No Longer Her Sacrifice

When Grandpa Howard received my message, he was likely turning that old jade seal over in his handsthe one that had stamped the wardship-to-marriage contract twenty years ago.

The text was brief: She doesn't need me anymore. Per our agreement, its time for me to go.

Today was our fourth wedding anniversary.

When Gemma handed me the hotel key card earlier that evening, the glint in her eyes was like honey laced with arsenic.

Jamie, I have a surprise for you, shed said. There was a lilt in her voice, a spark of life I hadn't heard in the two decades Id spent by her side.

The moment I pushed the door open, I heard itthat rhythmic, familiar hitch in breath that I knew better than my own.

The two figures were tangled on the bed. The man pinned beneath her, his hands buried in her hair, was Dillon. My best friend. The brother Id grown up with, the one I thought would take a bullet for me.

Gemma didn't scramble. She didn't scream. She simply pulled her silk robe closed with the clinical precision of a surgeon. Her voice was colder than a scalpel.

My emotional apathy didnt just vanish because of you, Jamie. You weren't the cure.

She let out a soft, jagged laugh. Dillon was the one who taught me what desire actually feels like. He doesn't want to ruin your 'brotherhood,' and Im not leaving you. If you can just accept us, we can keep this marriage going.

Nobody knew how many times I had laid on a sterile operating table, undergoing invasive, experimental fertility treatments just so she could have the child she claimed she wanted.

And nobody knew that from the day I was brought into the Whitaker estate as her "companion"a boy groomed to be the anchor for the heiressmy life had been nothing but a long-term rescue mission with an expiration date.

Gemma leisurely pulled the duvet over Dillons bare chest before walking toward me barefoot.

Why are you crying? she asked, tilting her head. Shouldn't you be happy for me? I finally feel something. Someone else is finally reaching me.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was filled with powdered glass. Silence was the only thing that came out, followed by the heavy thud of tears hitting the hardwood floor.

Dillon sat up, the bruising marks on his neck stark against his skin. His eyes were rimmed with red, his voice a raspy whisper. Jamie, Im sorry. I didnt mean for it to go this far.

You can hit me, you can hate me, he continued, his voice trembling with a rehearsed kind of guilt. Just don't blame Gemma. Its all on me.

Gemma frowned, pulling Dillon into her arms. She looked at me with a flicker of impatience. Stop scaring him, Jamie. I know this is a lot to take in, but theres no point in a scene.

Dillon isn't asking for your title. And Im not discarding you. Cant you just be sensible for once?

I stared at her handthe hand I had held through her night terrors, the hand that had remained limp and cold for yearsas it stroked Dillons hair with genuine tenderness. It was almost funny.

During her years of treatment, when shed go into fits of rage and shatter everything in sight, I was the one who swept up the glass in silence. When she retreated into weeks of catatonic silence, I was the one who kept the house running, hovering nearby like a ghost just so she wouldn't be alone.

I had swallowed every bit of resentment, every lonely night, and every ounce of pain just to keep her stable. I didn't even let her see me cry, fearing it would trigger her. And this was the reward for my "sensibility."

I took a shaky breath, the bitterness coating my tongue. How long?

Gemma picked up her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and held it out to me. See for yourself.

I scrolled through the photos with numb fingers.

A year ago: they were at a concert, Dillon leaning on her shoulder, Gemma laughinga real, vibrant laugh Id never seen.

Two months ago: at a carnival, her face smeared with cotton candy as she made a silly face at the camera.

Last week: while I was at the clinic alone, recovering from another round of hormone injections, they were watching the sunrise on a mountain peak.

I had known her since I was five years old. I had been her shadow through the darkest parts of her adolescence.

When she first started showing signs of recovery, she told me, Jamie, I feel like I can ignore the whole world, but youre the only one who makes me feel like being alive has a purpose.

I thought I was the one who had finally cracked the ice. Now I realized I was just the ferryman who had carried her across the dark river. I was never the destination.

I threw the phone to the floor. The screen shattered, echoing the mess inside my chest.

You lied to me for a year! I screamed, the sound raw and ugly. Gemma, do you remember what you told me? You said youd learn how to love for me. You said as long as I was there, it was enough!

There was no guilt in her eyes. Only a flat, terrifying indifference.

People change, Jamie. You cant hold me to things I said when I was sick.

And stop crying, she added, her lip curling in a slight sneer. You look pathetic. Im not trying to hurt you; Im just tired of lying. You gave me habit and dependency. You spent twenty years failing to make my heart race. Dillon did it in one.

While I was curled in a ball on a cold clinic bed, weeping from the physical toll of trying to give her a family, she was out discovering "excitement" with my best friend.

Twenty years of devotion. Dozens of procedures. All of it rendered worthless in the face of a "spark."

Are you done? Gemmas voice snapped me back to the room.

