Locked by My Surgeon Husband

Seven years of a sexless marriage.

In a desperate, pathetic attempt to save what was left of us, I finally agreed to his request for something adventurous. Outdoor sex. In the car. A thrill to jumpstart a dead heart.

But an hour before our designated time, I scrolled past a thread on a popular confession site.

The prompt: Whats the stupidest thing youve ever done for "love"?

The top comment, glowing with thousands of upvotes, read:

I have to tell you about my ex-boyfriends current wife. Tonight, shes sacrificing herself for love. Theyre going to be cooking in the very car he bought for me! And get thishes live-streaming the audio to me. He promised me hes staying pure for me. Hes only using his hands on her.

The comment section was a furnace of outrage, but the poster just slapped down a photo of a luxury car in response:

A Rolls-Royce Phantom. Have you peasants even seen one in person?

That frigid bitch is lucky to even sit in those seats. Its the highlight of her miserable life.

The moment the high-res photo loaded, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

That car... was parked right in front of me.

The cold glow of my phone screen felt like a blade in the dim light of the parking garage. I refreshed the page, praying my eyes were deceiving me, hoping for a different license plate, a different coloranything.

But there it was. A tiny, almost invisible scratch on the hood, right where the light hit it. It matched the photo in the post perfectly.

The post was timestamped three hours ago. The comments were still exploding:

[OP, youre toxic as hell. Why are you even still talking to this guy?]

[Live-streaming? No way. Drop the link!]

[This is sick. That poor wife is being humiliated and she doesnt even know it.]

My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped the phone. I checked the time. Ten minutes until our "date."

I took a numb step forward, peering through the drivers side window. In the shadows of the passenger seat, I saw them. Cartoon plushies. Pink, fluffy, and incredibly juvenile. They looked utterly ridiculous in a car this expensive, and they were the polar opposite of Bennetts cold, stoic aesthetic.

Looking at them, a memory surged up like bile. Two years ago, when I bought my own car, I had decorated it with cute, cozy accessories. Bennett had looked at them and uttered five words that killed my joy: "Cheap, tacky, and incredibly immature."

I had cleared the car out that same night.

But now, here were these pink rabbits and star stickers, plastered all over this Rolls-Royce like a shrine to someone elses whims.

The keys bit into my palm. My eyes burned.

The elevator chimed.

Bennett stepped out. He had traded his white lab coat for a casual cashmere sweater, though he still carried that air of effortless, high-society arrogance. He saw me and gave a curt, professional nod, as if we were meeting for a board or a surgery rather than an intimate encounter.

He pulled the door open. "Been waiting long? Get in."

His voice was flat. He wasnt looking at a wife he wanted to seduce; he was looking at a task he needed to complete.

I didn't move. My voice came out as a brittle whisper. "When did you buy this car?"

He stiffened for a fraction of a second. "A while ago. Its been in storage. I lent it to a friend for a bit."

He slid into the driver's seat.

I fought back the sob rising in my throat and climbed into the passenger side. The air hit me immediatelya thick, cloying perfume. Sweet, floral, and nauseatingly familiar.

As soon as the engine purred to life, Bennett hit a button. The privacy curtains slid shut, sealing us in. The world outside disappeared, leaving us in a tomb lit only by the ghostly blue glow of the dashboard.

The darkness felt heavy. Suffocating. I thought about the "live-stream" mentioned in the post and my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Why is it so dark?"

"Its for the mood, Elena," Bennett said, his hand reaching across the center console. His breath hitched as he leaned in.

I instinctively recoiled, my hand sweeping nervously across the gap between the seats.

My fingers brushed something.

Bennett frowned, his annoyance flashing in the dim light. "What is wrong with you today?"

I didn't answer. I reached down, feeling into the crevice of the leather seat until I grasped a piece of fabric. I pulled it out.

A sliver of light escaped through a gap in the curtain, just enough for me to see what I was holding.

Black lace panties. Worn. Stained in the center with a dark, dried patch that left nothing to the imagination.

I threw the door open and stumbled out of the car, retching against the concrete wall of the garage.

Bennett was out a second later, his face contorted with suppressed rage. "Elena! What the hell is this performance?"

