My Wife Left Me to Burn in Flames
But my wife, an ER doctor, wasn't there for me. She was busy saving her first love, who had tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists.
I didn't call her.
I just watched as my wrecked car exploded, consumed by a sea of fire.
In my past life, a single call for help from me was all it took. She abandoned Harry at his apartment and rushed to my side. I survived, but Harry bled out alone, his body not discovered for three days.
Claire told me she didn't blame me, that it was all her choice. She even insisted on throwing us a second wedding to make up for the first.
But the night before the ceremony, she knocked me unconscious and dragged me to Harrys apartment.
In the very same bathtub where hed died, she carved me up, piece by piece, and with her own hands, sliced off the mouth I used to beg her for mercy.
Her eyes were a crimson madness as she stared at my mutilated body.
It was just a car crash, you weren't going to die! But Harry he lost his life because of you! Tonight, youll feel the same pain he went through!
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the crash.
1
With a deafening roar, the car flipped over and over. My head slammed against something hard, and the world went upside down. I was lying in a pool of my own blood.
The electric car, mangled from the violent impact, began to spew thick white smoke.
I never thought Id be reborn at this exact moment.
As reality set in, I used every last ounce of strength to drag myself halfway out of the driver's seat, but my legs were pinned, hopelessly trapped.
Bystanders kept their distance, terrified the car would explode and take them with it. My pleas for help were lost in the buzzing chaos.
Seeing that no one would come near, my only option was to fumble for my phone, my trembling fingers dialing 911.
A dull, throbbing pain in my head grew sharper. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and a film of blood blurred my vision.
The voice on the other end belonged to one of Claire's colleagues. Id met her a few times. She recognized my voice instantly, and her tone turned cold.
"Liam, Dr. Evans is busy today. She told us you might call the office if you couldn't reach her. Look, I know what you're going to ask, but I really can't tell you where she is. This is an emergency line, so please don't tie up our resources. I have to go."
Hearing her about to hang up sent a jolt of panic through me. As I struggled, the extravagant bouquet of 999 roses Id bought for Claire tumbled from the passenger seat, their petals instantly stained crimson by my blood.
I ignored them, my voice desperate.
"Don't hang up! You've got it wrong, I'm not looking for Claire! I've been in a car crash, right at the intersection by the hospital. The car could explode any second, can you please send someone"
She cut me off, her voice thick with annoyance. "Liam, can you stop with the drama? Dr. Evans isn't here. Even if an ambulance comes, you won't see her. Seriously, stop it. This line is for saving lives. Do you get that? Don't clog up the system. Please."
She added, a little softer, "She's not ignoring you on purpose. It's a life-or-death situation over there. Just focus on your own work, okay? Don't overthink it. She'll explain when she's done."
And with that, she hung up.
Tears of despair stung my eyes, mixing with the blood and tracing paths down my face.
I couldn't believe Claire would be so cruel, leaving me with no way out. I remembered the other times shed rushed off to Harrys side for one reason or another, and yes, I had called her office then. But I had never lied, never faked an emergency.
Seven years of marriage, and this is what she thought of me.
No wonder she was so ruthless, so merciless when she came for me in our last life.
But this was life or death. I didn't have time to dwell on it.
The heat inside the car was intensifying, rapidly approaching the flashpoint. I took a few deep, ragged breaths, trying to wipe the blood from my eyes to clear my vision, but it was useless.
My only choice was to claw my way out through the shattered window.
Shards of glass dug into my palms, embedding themselves deep in the flesh. I managed to inch my body another few inches out of the wreck.
My strength was fading. I collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air. The skin on my back felt like it was cooking, and in just a couple of minutes, the car was completely shrouded in black smoke.
A crowd was gathering now. Someone with a good heart was shouting for help, asking if there was a doctor nearby.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of urgent footsteps.
Dr. Miles, Claires department head, was kneeling beside me.
2
Dr. Miles scanned the scene, then quickly organized a few brave bystanders to help drag me away from the car.
The moment I was clear, the vehicle exploded behind me, swallowed by a fireball.
With an experienced hand, Dr. Miles began assessing my injuries as the small crowd of good Samaritans buzzed around us.
"Why didn't an ambulance show up? It's been forever! What kind of response time is that?"
"Is he okay? I called 911 myself, but the line was busy. When I finally got through and gave the location, they accused me of faking it and hung up before I could even say 'car crash'! What the hell is wrong with the people at that hospital?"
"That's unbelievable! A life is on the line, and that's their attitude? I'm filing a complaint right now! Who would dare call 911 after this? By the time a doctor shows up, you'd be cold. Hey, kid, what's your wife's number? I'll call her for you."
The concern from these strangers, who had been too afraid to approach just moments ago, brought a lump to my throat. I shook my head weakly, the movement sending waves of agony through my body.
Even strangers on the street could show me more compassion than the woman I'd been married to for seven years. The woman who, for the sake of the ex whod abandoned her, had literally taken my life.
The seven-year itch wasn't just a saying; it was a death sentence.
It was as if this new life was a cosmic joke, a constant reminder of how blind and stupid I had been.
