Ending Our Marriage With Blood

My husband, Zavier, had a shadow that followed him since childhooda woman named Bridget. Their relationship was a toxic feedback loop, a never-ending war of wills where neither would ever admit defeat.

Bridget didnt just play games; she played for blood. Years ago, she set fire to our tent during a camping trip just to sabotage a weekend alone with Zavier. I still carry the jagged, silver scars of those burns on my shoulder. Later, on the day of our seaside wedding, she drove her car straight into the reception. The impact tore my knee ligaments to shreds, leaving me with a permanent limp and a cane I hated.

For years, I lived in the crossfire of their twisted dynamic. I thought getting pregnant would finally bring peace, but it only made Bridget more feral. She manipulated a local man with a history of violent psychosis, pointing him at me like a loaded gun. He stabbed me in the stomach. I woke up in the ICU after a three-day blur of surgery and blood transfusions, barely clinging to life.

The day I was discharged, I overheard Zavier talking to his best friend, Silas, in the hallway. The words turned my blood to ice.

"The surgeons said the uterus could have been saved," Silas whispered, his voice thick with confusion. "Why did you tell them not to? Why let them perform the hysterectomy?"

Zaviers voice was weary, but there was an edge to itsomething almost casual. "You know how Bridget is. Shes relentless. If Elena got pregnant again, Bridget would only go further next time. Its better this way."

"Then why the hell don't you make her stop?" Silas pressed.

There was a long silence. Then, Zavier let out a soft, lighthearted chuckle. "You don't get it, Silas. This is the game we play. Honestly? Elena is... shes lovely, but shes boring. Without Bridgets little disruptions, I wouldn't know how to get through the day."

Every ounce of pain I had enduredthe fire, the crash, the bladewas nothing more than a spark to keep their fire burning. I wasn't his wife; I was the board they played on.

If they wanted a game, I decided right then, I would show them how it ends.

...

Zavier continued, his tone shifting into something defensive. "Besides, Zavier and I... we owe this to her. You know we were supposed to be married. If Elena hadn't shown up back then, Bridget and I would already have a family of our own."

Silas sighed. "It just feels like Elena is paying a price for a debt she didn't even know existed. Its not fair to her."

"Its just a game, Silas. No one actually dies," Zavier said, dismissing the concern. "And look at usevery time Bridget acts out, Elena clings to me more. Our marriage actually gets stronger. In a way, she should be thanking Bridget."

I leaned back against the hospital pillows, feeling like I had died and been resuscitated just to feel the sting of the cold air.

He had kept me in the dark, a sacrificial lamb offered up for his entertainment. He didnt love me; he used my trauma to manufacture a sense of intimacy.

When Zavier finally walked into the room, my face was a mask of practiced composure.

He moved with practiced grace, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking my hand. His touch felt like a snake sliding over my skin. "Hey, babe," he murmured, his eyes full of faux-tenderness. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

I placed my hand over my abdomen. Beneath the bandages was a void where a life had once been. "My baby is gone. I can never have children again."

Zaviers eyes welled with tearsa masterclass in acting. He squeezed my hand. "I know. And Im so sorry. But listen to me: I don't need a child to love you. Youre enough. I promise you, Im going to make Bridget pay for this."

"How?" I looked him dead in the eye, watching for the slightest flicker of a lie.

He blinked, caught off guard by my bluntness. "Don't worry about that. Your only job is to heal. Leave the rest to me..."

My heart turned to stone. I looked at him and realized I didn't know this man at all. Had he ever loved me? Or was I just a prop in his long-running drama with Bridget?

"I want her in prison," I said.

Zaviers expression darkened. His voice dropped an octave. "Shes doing this to spite me, Elena. If I put her in a cell, its a public admission that I lost. I have a reputation to maintain." He softened his tone, trying to placate me. "Besides, prison is too easy for her. Better to keep her close, under my thumb, where I can make her life miserable."

Always the same excuse. No consequences. Just the game.

I remembered our last anniversary. We were at a high-end steakhouse when Bridget walked in, carrying a small, ceramic tureen. She had caught and killed the two macaws Zavier and I had raised since they were chicks. Shed had them cooked into a soup.

