My Perfect Wife Is Useless. Time to Make Her Disappear.
How to get my wife, who's done nothing wrong, to leave with nothing? She's devoted, but useless to me now.
The words blurred. My breath hitched.
Beneath it, a reply from the original poster my husband, Preston to someone calling him heartless.
Marriage is a transaction. My mercy is in not making her disappear.
I felt my world tilt on its axis. The wife in the post, her situation a mirror image of my own.
As Preston showered, the rhythmic spray of water a countdown to my discovery, I unlocked his phone. My trembling thumb found the forum.
It was him.
My vision tunneled. I didn't cry. Not a single tear.
I just kept polishing his expensive leather shoes, the ones he d wear to his next big meeting.
A familiar tightness gripped my chest, and I coughed, a soft, wet sound.
A single, crimson droplet splattered onto the pristine white cloth in my hand.
I was 40, married for 16 years, with a love story that spanned two decades.
The woman in the mirror wasn t the girl he d married. Her hair was thinning, her body swollen and shapeless.
I looked 60, not 40.
Years of devotion, of raising our daughter, of managing his home, had weathered me down to this.
My daughter, Ivy, was a junior in high school. And he wanted me gone. With nothing.
I wiped the blood from the cloth and my hand, my movements mechanical.
Hey, grab me a fresh pair of Calvins, will you? Preston s voice boomed from the bathroom.
He never used my name anymore. Not Coralie. Not even honey . Just& nothing.
I fetched a pair of his ridiculously expensive silk boxers.
He was meticulous about his underwear. I wore cheap, bargain-bin cotton.
He emerged, toweling his hair, barking orders. Clean up the bathroom.
It was a mess, as always.
His dirty clothes were a tangled heap in the sink. A lone sock and his discarded underwear lay on the wet floor.
The toilet lid was up, unflushed, the acrid smell of urine hanging in the air.
My sensitive nose and my OCD screamed in protest.
Could you& could you flush next time?
What s the big deal? I give you five hundred a month. Isn t this what you do?
Five hundred dollars. Barely enough for groceries and utilities.
He treated our home like a hotel, and I was the 24/7, unpaid maid.
My shoulder ached from bursitis, my stomach from a chronic ulcer. Every time I mentioned a doctor s visit, he d scowl.
So dramatic. You do nothing all day and you re still a wreck.
So I stopped going. I stopped buying medicine. I just endured.
This last time, the pain was too much. I went secretly. The diagnosis: breast cancer.
He didn t know. He was too busy laughing at something on his phone, sprawled on the couch.
He d just tipped a live-streamer five grand.
Preston, I began, my voice raspy, do you remember your promise?
His laughter died. His voice turned to ice. Don t start with that sentimental crap, Coralie. We re not kids anymore. It s annoying.
I pressed on, my voice low. You said you d set up a pension plan for me when Ivy started high school. I need the money for the buy-in.
His face twisted in disgust. That s at least a hundred and fifty grand. I m funneling cash into my portfolio right now. There s no spare money.
Then& what about the cochlear implant? For Ivy? So she can finally get speech therapy&
Our daughter, Ivy, had lost her hearing as a toddler. An implant could change her life.
I knew he d say no to the pension. I d hoped he wouldn t have the heart to refuse a second time.
He did.
Enough! Stop bothering me! Go make dinner!
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Preston, how can I leave my daughter with a monster like you?
My hand trembled as I took the pre-ground Ambien from my pocket.
I stirred the fine powder into the takeout I d ordered, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest.
He grumbled about me wasting money on delivery. I mumbled an excuse about a job interview, no time to cook.
He scoffed. A job? After all these years? In finance? Get real. You d be lucky to land a job as a janitor or a nanny. You should be grateful I m still supporting you.
He shoveled food into his mouth, grease shining on his lips.
And if you do find a job, the allowance stops. I ve carried you long enough.
He finished, belched, and collapsed onto the sofa, leaving the table a wasteland of dirty containers.
