I Thought It Was A Home, But It’s Just A Prison

The day Bill and I completely fell apart, I unexpectedly received a video call from myself from eight years ago.

The girl on the screen was standing right outside City Hall, her face flushed with excitement. When she saw Bill and me together in the frame, she let out a thrilled scream.

Look! Were still together eight years from now! Bill, don't you dare give up on her!

Beside her, the younger version of Bill shifted nervously, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

"Did I actually make something of myself?" he whispered, staring at the camera. "Did I finally give you the life you wanted?"

Eight years ago, Bill was dirt poor. My parents had sneered at his empty pockets and treated him like absolute garbage. To marry him, I had climbed out of my second-story bedroom window, breaking my leg in the fall, just to run away with him.

"You worked so hard," I told him, my voice tight. "Now, thousands of people depend on you for their livelihood. Youre a titan in your industry."

A bright, triumphant smile broke across the young boy's face.

"If my math is right, are you two heading out to celebrate our anniversary?"

I slowly shook my head.

I angled the camera down, focusing on the official divorce papers in my hand, before panning slowly to the glamorous, delicate woman clinging to Bill's other side.

"Bill. Eight years later, you don't love me anymore."

Before the young couple could process my words, a hand violently snatched my phone.

"Crack!"

The screen shattered against the concrete, spiderwebbing into a thousand frozen fractures. The video call abruptly cut to black.

"Is this really necessary?" Bill sneered, his voice dripping with impatience. "Its just a temporary divorce to shield Tessa from the media. Did you seriously hire an AI team to play along with this pathetic drama?"

"Rachel, don't push me!"

Last week, on my birthday, Bill hadn't come home. I had dialed his number dozens of times, only to be met with endless ringing. The very next morning, intimate photos of him and Tessa, his newly signed actress, whispering in a hot spring resort, went viral.

When the reporters cornered me, shoving microphones into my face, I didn't play the dutiful, silent wife as Bill had expected.

Instead, I exposed everything. I told the press how Tessa had been chasing wealthy older men since her college days.

The public went wild. Tessa was instantly branded a homewrecker and faced a massive online boycott.

Bills immediate reaction was to punish me.

"Tessa is an orphan," he had argued, his eyes flashing with anger. "She had to take some dark paths just to survive in the past. But that doesn't give you the right to tear open her wounds in public."

"This divorce is your lesson. Consider it your apology to her."

Bill didn't even look at me now. He casually handed the divorce papers to Tessa to hold.

"I'll have the PR department draft a statement shortly," he murmured to her, his voice softening. "We'll hire some accounts to clear your name. Don't worry, sweetheart. No one will call you a mistress again."

Tessa snuggled deeper into his chest, her eyes sparkling with the starry-eyed adoration of a twenty-something girl. "You're so good to me, Bill."

I bent down and picked up my shattered phone, my face expressionless. I simply held out my hand to him.

"A screen replacement is three hundred dollars. Plus travel and missed work, make it six hundred."

Bills brow furrowed in disgust.

I shifted my gaze to the bespoke silk gown Tessa was wearing. "Nice taste. You managed to find the most expensive item in my closet. That makes it twenty thousand and six hundred dollars in total."

Tessas eyes widened in disbelief. "A stupid dress is worth twenty grand? From the moment we started talking about divorce yesterday, all you do is bring up money. And you claim you aren't after Bill's fortune?"

I didn't bother replying to her. I just stared at Bill.

From my knee to my ankle, there was a jagged, raised scar. I had gotten it eight years ago, when I climbed out of that window to run away with him and got snagged on a rusted wire fence. Since that day, I had stopped wearing short skirts.

Back then, whenever Bill touched that scar, he would weep, promising to make it up to me.

When he made his first million, he commissioned a renowned atelier in Florence to hand-embroider this very gown. It took a team of master tailors half a year to finish.

It was too precious. In eight years, I had only worn it once.

Bills lips twitched. He pulled out his phone and instructed his assistant to wire me one hundred thousand dollars.

"Rachel, I know you're just acting out to spite me. Take the cash and go on a vacation."