Unnoticed by the others, Dr. Miles's expression had grown darker and darker with every comment. After a quick check of my condition, he pulled out his phone and dialed the ER.
The second the call connected, he erupted.
"Get an ambulance to the intersection, now! Are you all blind? Did no one report the massive car crash out front? If I hadn't been passing by on my way to work, we'd be dealing with a corpse instead of a patient! Who the hell gave you the authority to ignore emergency calls?"
"Do you have any idea how critical the ER is? If you can't do your job, you can pack your bags and get the hell out!"
Five minutes later, I was being loaded into an ambulance. Just then, my phone rang.
Dr. Miles kindly answered it and held it to my ear.
The next sound I heard was Claires voice, seething with rage. It sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Did you call my department again? When are you going to stop this nonsense? I told you I was busy today! Do you have to pick now to bother me? You're a grown man, don't you have a life of your own?"
"My job is stressful enough without you calling over every little thing! Do you think you can't survive without me? Go ask anyone! What kind of husband smothers his wife like this?"
"If I hadn't come here today, Harry would have bled out! Do you get that? Can't you be a little more understanding for once? I know how to get home when I'm done, I don't need you to pick me up!"
Beneath her tirade, I could faintly hear Harry's voice, murmuring words of comfort to her.
After venting, without waiting for me to say a word, without even asking if I was okay, Claire hung up. She had completely forgotten that today was our seventh wedding anniversary.
The image of her cold, detached face as she tortured me in my past life flashed in my mind.
Tears mixed with the blood in my eyes, dripping onto the stretcher. A tremor ran through my chest that I couldn't control.
A sharp, stabbing pain in my head pulled me back to the present, but it was nothing compared to the agony of a thousand cuts she had inflicted upon me.
A moment later, I turned my head and coughed up a mouthful of blood onto the pillow.
As they wheeled me into the ER, the colleague who had taken my call saw my ashen face on the stretcher. Her eyes widened in horror. She rushed over, stammering apologies, claiming she thought the car crash was just another one of my excuses to find Claire, that hanging up on me was all a terrible misunderstanding.
Dr. Miles saw what was happening and, after a few quick questions, learned that I was Claire's husband of seven years.
His face turned a shade of purple. He grabbed his phone and called Claire again.
3
He hit the speakerphone button so I could hear every word.
"Claire, where are you right now? Your husband's been in a serious accident and is heading into surgery. You need to get your ass back here immediately!"
I expected her to at least hesitate, hearing the urgency from her boss.
Instead, her voice was firm. "Dr. Miles? Did Liam run crying to you? Don't believe a word he says, he's a lunatic! He's been picking fights with me at home constantly. I'm a doctor. I can't just let someone die because he gets jealous!"
"If I had been a minute later today, the patient would have bled out. He's still not stable!"
"Can you please explain to Liam for me? Tell him to stop making a scene at the hospital. If he won't listen, then fine. He can believe whatever he wants!"
Dr. Miles was stunned by her attitude. He clenched his jaw, veins popping on his forehead as he fought to control his temper. Before he could retort, another voice drifted through the phoneHarry's, weak and raspy.
"Is that Liam? Are you... leaving? Then I'll be all alone again, won't I? I guess it makes sense... you two have been married for seven years. It's my fault for not being able to let you go..."
As if realizing we could hear, Claire abruptly ended the call.
A violent, twisting pain shot through my head. The world went black, and I lost consciousness.
Dr. Miles yelled for the team to rush me into the operating room.
In the darkness of my mind, I was back in my past life.
The first thing I did after the crash was call Claire for help. She was on her way to Harry's then. The moment she heard I was hurt, she turned around and raced to me. She pulled me from the driver's seat with all her might, then flagged down passersby to help carry my bloody body into the ER.
She didn't relax until I was out of danger.
Only after she got me home did she rush back to Harry's apartment. But all she found was a cold body in the bathtub, the wound on his wrist cut deep enough to see bone.
She said nothing. She handled his funeral arrangements alone.
When she finally came to see me two days later, she acted as if nothing had happened, calmly telling me Harry was gone. Seeing the guilt on my face, she just shook her head blankly.
She said she didn't blame me. She said the incident made her realize how fragile life was. She couldn't wait, she told me, to plan a new wedding for us, one she would arrange with her own two hands.
I looked into her eyes, which seemed no different than before, and I chose to believe her.
But the night before our new wedding, she knocked me out and dragged me to Harry's home. The surgery had made me lose a lot of weight, which made it easier for her.
My limbs were bound, my body slumped in the same tub where Harry had died.
When she looked at me, there was no longer a trace of the love that had once been there. All that remained was a raw, crimson hatred, a poison that had festered deep inside her. Her face was a twisted mask of obsession, the face of a madwoman who had lost her one true love.
The scalpel in her hand gleamed under the dim light.
As I stared at her in dawning horror, she spoke, her voice a low whisper.
"It was just a car crash. Were you really going to die? But Harry without me, he did die."
"Do you know how deep his wound was? Do you know how much blood he lost that day?"
"He was lying right here, in this exact position. The blood pooled around his calves. I've been a doctor for so many years, but I never knew a body could hold so much blood. So much that it was the only color I could see..."
