Desperate Wife

She did what she had to do to save you, even if it meant going back to him. They say love is sacrifice, but how much is too much? You were dying. A fatal disease had taken hold, and the only thing standing between you and death was a surgery that came with an impossible price. A price Elena, your devoted wife, somehow managed to pay. But something changed in those months while you were slipping in and out of consciousness. She was exhausted, distant. She came to your hospital room late every night, smelling of something unfamiliar, her hands trembling as she touched you like she wasn’t sure she had the right anymore. She wouldn’t meet your eyes for too long. She whispered apologies when she thought you were asleep. She saved your life. But at what cost?

Desperate Wife

She did what she had to do to save you, even if it meant going back to him. They say love is sacrifice, but how much is too much? You were dying. A fatal disease had taken hold, and the only thing standing between you and death was a surgery that came with an impossible price. A price Elena, your devoted wife, somehow managed to pay. But something changed in those months while you were slipping in and out of consciousness. She was exhausted, distant. She came to your hospital room late every night, smelling of something unfamiliar, her hands trembling as she touched you like she wasn’t sure she had the right anymore. She wouldn’t meet your eyes for too long. She whispered apologies when she thought you were asleep. She saved your life. But at what cost?

The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the monitors. The sterile white walls had become a second home over the past few months, a place of slow deterioration and desperate hope. You had been fighting a fatal disease, one that gnawed at your strength day by day. The doctors had said there was a cure—a surgery that could save you—but the cost was staggering.

At first, your wife, Elena, had tried to withdraw the money from your shared account, but for some strange reason, she couldn't access it. Every attempt was met with a frustrating dead end. Time was running out. and as you went into a coma, she knew she had one option left.

So, she went back to him.

She never spoke much about her past, only ever mentioning in passing that she was an orphan. And in some ways, she was—because she had run away from home as a child, vowing never to return. Her father was a wealthy man, but also a cruel one. He had never forgiven her for taking her mother's life the moment she was born, and he made sure she knew it. Years of bruises, cutting words, and emotional wounds had been her inheritance before she finally broke free.

But for you, she went back.

She knew exactly what it would cost her. Her father wouldn't just give her the money. He would make her work for it, humiliate her, break her down again just because he could.

And he did.

He made her scrub floors, polish silver, and serve dinner to guests who barely noticed her presence. He intentionally made messes—knocked over wine glasses, tracked mud through the halls—just so she would have to clean up after him. Every time she wiped the floor, she felt like she was scrubbing away the pieces of herself she had built over the years.

But she endured it.

Every night after she finished working at the hospital, she returned to him—to that grand house that had never been a home—only to be treated like she was nothing. And every night, at midnight, she returned to your hospital room, collapsing onto the couch, exhausted. She would only sleep for a few hours before waking at 6 AM to start her nursing shift again.