A wave of nausea washed over me.
The five hundred you give me barely covers groceries, Preston. Do you know what a full-time, Ivy-league educated nanny and house manager makes? It s not five hundred a month. Why do you get to treat me like your servant?
What the hell is wrong with you tonight, Coralie? You want me to cut you off completely? Is that it?
I turned away, feigning distraction as I ironed his shirt for the company gala tomorrow.
The smell of scorched fabric filled the air.
A large, brown hole now gaped in his expensive silk shirt.
He leaped to his feet. Damn it, woman! Can t you do anything right? I need that shirt for tomorrow!
I apologized profusely.
Useless, he muttered, storming off to the bedroom.
That night, aided by the Ambien, he slept like the dead.
I used his thumb to unlock his phone.
The affair was there, in vibrant, sickening detail. His secretary, Sutton. Sixteen years younger.
He called her his little firefly . She called him darling .
His monthly business trips were lavish vacations with her.
He d bought her Cartier, Herm?s, Chanel. A fortune in gifts.
I, his wife of sixteen years, had only my wedding band.
Whenever I d admired another woman s jewelry, he d say, You never go anywhere. Who are you dressing up for?
I could endure hardship. But I couldn t endure this level of deceit. This utter contempt.
And then I saw it. She was pregnant.
The day he took her for an ultrasound, I was getting my own devastating diagnosis.
He was celebrating their son. I was walking ten miles, sobbing, a cancer patient with no one to turn to.
It got worse.
For years, he d been systematically siphoning money from our joint accounts.
Transfers of ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand. The total was well over half a million dollars.
And he couldn t spare thirty thousand for his deaf daughter s future.
I couldn t breathe the same air as him for one more second.
I packed a small bag, told him I d found a temporary job out of town, and moved into a cheap, single-room rental in the city s grimiest neighborhood.
Before I left, I installed a hidden camera in the living room.
He thought I was penniless, that I d have no choice but to crawl back.
He didn't know about my mother.
My mother, who loved me unconditionally. Before she died in 2004, she d pressed a small, heavy box into my hands.
Coralie, my love. This is my life s savings. Don t tell a soul. This is for when you have no other way out.
It was twenty thousand dollars.
It was my freedom.
I was once the top of my class at Crestview University, a certified CPA.
Now, re-entering the workforce felt like climbing Everest.
But Ivy was my reason. I had to build a fortress of security for her, brick by painful brick.
I delivered food, I took on grueling temp jobs. I studied every night, my old accounting textbooks my only companions.
After a month of relentless effort, I finally got an interview at a prestigious accounting firm. Pierce & Associates.
To prepare, I spent every waking moment buried in books.
During my lunch break, I d watch the live feed from the camera at home.
Preston brought Sutton home often.
They d kiss in the living room, their hands all over each other.
Last weekend, my heart shattered. Ivy had come home from school and walked in on them.
Preston just yelled at her. He didn t even see the bruises on her face from where she d been bullied.
Or maybe he saw. And didn t care.
After Ivy stormed out, Sutton and Preston continued their conversation.
She s a good wife, from what you ve said. Are you sure about this? Sutton purred.
She s sick all the time. She offers me nothing anymore. Don t worry, a few thousand dollars and she ll be gone.
What about your daughter? College is expensive.
Preston frowned. What s the point? She s deaf and mute. Her best bet is to marry well, and soon.
Sutton sat up. I have a nephew. His family is very wealthy, but he s& a little slow. They might be a perfect match.
My blood ran cold.
I expected Preston to be furious. Instead, he smiled.
Once we re married, my dear, her future will be in your hands.
They laughed, tumbling back onto the couch together.
My hands shook so violently the book fell from my lap. A chasm of terror opened beneath me.
If I died, this was the fate awaiting my daughter?
I rushed to Ivy s school.
The principal told me she hadn t been in class for two days. Her grandmother had picked her up.
The day after she d caught Preston with Sutton.
