to me. This was the man I had loved for three years. For another woman, for his sick and twisted games, he was willing to personally shove me into hell. Faintly, from outside, I could hear the sound of sirens approaching. A victorious smile touched Frank’s lips. “Time’s running out, Clara. What’s it going to be?”
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