Dillon buried his face in her neck. Gemma, stop. Hes allowed to be angry. Maybe I should go... let you guys talk...

Gemma held him down, her grip firm. You aren't going anywhere.

She turned to me, her gaze turning icy. If you cant handle this, then leave. But let me remind youyouve been under my wing for your entire life. If you walk out that door, who else is ever going to want you?

I didn't answer. I turned and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Dillons weak, performative voice: Jamie, wait! Don't leave like this!

And then Gemmas low, soothing murmur: Let him go. He just needs to throw his tantrum.

After leaving the house, I received a call from Grandpa Howard.

Jamie, youve done enough, he said, his voice heavy with a fatigue that matched mine. Ive heard. Well handle the divorce when Im back in the country.

I checked into a hotel he arranged and spent two days in a catatonic fog.

Then, Dillon called.

Jamie, please come home, he begged, sounding like the brother I used to know. Lets just talk. I promise Ill never see her again. Ill leave the city. Just come back.

Before the Whitakers took me in, Dillon and I had grown up in the same foster home. When he found out I was being "sold" to a wealthy family to be a companion for a sick girl, he had held me and cried for two hours.

He had even given up his dreams of pro sports to study psychology, claiming he wanted to help me fix my marriage, to ensure I had a "normal" life.

Our Jamie deserves the best, hed said back then. Im going to make sure youre the happiest man alive.

I had believed him. I thought having a brother like him was the greatest blessing of my life. He became Gemmas therapist, just as he said he would.

But it turned out he didn't just cure her; he cured himself right into her bed.

I hesitated, then agreed to meet him. Not because I forgave him, but because some things needed to be finished face-to-face.

When I arrived at the house, Dillon ushered me in. He sat me down on the sofa and handed me a bowl of warm peach cobblerthe comfort food he used to make for me whenever I was down.

Jamie, I just lost control of my heart. Please, just take a bite. Let me feel like Im doing one thing right.

I didn't want to argue. I took a few bites just to get it over with.

Minutes later, the world began to tilt. My vision blurred into a hazy gray.

Dillon helped me into the master bedroom, where Gemma was already asleep. My head was spinning, my body burning with a sudden, localized fever. Through the fog, I saw Dillon standing at the door. He wasn't crying anymore. He was wearing a cold, triumphant smile.

The drug hit like a freight train. Every inch of my skin screamed for contact. My body, acting on a chemical impulse I couldn't control, began to thrash, seeking the coldness of Gemmas skin.

A sudden, sharp pain jolted me into a moment of horrifying clarity. My voice was a broken rasp.

No... please, stop...

But Gemma didn't stop. I was too weak to push her away, trapped in a nightmare where pleasure was indistinguishable from agony.

Then, a sickening cramp seized my abdomen. A warmth began to spread beneath me, soaking the sheets.

Gemma finally pulled away, her brow furrowing for a second before a sneer twisted her features.

Really, Jamie? Youre going this low now? Drugging yourself to trap me? Youre disgusting.

There was no pity in her eyes. Only revulsion, as if she were looking at something rotting.

I tried to tell her. I tried to say it was Dillon. I tried to beg for help.

But Gemma just slammed the door, leaving me in the dark. I couldn't utter a single word.

When I woke up, the housekeeper had already called an ambulance.

The nurse in the recovery room sighed, her eyes full of pity. You lost a lot of blood, honey. Youre lucky to be alive.

Rest now. Your body needs to heal. You... you can try again for children later.

My eyes felt like they had been scorched dry. I couldn't even cry. My mind was a slideshow of the last twenty years.

Gemma at seven years old, witnessing her mothers affair and her fathers subsequent suicide. She had stopped speaking that day. The doctors called it a trauma-induced apathya defensive wall so thick she couldn't feel or express a thing.

Grandpa Howard had brought me in as a "fianc" in a desperate bid to give her a reason to connect. He told me when I got older that he would respect my choice; once she was better, I could leave.

But I had fallen in love with her. I threw my choice away.

I spent twenty years smiling at her stone-cold face. I studied every psychological text I could find. I put in every ounce of effort to make her "normal."

On our wedding day, she had looked me in the eye and promised, If we ever have a child, Ill make sure they are the happiest baby in the world.

But she had spent her life hating her mother, only to grow into the exact same woman.

I spent three days in the hospital. Gemma didn't send a single text.

As I was signing my discharge papers, my phone rang. It was the police.

Is this the husband of Gemma Whitaker? Shes been brought in on a sexual assault allegation. We need you down at the station.

When I arrived, a young officer pulled me aside.

The complainant is a man named Dillon. He claims that after a heated argument yesterday, Mrs. Whitaker forced herself on him.

We brought her in for a statement, but now Dillons phone is off. We cant reach him. If he doesn't drop the charges, we have to proceed.

Gemma walked out of the interrogation room, her face livid. Are you happy now? If you hadn't played the 'wronged husband' and run away, Dillon wouldn't be acting out like this!