I took an immediate leave of absence and drove five hours to Preston s hometown.
The sun was setting as I arrived, painting the sky in angry shades of red and orange.
I could hear my mother-in-law s booming voice from the street.
My granddaughter might be a deaf-mute, but she s a beauty! Her mother was a campus queen back in the day, you know!
A chorus of sycophantic praise from her bingo buddies followed.
And my son! He s about to marry a CEO s daughter! This new girl, she s even found a match for Ivy. The boy s a bit simple, mind you, but his family owns factories! Once Ivy marries him, we ll be set for life!
Rage propelled me forward. I slammed the door open.
My mother-in-law s jaw dropped.
What are you doing here?
Where is Ivy? Where is my daughter?
A frantic pounding, and a muffled, desperate cry came from a back room.
Ivy.
I lunged for the door. My mother-in-law blocked my path. This is my house! You can t just barge in!
I shoved her aside and threw the door open.
Ivy was in the woodshed, manacled at her wrists and ankles. Her hair was matted, her eyes swollen and red. She cried out, reaching for me.
Preston found her a wonderful match! the old woman shrieked behind me. She was being stubborn, talking about school. I had to lock her up to make her see sense, to get her to the meeting&
*SLAP.*
The sound echoed in the small space.
You monstrous old woman! This is kidnapping!
She clutched her cheek, her face a mask of indignation. Kidnapping? Such ugly words! Do you know what kind of family this is? She s a deaf girl! She s lucky to have such an opportunity!
*SLAP.*
Another one, harder this time.
And whose fault is it that she s deaf, you hag? You dare hold that against her?
Ivy s fever, the folk remedies, the refusal to see a doctor. It was all her fault.
It was the wound in my soul that never healed. The reason I d given up my career.
And this woman, after all these years, felt no guilt. Only disdain.
She started wailing, a theatrical, crocodile-tear performance. Help! My ungrateful daughter-in-law is beating an old woman!
I m not your daughter-in-law! Weren t you just bragging about the CEO s daughter? I ve already called the police. You kidnapped my daughter. Enjoy prison, you old witch!
You can t have children! You can t earn money! You dare hit me! Wait till Preston divorces you! You ll be begging on the streets! she shrieked, her voice cracking.
I grabbed Ivy s hand and pulled her out of that hellhole, my own anger a shield against her venom.
I was just glad my daughter couldn t hear the vile words spewing from that woman s mouth.
It took a week for the light to return to Ivy s eyes.
In that week, my resolve hardened into steel.
Preston, I was going to wait. For Ivy s sake.
But not anymore. You will never harm my daughter again.
The next day, I filed for divorce, submitting every piece of evidence of his adultery and financial fraud to the court.
When his assets were frozen, he finally found me.
Coralie, who the hell do you think you are? Drop the lawsuit! Now! Or Ivy won t see another cent from me for school, for anything!
He thought he had me cornered. The penniless, dependent housewife.
But he didn t know about my mother s twenty thousand dollars.
It wasn t a fortune. But it was my foundation.
It s too late, Preston. You don t deserve to be a father. You have no right to fight me for custody.
She s deaf and mute! You re the only one who sees her as a treasure. You don t even have a job, Coralie. Do you really think a judge will give her to you? Let me be clear: if I get custody, she is not going to college.
He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper.
Of course, if you agree to walk away with nothing& I might consider letting you have her.
Ivy was a girl. A disappointment to him and his mother from the day she was born.
And now, with Sutton pregnant with a boy, he was desperate to be rid of us.
My eyes burned. I jabbed a finger at his chest. Was she born deaf and mute, Preston? Was she? How dare you look down on her?
It was his mother s fault. And he blamed the victim.
He expected me to break.
Instead, I paid Ivy s tuition and living expenses for the rest of the year. I told her she d be living with me from now on.
My old classmate, Naomi Pierce, was a partner at the firm I d interviewed with. She took a chance on me.
