Tell My Ex To Cut Deeper

The sky had completely opened up by the time I walked out of the clinic with my prescription. Standing under the meager shelter of the awning, shivering, I dialed my husband’s number. His voice came through the line, sharp and laced with his usual irritation. "It’s out of my way, Miranda. Just call an Uber." But the ride-share apps were showing massive surge prices and hours of delay. I was in a rush to get home to cook dinner for Delia, his paralyzed younger sister, so I had no choice but to grab a city rental bike and pedal out into the downpour. On the way, a sleek black SUV whipped around a sharp corner far too quickly. To avoid a direct collision, I swerved hard. My tires lost traction on the slick asphalt, and I crashed violently into the muddy run-off at the side of the road. As I lay there, gasping, a familiar masculine voice drifted out from the car’s open window. "Are you okay, babe? Did that startle you?" A second later, the passenger window rolled down. The woman inside peered out at me, her expression twisted into a sneer. "What is wrong with you? Do you not watch where you're going?" Wiping the muddy water from my face, I dragged myself up from the wet street. In that brief, agonizing second, I saw exactly who was in the car. My husband, Willie. And Amber, his first love. The freezing rain seemed to seep directly into my bones, but the chill in my chest was far worse. It wasn't that he couldn't pick me up because it was out of his way. I was simply the only one who was out of his way. … 1 Standing knee-deep in the muddy puddle, I watched Willie lean over to stroke Amber’s hair, murmur soothing words, and check on her. A wave of nausea hit me so hard my stomach violently turned. "Willie, I’m totally fine. Don’t worry so much," Amber said, her voice dripping with sweet, performative fragility. It carried a distinct note of triumphant pride. I stared at her, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. Amber glanced in my direction. The small, smug curl of her lips told me everything—she recognized me immediately. Pointing a manicured finger toward the window, she murmured, "Oh, Willie, look at that poor woman. That looked like a really nasty fall." She paused, her voice softening into an even more delicate coo. "Should we get out and help her? Or since we almost hit her, maybe we could give her a ride to the hospital? Or at least drop her off at home?" I held my breath, staring through the thick curtain of rain at the man in the driver's seat. "Willie, what are you going to do?" But Willie didn't even turn his head. He restarted the engine, his tone dropping into a cold, detached drone. "Amber, you are far too sweet for your own good. She’s probably just looking for an insurance payout. Don't waste your time." "But still..." Amber hesitated, playing her part beautifully. "No buts," Willie said, his voice flat and clinical. "I deal with these kinds of grifters all the time. If you get out to help her now, she’ll find a way to pin the blame on us and bleed us dry." I felt my chest tighten so violently it felt as if my ribs were crushing my lungs. Every breath tasted of iron. Amber let out a soft, melodic laugh—a sound of pure victory. "Well... we can't just leave her with nothing. It’s so sad," Amber sighed, a theatrical touch of pity in her voice. She opened her designer handbag, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and carelessly flicked them out the window. "Here, honey. Take this to get your cheap little bike fixed. Next time, watch where you're going. Some lanes aren't meant for you, no matter how hard you try to crash into them." The tinted window rolled up smoothly, shutting me out. The SUV accelerated, throwing up a massive wave of dirty street-water that drenched me from head to toe. I stood paralyzed, watching the red taillights bleed into the gray rain until they vanished entirely. Standing there in the middle of the storm, I began to laugh. It was a raw, hysterical sound, tears mixing with the rain and the copper taste of blood from my split lip. Clenching my teeth, I dragged my injured leg forward, limping step by step into the dark, endless downpour. 