He didn't even want to replace you, Jamie! But you pushed him!

The young officer taking notes froze, staring at us in pure disbelief.

I felt the heat rise to my face. Looking at herso self-righteous, so utterly delusionalI realized that words were a waste of breath.

You called me here... so I could convince Dillon to drop the charges?

Gemma shrugged as if it were obvious. Im telling you to go apologize to him. Fix whatever you broke so he stops being dramatic.

She truly believed it was my fault. That my "lack of grace" was the reason she was in a precinct.

I didn't want any more drama. I just wanted to be gone. I contacted Dillon and met him at a quiet cafe he'd pinned.

He was leaning back in his chair, a smug, careless grin on his face. Recovered already? That was fast.

I didn't play the game. The drugs, the police report... what are you doing, Dillon?

He leaned in, his voice a low purr. I want to see you crawl, Jamie. I want to see you on your knees, begging me.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just looked at him and asked one thing.

Dillon... was any of it real? When we were kids?

In the group home, you always gave me the bigger half of the bread. You took the beatings for me. The day I left for the Whitakers, you gave me that bag of candy youd saved for months and told me to never look back.

A tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. I thought you were my brother. I thought you wanted me to be happy.

He flinched. His chest began to heave.

I did, at first, he spat. But then I watched you get everything. And I started to hate you.

Jamie, I was stronger than you. Smarter. But the Whitakers didn't choose me!

When I finally got fostered, my 'mother' abused me for years. While you were living in a mansion, eating five-star meals, and driving luxury cars. Gemma was a statue, sure, but you had a bottomless credit card. Do you know how much it killed me every time I saw you?

I stared at him, speechless. He had been nursing this venom for over a decade.

Dillon laughed bitterly. I didn't study psychology for you. I studied it because if the Whitakers wanted a 'good, obedient boy' like you, I knew I could play that part better. If the family wouldn't pick me, Id make the heiress pick me herself.

He sat back, waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg for Gemmas freedom.

I felt my nails bite into my palms. I forced myself to stand, then, with a heavy heart, I lowered myself to the floor. I knelt.

The other patrons whispered, their eyes full of judgment, but Dillon just reached out and patted my cheek.

Ill drop the charges. I wouldn't want her behind bars, after all. But I don't want to see your face in that house ever again.

I got back to the estate late that evening. Gemma was already there, looking as composed and elegant as ever.

When she saw me, she didn't ask how I was. She just said, Dillon told me. He said you were the one who told him to call the police.

I stood rooted to the spot. Gemma, I have never played games like that. He drugged me, I was hospitalized, and then he turned on you!

Gemma lit a cigarette, her eyes full of mocking disdain. I never realized how manipulative you were, Jamie.

Youre getting quite good at fiction. You expect me to believe you were pregnant with my child and didn't tell me? Do I look like a fool?

Before I could answer, the front door burst open.

Dillon stumbled in, looking like a wreck. His hair was a mess, his shirt torn, his face streaked with tears.

Gemmas expression shifted instantly. Dillon? What happened?

He looked at me with a gaze full of practiced terror. He pointed a trembling finger.

He... he hired people. Women. They cornered me in the alley... I barely got away.

I stood there, my mind blank. It was so brazen, so absurd, that I couldn't even find the words to deny it.

Gemma didn't wait for an explanation. She crossed the room and slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped back.

I fell, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

Gemma looked down at me with pure disgust. You make me sick, Jamie.

You like playing these little games? Fine. Lets play.

A few minutes later, the housekeepers brought in several rough-looking women from the local dive barswomen who smelled of stale beer and desperation.

They circled me. They tore at my clothes, pinning my wrists to the floor.

I fought. I kicked. But it only made them more aggressive.

Gemma was already gone, cradling Dillon, whispering that shed take him to the hospital to get checked out.

As the heavy oak door slammed shut, a familiar, agonizing cramp ripped through my gut.

Blood began to pool beneath me, dark and hot, spreading across the white rug.

The women finally stopped, their eyes wide with sudden panic. Wait, why is he bleeding like that? Is he dying?

Without a word, they turned and fled, leaving the door wide open.

I lay there in the cold, red mess, unable to even lift a finger.

I don't know how long I was there before Mr. Bradley, Grandpa Howards longtime butler, rushed in with two security guards.

Mr. Whitaker... oh, heavens. Master Howard sent me to get you out. Youve suffered enough.

...

At the hospital, while Dillon was getting a few scratches treated, Gemmas phone rang.

Grandpa? Youre back?

Grandpa Howards voice was like stone. Get to the estate. Now.

Gemma let out a dry laugh. Did Jamie tattle? He brought this on himself, Grandpa. I just gave him a little scare to teach him a lesson.

The silence on the other end lasted for an eternity. Then, the old man spoke.

Ive already sent him away. Youre coming here to sign the divorce papers.