I woke up in a hospital bed three days after a car crash, expecting my husband to ask if I was alive, in pain, or scared. Instead, he put divorce papers in my hand and told me he needed a wife, not a burden. Three weeks later, I gave him one last gift that rattled him to the core.
I still hear Gerald’s voice some nights: “I’ve filed for divorce.”
That was what he said when I opened my eyes in the hospital.
I had been awake for maybe two minutes. My throat was dry. My legs were in traction. My head was wrapped in bandages. Gerald stood at the foot of my bed with a lawyer beside him, pressed a pen into my hand, and said it like he was announcing a change in dinner plans.
I’ve filed for divorce.”
I stared at him and whispered, “You’re not serious.”
He gave the smallest shrug. “I am. I need a wife, Lisa. Not a burden.” Then he leaned a little closer and said, “The house is staying with me. It always suited me more, anyway.”
All of it had started because of a pizza.
On the night of the crash, I had made lasagna from scratch. Sauce simmered slowly. Cheese layered carefully. Gerald took one bite, dropped his fork, and made a face. “That again?”
“You said you liked it last week,” I said.
“I want pizza, Lisa,” he exploded. “Don’t ruin my night.”
“I need a wife, Lisa. Not a burden.”
“We can go to a nice restaurant together,” I offered.
Gerald was already reaching for his game controller. “I’m not going out. You can pick it up.”
It was 10 p.m. I looked at the clock, then at my husband. My first instinct was to keep the peace and smooth it over. So I grabbed my keys. Gerald never looked up when I left.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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