2 The walk back to our townhouse took two agonizing hours. During that endless walk, memories of how Willie and I first met played on a loop in my mind. I met Willie during the worst year of his life. His family's logistics company had just collapsed into bankruptcy, and his college sweetheart, Amber, had left him without a backward glance. I was a fresh college graduate back then. I had refused to take a comfortable position at my family’s real estate firm, wanting to prove I could make it on my own, so I had taken an entry-level job at a small agency. One evening, a sudden storm hit the city. I was standing under a bus stop, completely unprepared, when Willie walked by and handed me his umbrella. We eventually realized we worked in neighboring buildings. One coffee date turned into another, and eventually, we fell in love. My parents were vehemently opposed to him. They saw his ambition as desperate and his background as unstable. In my youthful, stubborn defiance, I cut ties with them to marry him. But on our wedding day, tragedy struck. Willie's younger sister, Delia, was bringing my bridal bouquet to the venue when a drunk driver plowed into her car. She survived, but she was left paralyzed from the waist down. From that day on, an invisible, insurmountable wall rose between Willie and me. Delia was a lovely girl. Willie had practically raised her after their parents died young; they were all each other had. So when he began punishing me with his silence and emotional withdrawal, I didn't fight back. I accepted it as my penance. I genuinely loved Delia like a sister. I quit my job, stayed at home, and became her full-time caregiver. I poured every ounce of my energy into trying to heal the fracture in our family. When Willie wanted to start a new business, no bank in the city would look at a man with a bankruptcy on his record. He spent months pitching to venture capital firms, getting doors slammed in his face day after day. Watching him slowly wither away from stress broke my heart. I couldn't sleep. Ultimately, I swallowed my pride and went back to my parents' estate. My mother wept when she saw me, repeating over and over, "If you had just listened to us, you wouldn't be living like this." I knelt before my father and begged. My father sat in silence for what felt like hours. But because he loved me, he finally gave in. He agreed to fund Willie's venture—under the strict condition that it must be routed through a third-party shell company so Willie would never know the money came from us. The night his company finally went public, Willie drank far too much. When we got home, he held me tightly in the living room, burying his face in my hair for a long, silent moment. And then, he wept. It was only the second time I had ever seen him cry. The first had been at the hospital on our wedding day. "Miranda," he whispered, his voice cracking. "About Delia... I don't hold it against you anymore. These past few years... I've been a monster to you. Let's just be good to each other from now on." My tears spilled over instantly. In that moment, I believed every sacrifice, every cold night, and every bit of swallowed pride had been worth it. But I hadn't realized that once we finally crossed that bridge, our marriage wouldn't automatically heal. A sudden, booming crack of thunder snapped me back to reality. Without realizing it, I had reached our front gate. When I pushed the front door open, Willie was sitting on the leather sofa, casually sipping a cup of espresso. He looked up, his brow furrowing when he saw me dripping muddy water onto the hardwood floor, my knees scraped and bleeding. "What happened to you?" I answered quietly, "I got clipped by a car driven by a couple of cowards. I’ve been walking in the rain for two hours." He sighed, his voice laced with impatience. "Well, go clean up and get dinner started. Delia is waiting to eat." Without another word, he stood up and walked into his study, shutting the door behind him. Hearing my footsteps, Delia rolled her wheelchair out of her bedroom. When she saw my soaked clothes and the blood seeping through my torn jeans, her face turned pale. "Miranda! Oh my god, what happened? Did you fall?" Her voice was hoarse and anxious. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just slipped on the wet sidewalk," I said, forcing a reassuring smile as I placed the damp prescription bag on the kitchen counter. Delia stared at my knees, her eyes slowly filling with tears as she watched the blood begin to pool. "Miranda... is my brother seeing someone else?" 3 My heart skipped a beat. When I saw Amber sitting in the passenger seat of Willie’s car earlier, a part of me had wanted to burn our entire life to the ground and expose them both. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bear to shatter Delia’s image of the older brother who had protected her her entire life. "No, sweetie. Don't think like that," I lied gently, turning away to walk into the kitchen. I braced myself against the counter, my legs shaking uncontrollably. The hum of the stove fan seemed to amplify in my ears, making my pounding head throb with a vicious intensity. I could feel my body temperature climbing rapidly, my breath coming out in hot, shallow gasps. As I carefully carried a bowl of hot soup to the dining table, my vision suddenly went dark. The room began to tilt. I reached out blindly for the back of a dining chair, but my fingers slipped. My knees buckled completely, and