"Once Tessa's scandal blows over, we'll get remarried."

With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa and walked away.

An hour later, Bill released a fabricated photo of me with a random man, framing me for an affair. He was willing to paint himself as a cuckold just to clear Tessa's name.

"All done, ma'am. Take a look," the repair technician said, handing back my phone.

I looked away from the news on the shop's tablet and pressed the power button.

Before I could even unlock the home screen, a video call request flashed across the display.

My eight-years-ago self appeared once more. The joy was completely gone from her face. Next to her, the young Bill hung his head, not daring to look at the lens.

"Is it true?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Does Bill... really love someone else now?"

I nodded. "Did you still sign those marriage papers?"

The two young lovers looked at each other, their faces filled with a complicated, agonizing silence.

"No," she said softly.

A wave of relief washed over me. I didn't look at the young Bill. I kept my eyes fixed on my younger self. "Go home. Mom and Dad have been waiting for you."

The girl's eyes swelled with tears. She shook her head, clinging to a fading hope. "Is there really no turning back? Does he... love that other girl that much?"

I walked into the bathroom in silence. Slowly, I pulled off my shirt.

From my collarbone down to my chest lay a massive, horrific burn scar.

"Three years ago, when I first caught Bill cheating, I slapped Tessa. He locked me in the basement as punishment. That night, Tessa claimed she wanted to see fireworks. She lit one and threw it through the basement window. It started a fire, and I barely made it out alive."

I lowered the camera to show the long, jagged surgical scar on my abdomen.

"Two years ago today, I was eight months pregnant. Bill promised he'd come home for our anniversary. I waited until midnight, but he never showed. I fell down the stairs, and my uterus ruptured. While I was being rushed into emergency surgery for a stillbirth, he was in Milan, watching a fashion show with Tessa."

Every single time, Bill would kneel before me, weeping and swearing he'd cut ties with her. But each time, he only got better at hiding it.

For three years, this marriage had been a sick, exhausting game of hide-and-seek.

All my endurance and compromises had turned into a tragic joke. I was exhausted. I couldn't play anymore.

So, when Bill suggested a divorce yesterday to save Tessa, I agreed.

Hearing this, both of them in the past turned deathly pale.

I pulled my clothes back on, stepped out of the shop, and hailed a cab.

Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced through the phone. The device must have dropped, leaving the screen pitch-black.

I could hear the young Bill's frantic, trembling voice. "The wound on your leg opened up again. It's bleeding! Don't move, let me get the bandages!"

"Don't touch me! Get away from me!" the girl cried out, her voice breaking. "Bill, I regret ever running away with you."

I disconnected the call.

When I reached the house, I found Bill busy in the kitchen.

For a moment, I stood frozen. He hadn't cooked a meal in years.

When we first arrived in New York eight years ago, he was so consumed by guilt and love that he never let me lift a finger.

During the freezing winter months, we huddled together in a drafty, unheated basement. Our breath rose in pale, shivering plumes like tiny clouds drifting toward the ceiling.

He would wrap his arms around me, tight and freezing cold. "Rachel, give me three years. I swear I'll give you the life you deserve."

To secure his very first investment, he had once crawled under a client's legs and licked alcohol off the man's shoes.

He had told me, "I can take the dirtiest paths, but I will never let you regret choosing me."

But as our houses grew bigger, he grew busier.

Eventually, a young, vibrant girl named Tessa appeared by his side. I only found out when a paparazzi sent blackmail photos to my phone.

"Rachel, come taste this. How is it?"

Bills voice snapped me back to reality. He guided me down into a dining chair.

In front of me was a bowl of chicken soup with red dates and goji berries.

My throat tightened.

During my recovery from the stillbirth two years ago, this was all I drank.

A wave of intense nausea hit me.

"Is she... pregnant?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed Bill's eyes, but it vanished instantly.

"Rachel, your uterus was severely damaged back then. You can't have children anymore."

"Tessa and I talked. Once the baby is born, we'll raise it under your name. It'll make up for your regrets, won't it?"

I stood up slowly, my body stiff.

"But didn't you get a vasectomy?"