I wiped my mouth, my vision blurred with tears, and held up the lace. "Whose are these, Bennett?"

His expression flickereda flash of guilt instantly paved over by cold indifference. "Its a friend's car. How should I know what they leave in it?"

He took a step toward me, his voice softening into that manipulative, 'reasonable' tone he used to quiet difficult patients. "Look, Im here, aren't I? I agreed to do this for you. Isn't that enough? What more do you want from me?"

"A friend?" I started to laugh, a jagged, ugly sound. "What kind of 'friend' leaves this in a car youre borrowing?"

"Elena, stop," he snapped, his patience evaporating. "I am sacrificing my limited free time to play these games with you, and youre going to throw a tantrum over a piece of trash?"

Sacrificing.

The word felt like a physical blow. To him, intimacy with his legal wife was a chore. A charitable donation.

My heart felt like it was being shredded. Seven years. I had given this man seven years of my life, my health, and my devotion. I had loved him through the shadow of the girl he never forgotthe ghost of the one who got away.

I remembered the accident, three days after our wedding. A car had come out of nowhere and slammed into me. Three broken ribs. A shattered pelvis. A severely damaged reproductive system.

Bennett was the surgeon who saved me. He had operated on me himself.

But after the surgery, something went wrong. He told me the trauma had caused "complications." My body had essentially locked itself shut. I became a "stone woman"physically unable to experience pleasure, anatomically scarred in a way that made sex an agonizing impossibility.

I had wanted to die. But Bennett had held me, over and over, whispering, "Elena, it doesn't matter. Ill take care of you forever."

I believed him. I was grateful for that accident because I thought it had forged a bond that transcended the physical. I spent seven years trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect shadow, just to earn the right to grow old with him.

And all it earned me was a "sacrifice."

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. The thread had been updated.

Oops, the stream got cut off. Looks like someone found the little surprise I left in the seat (blushing emoji). I guess hes not as good at hiding things as he thought. Oh well, theres always next time. Weve got forever.

Attached was a screenshot of a receipt. A pair of luxury black lace panties. $300.

I looked up at Bennett. He was holding something in his handa beige, rubbery device hed pulled from the glove box. The packaging was torn. It looked cheap, clinical, and insulting.

Meanwhile, his own belt was still buckled tight. He hadn't even intended to touch me.

"So that was the plan, Bennett?" I whispered, nodding toward the toy. "That was your 'sincere effort'?"

I let out a breath that felt like a death rattle.

He followed my gaze and dropped the device back into the car as if it had burned him.

The exhaustion hit me then. A weight so heavy I couldn't even feel the anger anymore. I turned away.

"Were done, Bennett. Im leaving."

I walked out of the garage and didn't look back.

By the time I got back to the house and started pulling suitcases out of the closet, Bennett was already there. He was holding a bouquet of red roses. They were wrapped in crinkly plastic, the petals already wilting at the edges, bruised and blackening.

He tossed his jacket on the sofa and set the dying flowers on the coffee table. "Elena, lets be rational. We need to talk."

"Theres nothing left to say," I said, my voice empty.

He rubbed his temples, looking like the victim of a great injustice. "I know youre upset. But youre... youre 'locked,' Elena. You know that. I can't be expected to ignore my own needs forever just because your body failed. As for the car, I told you, it belongs to a friend. Youre making a scene over nothing."

"Whats this friends name?"

He paused. "Thats not important."

The dam broke. I lunged forward and swept the roses off the table, scattering them across the floor. "What is important, then? The fact that our seven-year anniversary gift was a live-streamed humiliation? Or the fact that you planned to fake an intimate moment with a piece of plastic?"

"Enough!" Bennett stood up, his voice booming. "Stop being so hysterical! What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"Sell the car," I screamed. "Sell it right now!"

He looked at me like I was a lunatic. "Are you insane? Thats a three-hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle!"

"So?"

"So, its a car, Elena! You want me to throw away a fortune because youre having a mood swing? Look, I get ityoure frustrated because youre broken. But don't take your inadequacy out on me."

It felt like a jagged blade had been driven into my chest. I was trembling so hard I could barely stand.