Once I passed my CPA recertification, the job was mine.
With a salary advance from the firm and the last of my mother s money, I bought Ivy the best cochlear implant on the market.
When she received it, she was like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. She danced around our tiny apartment, her joy lighting up the cramped space.
Using a whiteboard, she wrote, her handwriting shaky with emotion.
Mom, if I can learn to speak, I ll make lots of money. I ll buy you a big house and make you beautiful again.
I wiped a tear from my eye. I ll be waiting, my love.
She was my reason for fighting. And no one, especially not Preston, was going to hurt her again.
Preston had been at Solara Dynamics for over a decade, climbing to the position of Vice President.
Today was the board meeting to approve his promotion to President.
The company had invited media and analysts, hoping to send a positive signal to the market.
Preston stood at the podium, his hair slicked back, radiating confidence. He clicked open his meticulously prepared PowerPoint.
Suddenly, Sutton rushed in, her face pale. Your wife is downstairs. You have to see this.
He didn't even have time to admire her designer dress before he was sprinting for the elevator.
Colleagues stared and whispered as he passed. Something was wrong.
When the elevator doors opened to the grand lobby, the sight that greeted him sent a surge of hot blood to his head. He nearly fainted.
There I was. The woman he knew so well, yet didn't know at all.
I stood in front of a beat-up minivan, a megaphone in my hand. My voice, amplified and clear, echoed through the cavernous space.
Preston Sinclair, Vice President of Solara Dynamics, is a serial cheater! He brought his pregnant mistress into our home, into our bed!
Now they re trying to force me, his wife of sixteen years, out with nothing! I am here today to expose Preston Sinclair for his adultery and his utter lack of moral character!
And his mistress, Sutton Cromwell, a willing homewrecker, carrying another man s child!
His mind reeled. He charged forward, his face a mask of fury.
Only then did he see the minivan. It was plastered with enlarged photos screenshots of his texts, pictures of him and Sutton on their business trips.
Passersby were filming, their phones held high. The whispers grew into a buzz.
He slapped the megaphone from my hand. Coralie, are you insane? Do you have any idea what you re doing?
I didn't flinch. I m telling the truth. If a single word is a lie, you can sue me for slander.
You& He gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. What do you want?
A divorce. And you leave with nothing.
Don t even think about it! I earned every penny in this family! You have no right to any of it!
This isn t your first affair, is it, Preston? Is Sutton number five? Or number six? I have more. So much more. You can agree to my terms, or we can see just how deep this rabbit hole goes.
I got in the van and drove away, leaving him standing there, exposed and shivering in the sudden cold draft of his imploding life.
I had always been the gentle, compliant Coralie. He never knew this other woman, the one who would burn everything to the ground.
He was beginning to regret that.
That night, as the story began to trend locally, I released my first TikTok.
A montage. Photos of me, the young, bright-eyed finance student, madly in love. Then our wedding. Then me, years later, exhausted and worn, holding my daughter s hand.
The audio was a clip from his forum post, read by a cold, robotic voice.
* How to get a wife who has given up everything for you, and has no faults, to leave with nothing? *
The video went viral.
#JusticeForCoralie trended in our city.
My follower count exploded.
The comments were a flood of outrage.
[ She s been good to me, so let her be destitute. The irony is staggering. ]
[ What kind of family raises a man with this kind of moral compass? ]
[ Listen up, stay-at-home moms! This is what happens. You become dependent, your health fails, and you become disposable. ]
[ I read the whole thread. He actually thinks he s merciful for not having her disappeared like in a movie. The narcissism is off the charts. ]
[ A man with no integrity running a public company? Would you trust your money with Solara Dynamics? ]
[ He doesn't deserve his position. A man without character will inevitably bring disaster. ]
Someone dug up Sutton s identity. The CEO s daughter, sent to the trenches to learn the ropes.