"But don't worry. You'll know soon enough."
With that, she placed a framed photo of Harry on the edge of the tub.
Right in front of his picture, she made the first cut, slicing open the skin over my heart. The instant the blade bit into my flesh, the pain was so intense I nearly blacked out. Before I could recover, she dug her fingers into the wound, violently tearing at the layers of skin and muscle.
I was soaked in cold sweat and blood, my eyes bulging with terror. But no matter how I thrashed or screamed, she was unmoved. Annoyed by the noise, she cut out the mouth I was using to beg for my life. Then my tongue.
With swift, precise movements, she continued her work.
Soon, a bloody, still-beating heart was held before my eyes. In that moment, though my heart was gone, I hadn't lost consciousness yet. I could still see.
I thought this was the end of her revenge for Harry.
It was only the beginning of her madness.
She raised the scalpel again and again, each cut a new line of agony on my body. She murmured to herself, a ghostly, insane chant.
"This deep... right here... this much blood... Harry must have been in so much pain. He must have needed me so much..."
In the final second before I died, I counted one thousand cuts.
One thousand cuts she carved into my body.
Only then did I truly understand how brilliant a surgeon she was.
How efficient her hands were.
After I was dead, she left my body in the tub. She held a wedding ceremony, clutching Harry's urn.
My soul floated beside her, watching the obsessive madness in her eyes, and I finally understood my own foolishness.
But it was too late.
I should have known seven years ago, when Harry returned on our wedding day. I should have known when she took his call and left me standing at the altar. It didn't matter that he had been the one to leave her, that she had been the one to come to me.
Compared to Harry, I never stood a chance.
A wedding without a bride, a marriage without love. I had held it together on my own for seven years.
Now, it had finally ended in blood.
4
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. My injured head was wrapped like a mummy, with faint traces of blood seeping through the gauze.
I stared blankly at the ceiling, my hand reaching for the phone on the nightstand.
I was about to text Claire about a divorce when her call came through.
I answered. Before I could speak, she unleashed a torrent of abuse.
"What the hell is this rumor online? Did you start this? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much damage this does to the hospital? Take it down, now! I swear, I can't stand you for one more day. Spreading lies is illegal, you know that? Can't you just act like a normal person for once?"
"Delete it! Or we're getting a divorce!"
Before I could process what she was saying, she hung up.
A wave of pure hatred washed over me, drowning out all reason. My nails dug into my palms, my knuckles white with the strain. But Harry was fine this time, and she hadn't physically harmed me. I had no grounds to call the police.
Her words echoing in my mind, I opened my phone. I quickly discovered that a bystander had filmed the aftermath of the crash and posted it online. The video had gone viral, with everyone latching onto the detail about the ignored 911 call.
The hospital's ER was getting dragged through the mud online, trending nationwide. If Dr. Miles hadn't shown up at the end of the video, calming some of the outrage, the hospital might have been forced to shut down. I searched for the hospital's official social media account; it had already been deleted from the sheer volume of hate.
The ER had made a fatal error. I had no reason to take the video down or clarify anything. In fact, I was glad to see it happen.
I clicked on Harry's profile. In stark contrast to the chaos engulfing the hospital, his feed was a picture of serene tranquility. Not a single hint of a man on the verge of suicide. While I was in surgery, he had even posted an update.
[A perfect lover is the best medicine for any mental illness.]
I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. I gave his acting a silent thumbs-up.
This "perfect" lover is all yours now. Enjoy.
A minute after I liked his post, Claire called again. I didn't answer. I just rejected the call and blocked her number. A second later, a text notification popped up on my screen.
[Why are you harassing Harry? If you have a problem, take it up with me. Stop acting like a psycho around him!]
I quickly typed back two words: "Let's divorce."
Then I blocked her on the messaging app, too.
Just then, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. A swarm of reporters had descended on the hospital lobby, demanding to speak to the head of the ER.
Nurses shouted "No pictures!" as Dr. Miles emerged from his office to try and control the situation, identifying himself as the doctor in the video. It was no use. The hospital director rushed down, but the press wasn't backing down.
Bowing to public pressure, the hospital produced the female colleague who had taken my 911 call. She was sobbing, hysterically explaining that Claire had used her, that her professional failure was an honest mistake.
Then, the director's call went straight to Claire's phone, ordering her to be there within half an hour.
Worried I'd be hounded by the press, Dr. Miles came into my room and advised me to stay put. He assured me they would handle it, admitting the hospital was at fault.
I had just nodded when my room door burst open.
It was Claire. She stormed past Dr. Miles, her face a mask of fury, and screamed at me.
"I told you to explain yourself, are you deaf? You know exactly what happened! If you don't stop spreading these lies, I'll sue you for slander! You've pushed things this far is this what you wanted? To force me to divorce you?"
"Fine. Let's get a divorce," I said calmly.
She didn't seem to hear me. Her eyes finally landed on the thick layers of gauze wrapped around my head.
Her expression faltered. She looked utterly stunned.
After a few seconds of shocked silence, she finally managed to speak.
"What happened?"
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