She had smiled at us, her eyes dancing with malice. "A celebration isn't a celebration without the kids, right? I brought them to you."

Zavier had stood up and poured the boiling soup over her head. At the time, I thought it was a righteous fury. But later, I saw photos on Bridgets Instagram of new birds Zavier had bought her. The soup was just a move. A play.

The chime of a cell phone broke the silence.

Zavier glanced at the screen, his posture tensing. "I have to take this. It's the office."

"What's so important you can't say it in front of me?" I asked, my voice raspy.

He hesitated, then took the call on speaker. It was his assistant, Marcus.

"Sir, we have a situation. Bridget... she just picked up a random guy at a dive bar. They're at the Drake Hotel. She told the concierge to make sure you knew."

Zaviers mask slipped. The boredom was replaced by a sharp, jagged jealousy. "She said what?"

"She said... shes going to conceive twins tonight just to one-up you."

Zavier bolted upright, his face contorting. "How dare she!"

He caught himself, remembering I was there. He forced a scoff. "Whatever. Shes a degenerate. If she wants to ruin herself, let her. Send a few more guys to her room for all I care."

But his knuckles were white as he gripped his phone.

"Zavier," I said into the heavy silence. "I want a divorce."

He didn't even blink. His eyes were fixed on the wall, his mind already at the hotel. Before I could repeat myself, he grabbed his keys.

"I just remembered something urgent. Ill be back this afternoon to take you home."

He didn't wait for an answer. He ran.

And he didn't come back that afternoon. Or that night.

I felt the familiar, hollow ache in my chest. I called him five times before he finally picked up. His breathing was heavy, ragged.

"What is it, Elena?"

"Where are you?"

"Im... Im handling things. Getting justice for you and the baby. Bridget is going to regret ever touching you."

Behind his voice, I heard it. A womans sharp, high-pitched moan.

I hung up. I knew exactly what kind of "justice" was being served.

I forced myself out of bed and into a wheelchair. My legs felt like lead. Ever since the wedding crash, I could walk, but never for long. Zavier had always insisted on carrying me, kissing my scarred knees, telling me he would be my legs forever.

I had believed him. I had let him make me weak so he could feel like a savior.

By the time I reached our penthouse, the sun had set. I pushed open the front door and froze.

The foyer was a disaster. Clothes, shoes, and jewelry were strewn from the entrance all the way to the master suite. My hands shook so hard I could barely steer the chair.

The bedroom door was ajar.

"Tell me," Zaviers voice was a low growl. "Who else were you going to have babies with?"

"You're so... damn... good at this, Max," Bridget gasped, her voice dripping with spite. "Why don't you try... making Elena pregnant again... oh wait, you can't."

Zavier laughed, a dark, primal sound. "Shut up. Give me a child. I don't want anyones but yours."

I felt a physical pain in my chest so sharp I had to double over. I thought about the day I found out I was pregnant. How convenient it was that Bridget had a madman waiting for me. How convenient it was that Zavier was nowhere to be found when the knife went in.

They hadn't just played a game. They had performed an execution.

I went to the kitchen, grabbed a heavy chef's knife, and forced myself to stand. The rage was a stimulant, numbing the pain in my incision.

I entered the bedroom. They were a tangle of limbs on the silk sheets we had picked out together. They didn't see me.

Zavier leaned down, biting Bridgets earlobe. "Listen, after tonight, you need to leave Chicago for a while. You went too far this time. Its getting hard to keep Elena quiet."

Bridget scoffed. "Please. You've played that little mouse for years. She doesn't have the brains to realize you're the one pulling the strings."

"Im doing this for your own good," Zavier murmured.

I stepped forward, the knife raised, and drove it down.

Zavier sensed the movement at the last second and rolled. The blade buried itself in his shoulder. He screamed, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror.

He grabbed my wrist, his face pale. "Elena! What are you doing?"

I wrenched the knife out, the spray of blood hitting my face. I felt nothing but a cold, crystalline clarity.

"I'm ending the game."