After the stillbirth, I had demanded a divorce. He had begged me on his knees, crying, and dragged me to the clinic to get a vasectomy to prove his devotion.

So, the surgery was a lie. Just another trick to soften my heart.

Bill frowned. "Do you have to be this bitter? Just because you can't have kids, does that mean I should never have an heir?"

I laughed, a numb, empty sound. I didn't even have the strength to argue anymore.

The phone rang again with a video call.

On the screen, my eight-years-ago self was limping down the street, dragging a heavy suitcase.

Bill leaned over my shoulder, locking eyes with her.

In the heavy silence, the young girl's eyes were swollen from crying, but her voice was resolute.

"Bill. I'm going home. I'm going to let my parents set me up on those blind dates. I won't give you another chance to destroy my future."

In the background, the young, heartbroken Bill followed her at a distance, too afraid to even breathe loudly.

Beside me, the current Bill let out a soft, mocking laugh.

"Where did you hire this AI team? The technology is impressive. Give me their contact info. Tessa is pregnant, but she still has a movie to finish. This tech could come in handy for her double."

"Go to bed early. Don't wait up for me."

He poured the soup into a thermos, eager to run to Tessa.

He didn't know.

Eight years ago, the only reason I had rushed to run away with him was because my parents were indeed arranging a marriage for me.

A sharp ache hit my nose. I hadn't been home in years.

With trembling fingers, I dialed my parents' number.

They picked up almost instantly. The roaring sound of wind rushed through the speaker, catching me off guard.

"Rachel? Your dad and I are already on our way to New York. Don't be scared, sweetheart. We're coming to back you up. No one gets to bully our daughter!"

I had forgotten. They would see the news online.

The tears finally spilled over, uncontrollable. All these years, my parents must have watched me from afar through those media tabloids, waiting for me to need them.

Yet, because of Bill, I had abandoned the only people who truly loved me.

After hanging up, I began to pack.

I shred every single wedding photo and couple picture we ever took. The luxury items cluttering the rooms were sold off to consignment shops at a massive discount.

Finally, I was left with just two suitcases.

I could finally leave this prison.

But I waited all night, and my parents never arrived.

I called them repeatedly, but the line was constantly busy.

Then, the hospital called.

My parents were involved in a massive pileup on the upstate interstate.

When I rushed to the hospital, I found my parents lying on gurneys in the hallway, covered in blood. No one was treating them.

The nurse looked at me with helpless pity.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Every surgeon on dutyboth trauma and OB-GYNwas called away to the film studio by Mr. Bill."

"You don't know? His pregnant wife insisted on doing her own stunts, and he couldn't stop her. He was so terrified of an accident that he cleared out the hospital's staff..."

My mind went entirely blank.

I forgot that Bill was the primary investor in this private hospital.

With shaking hands, I dialed his number.

"Bill! My parents are in a critical car accident! Can you please send the surgeons back? Please!"

But the first voice I heard was Tessa's whining.

"This next scene requires me to go into the water. I'm worried about the baby."

"Then we won't shoot it. I'll have the director cut the scene."

"No, an actress must serve the script. Why don't we have Rachel do it? She can be my body double."

Afraid Bill might say no, Tessa purred, "You always say I look just like she did when she was young. There's no one more perfect for a last-minute double. Please, Bill? I really want to win Best Actress with this film."

Bill sighed affectionately, only then noticing the call had connected.

"You heard her. Come to the set as Tessa's double, and I'll send the doctors back immediately."

I gripped the phone, screaming in absolute agony.

"Bill! Those are my parents! How can you use their lives to blackmail me?!"

"Heh. Why don't you ask them? When they threatened to ruin me eight years ago if I didn't leave you, did they ever think they'd be begging me for their lives today?"

Before I could speak, Bill snapped coldly, "If you aren't at the studio in twenty minutes, don't expect a single doctor in New York to touch them. Your choice."

He hung up.

I looked at my mother, who had suddenly started vomiting blood. Sobbing, I texted Bill:

[Fine. I'm coming. Send the doctors now.]