"I wasn't born this way, Bennett! The accident"

"I KNOW!" he roared. "And I married you anyway! Ive spent seven years playing nursemaid to a woman who can't even be a wife. Isn't that enough? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness for being a human being with human desires?"

The sight of his distorted, angry face flicked a switch inside me. The rage died, replaced by a terrifying, hollow calm.

I spoke one word.

"Leave."

Bennetts face went from white to a mottled, ugly red. He didn't say another word. He grabbed his coat and slammed the front door so hard the windows rattled.

I sank onto the sofa, staring at the dying roses. The silence of the house began to scream.

I don't know how long I sat there before the doorbell rang.

I thought it was Bennett, coming back to finish the fight. I opened the door, ready to scream.

But it wasn't him.

It was a woman. Young, beautiful, with long chestnut waves and a soft, sugary smile. She was wearing a pale pink manicure.

She tilted her head. "Hi there. You must be Elena. Im Jasmine, a... close friend of Bennetts."

Jasmine.

The jasmine stickers in the car.

The cold returned, sharper than before. This was her. The girl from the post. The ghost who had finally taken on flesh.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, just a few things," she said, dangling a set of Rolls-Royce keys from her finger. "Bennett said I could stop by and pick up some of my stuff. He mentioned I might have left a few personal items around here."

She moved to step past me into the foyer.

I blocked her. "Theres nothing of yours here."

Jasmine blinked innocently. "Are you sure? I think I left them in the master bedroom. Last month, when Bennett was... stressed. I came over to help him relax. I think I dropped a Tiffany earring by the nightstand. Theyre quite expensive."

She watched my eyes, her smile widening as she saw the realization hit me.

"Honestly, Elena, I feel bad for you. Keeping up this hollow marriage... it must be exhausting. Bennett hasn't loved you in years. He wanted to leave right after the accident, but hes such a softie. He felt sorry for you. Hes stayed out of pure, agonizing pity."

"What are you talking about?"

Jasmine took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you even know what kind of car hit you seven years ago?"

My breath hitched.

She giggled. "It was a Rolls-Royce Phantom. Brand new. My dads car. Bennett was so terrified Id go to jail that he bought the car from my father, had it repainted, and hid it. Thats why the police never found the hit-and-run driver."

The world tilted. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

"Oh, and one more thing." She pulled a folder from her designer bag. "Youve always wondered why you were 'locked' after the surgery, haven't you?"

She pulled out a medical report.

"Bennett performed a little extra procedure while you were under. He 'fixed' you so you could never be with anyone else. He told me it was the only way he could ensure he stayed 'faithful' to meby making sure his wife was biologically unavailable."

The papers fluttered to the floor.

I stared at the technical diagrams, at Bennetts familiar, elegant signature at the bottom of the surgical notes. The words blurred into a dark abyss, pulling me down.

It was all a lie. The accident. The "complications." The seven years of "care."

He hadn't saved me. He had dismantled me.

A primal, guttural scream tore out of my throat.

The world went red. I lunged at her, my fingers tangling in her perfect hair as I dragged her to the floor. She shrieked, her nails clawing at my face, but I didn't feel it. I just wanted to tear the truth out of her.

I pinned her down, my hand cracking across her face again and againyears of repressed pain and betrayal fueling every blow.

Jasmine cried out, shielding her face, and suddenly, a dark red stain began to spread across her pale skirt. The metallic scent of blood hit the air.

The door burst open.

Bennett charged in. He saw me on top of Jasmine and his eyes turned murderous.

"ELENA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

He didn't pull me off. He kicked me. Hard.

The blow landed in my side, sending me sprawling across the room. I hit the edge of the coffee table, my head snapping back.

The roses were everywhere now, their petals mixing with the blood on the floor.

Bennett was on his knees beside Jasmine, his hands trembling as he pressed them against her stomach. "Jasmine? Talk to me! Oh god, the baby..."

"Bennett... the baby... my baby..." she sobbed.

A baby.

They had a child.

I lay on the floor, paralyzed, watching Bennetts back as he cradled her like she was his entire world. I wanted to cry, but I was empty. There was nothing left in me but ash.

Bennett turned his head, his gaze falling on the scattered medical files on the floor. His face went deathly pale.