[ Sutton Cromwell is the daughter of the CEO of Solara Dynamics. This wasn t an affair, it was a corporate merger. ]
[ Her reputation in Europe precedes her. Wild parties, paid escorts& no wonder no one from her own circle would marry her. She had to settle for a married man. ]
Solara Dynamics stock plummeted.
The company issued a press release: the board had not elected a new president, and Preston Sinclair was now under internal financial audit.
The rain outside lashed against the windowpane of my tiny apartment.
The door burst open. Ivy stood there, her face streaked with tears.
She signed frantically, her hands a blur of anger and pain.
* Mom, why? Why did you do this? Everyone at school is talking about me& about him. Why is he my father? *
I looked out at the rain-soaked flowers on my windowsill, their petals bruised but not broken.
You ll understand one day, Ivy. Facing a storm head-on is what I have to do. What you have to do is study. Don t let this distract you. Do you understand?
She stomped her foot. * I have my SATs soon! Couldn t you have waited? *
I might not have that much time, my love, I said softly. You ll understand later.
A week later, I released the second video.
A collection of photos spanning years. Preston with Mistress #3 on a beach. Preston with Mistress #4 outside a clinic. Preston bringing Mistress #5 home to meet his mother.
The internet erupted again.
His parents were dragged into the fray, their values questioned by thousands of strangers.
They called me, screaming, threatening. I blocked their numbers.
That evening, as I was unlocking my apartment door, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the hallway.
Preston.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back.
You ve got a lot of nerve, Coralie! Take down those videos. All of them. Or I swear to God, I will kill you.
His hand clamped around my neck. Pain, sharp and blinding.
I clawed at his fingers, my vision spotting.
I looked at his face, contorted with rage, and a hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat.
This was the man I had loved for half my life.
Do you know how disgusting you became after we had Ivy? he hissed, his face inches from mine. The diapers, the baby talk, the endless cooking& you let yourself go. You got fat, your skin got rough, and you didn't even notice.
The first time I cheated, I felt guilty. But why should a man like me, a top executive, be shackled to a woman I m ashamed to be seen with?
The pressure on my throat intensified. Desperate, I remembered the key still in the lock.
My hand shot out, pulled it free, and I jabbed it towards his face.
He flinched, and the key scraped his cheek, drawing blood.
He loosened his grip, and I gasped for air, my lungs burning.
He lunged again. Take them down, Coralie! Or I ll finish this right now!
I brandished the key like a dagger. You ve been here for five minutes, Preston. Did you really not notice the security camera right above my door? I dare you. I d love to add attempted murder to your list of achievements.
He froze, his eyes darting upwards. He saw it.
You bitch! Delete that footage!
I laughed, a ragged, ugly sound. Too late. It s already been uploaded to a secure server. If anything happens to me, my friend Naomi has instructions to deliver everything to the police. You ll spend the rest of your life in a cell.
His hands clenched and unclenched, the veins in his neck bulging.
As long as you give my daughter everything the money, the house I won t stand in your way of marrying whatever trash you pick up next, I said, my voice dripping with contempt. But if you push us into a corner, I will take you down with me. It s called mutually assured destruction.
His fury finally broke, replaced by a desperate, pathetic plea.
Coralie, please. Just this once. Sutton s family& they re powerful. If I m broke, they ll never accept me. How can I marry her without money? Pay for the wedding? The baby? They ll despise me. Please, Coralie. You can have Ivy. Just& don t fight me for the assets. Please?
I felt sick. Have you ever once thought about what happens to our daughter if I walk away with nothing?
I ll take care of her, I promise!
Take care of her? Like letting your mother kidnap her and try to marry her off to Sutton s idiot nephew?
Sutton s family is rich! It would have been a good life for her&
*SLAP.*
My hand stung. My eyes burned with unshed tears.
Get out, I roared. Get out and never, ever presume to know what is good for my daughter again.
He stared at me, his cheek red and swollen. Then he kicked over the hallway trash can, sending garbage flying, and stormed away.
First, search for and download the Novellia app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "835604" to read the entire book.
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