He replied with a single character: [1]

For Tessa, Bill would stop at nothing. I could not risk my parents' lives.

A torrential downpour began.

Just a mile from the studio, the traffic ground to a halt. I paid the cabbie and threw myself out into the storm.

Heavy raindrops pelted my face, cold and painful.

Crash!

An electric scooter slammed into me from the side, throwing me to the wet pavement.

Agony flared through my body. My vision went dark, but I forced myself up. I couldn't stop.

Limping, I dragged myself toward the studio lot.

Almost there. Just a little further.

Inside the dry studio, Tessa nestled in Bill's arms. "She's three minutes late," she pouted.

I leaned weakly against the wall, my legs trembling in intense pain. "The rain... the traffic... I was hit by a scooter..."

Suddenly, my phone rang.

"Miss Rachel... I'm so sorry. Your parents couldn't wait any longer. They've passed away."

I froze, staring blankly at Bill.

It took a long, agonizing moment for my voice to return.

"You... you didn't send the doctors back?"

Bill looked at my mud-stained, bloody, and shivering figure. A sudden pang of sharp guilt struck his chest.

He opened his mouth to explain.

But Tessa stood up, her expression arrogant and smug.

"How were we supposed to know if you were actually coming? What if you were lying?"

She stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"And by the way, I arranged that little car crash."

"Who told your parents to call and threaten me? They actually thought they could ruin my life and make me pay."

She gently caresses her flat stomach and smirked.

"Rachel, look at you now. What do you have left to fight me with?"

All sanity evaporated. A primal rage consumed me, and I flung myself at her, wrapping my hands tightly around her neck.

Only one thought filled my mind: Kill her. Kill her!

Bill lunged forward, kicking me violently in the chest. I crashed to the concrete floor.

"Are you insane?! Tessa is pregnant! How could you lay a hand on her?!"

Tears mixed with the rainwater on my face. I screamed at him, "Bill, she did this! She planned the crash! She murdered my parents!"

"Enough!" Bill barks. He didn't believe a word.

"I already sent the best surgeons back to the hospital. Rachel, I know you're jealous and angry, but there is a limit! If these ridiculous murder accusations get out, do you have any idea how much it will hurt Tessa's career?!"

Even now, his only concern was her reputation.

I looked at him, my eyes hollow with complete despair.

"Bill. If I had known you were this heartless, I would have never run away with you eight years ago."

My words pierced a raw nerve. Bill was wealthy and powerful now, and he loathes any reminder of the days when he was dirt under people's boots.

His veins bulged on his forehead as he glared at me.

"Fine. Since you love the past so much, let me give you a taste of those miserable days!"

"Tessa has a few water scenes today. You're doing them."

Before I could protest, I was forced into Tessa's wardrobe and brutally thrown into the deep studio pool.

But I didn't know how to swim.

Freezing, filthy water flooded my nose and throat. My body sank.

Just as the darkness began to take me, a bodyguard dragged me up by my hair.

Before I can even gasp for air, I was thrown back in.

The torture repeated over and over, until the director, unable to watch any longer, finally called out, "That's a wrap. We're done."

The studio emptied. Silence fell.

On the concrete floor, my phone screen lighted up with a familiar video call.

I lay there, staring blankly, too numb to care.

In the end, even my parents died because of me.

Rachel, you are so pathetic.

An hour later, Bill returned. He looked around the dark, empty studio.

"Rachel? Come out. I'll take you home."

Only hollow echoes answered him.

He walked toward the window, his eyes catching something on the ground floor outside.

A splash of brilliant, horrifying red.

His breath stopped. He wanted to run down, but his legs felt like lead.

Nearby, my phone rang again. A video call.

Shaking, he picked it up and pressed accept.

On the screen, my eight-years-ago self appeared, wearing a stunning white wedding dress. Standing next to her was a handsome, unfamiliar man.

"Rachel, I'm getting married," she said softly. "But this time, the groom isn't Bill."

Bill's hand shook violently. He stared at her youthful, beautiful face, his throat too tight to speak.

The girl in the video looked at him, her expression turning into confusion.

"Bill? Where is Rachel?"