I collapsed heavily onto the cold hardwood floor. The impact tore open the barely dried scrapes on my knees, and blood immediately began to bloom through my sweatpants, staining the floor. Delia let out a sharp gasp of terror, her wheelchair tires screeching against the floor as she tried to reach me. The study door flew open, and Willie strode out, his face tight with annoyance at the disruption. But when he saw me crumpled on the floor, his expression shifted. He walked over quickly, kneeling down to press the back of his hand to my forehead. His face went rigid. "Why are you burning up like this?" For the first time, there was a faint trace of panic in his voice, as if he was finally registering the fact that I had been out in a freezing rainstorm for hours. He scooped me up into his arms and reached for his car keys on the console. "Delia, stay here. I’m taking her to the hospital." Pressed against the warmth of his chest, my exhausted, wounded heart foolishly let out a tiny flicker of hope. I wanted to believe that somewhere deep down, he still cared. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe we could still fix this. Then, his phone rang loudly on the coffee table. Willie’s arms stiffened instantly, and his feet glued to the floor. After a second of agonizing hesitation, he set me back down on the sofa and turned to answer the call. Amber’s crying voice leaked through the speaker, high and trembling. "Willie, I’m so scared. The storm is so loud and my power just went out. I’m completely in the dark, and I can't breathe... I think I'm having a panic attack." Willie’s breathing turned rapid. He looked back at me, his eyes clouded with conflict. I was too weak to open my eyes fully, but I used every ounce of strength left in my body to reach out and clutch the hem of his shirt. "Willie, please... I feel so sick..." My voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic, desperate plea. "Please take me to the clinic." Willie looked down at my pale face and my blood-stained jeans, his hand holding the phone beginning to lower. 4 But Amber’s hysterical weeping suddenly grew louder. "Willie! Are you still there? I think someone is knocking on my door. I'm so terrified! Please, you have to come!" Slowly, deliberately, Willie reached down and pried my fingers off his shirt, one by one. "Miranda, it's just a fever. Take some Tylenol and try to sleep." "I need to go check on her. I'll be back as soon as I can to take you to the doctor. Just wait for me." Before I could say another word, he grabbed his keys and his umbrella, turning his back on me as he rushed out into the storm. Lying on the sofa, I listened to his car engine roar to life and fade into the distance. The tears finally slipped silently down my cheeks. To him, my life-threatening fever didn't weigh as much as Amber’s fear of a thunderstorm. A sharp, violent cramp seized my stomach, and the room began to spin. "Miranda! Miranda, please look at me!" Delia rolled her chair close, her trembling hands cupping my burning face, her tears hot as they splashed onto my skin. "Delia, don't cry..." I managed to whisper, before the world dissolved into pitch black. My sleep was filled with nightmares of Willie’s retreating back and Amber’s mocking laughter—a suffocating net tightening around my throat. When I finally opened my eyes, the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nose. "Miranda, thank god you're awake!" Delia’s hoarse, exhausted voice came from beside me. I turned my head weakly. She was sitting in her wheelchair right next to the bed, her eyes swollen and red. It was obvious she hadn't left my side all night. "Did you... bring me here?" I muttered. Delia nodded, her eyes welling up again. "You passed out. I called my brother dozens of times, but he never picked up. Eventually, he turned his phone off." "I didn't know what else to do. I called 911." Hearing her speak, a sharp pain bloomed in my chest. "I'm so sorry, Delia. I'm so sorry I put you through that." "Don't say that, Miranda. You've spent years taking care of me. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even want to be alive," Delia said, wiping her face. "The doctor said your fever hit nearly 104. If we had waited any longer, it could have been fatal." I closed my eyes, unable to find any words to fill the heavy silence. I remained in the hospital for three days, and during that entire time, Willie never once showed up. Only Delia was there, keeping me company in the quiet room. By the fourth morning, my fever had completely broken. Delia mentioned she wanted to go down to the courtyard to get some fresh air. When she didn't return for a long time, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest. I unhooked my IV, threw a cardigan over my hospital gown, and walked out into the corridor. I searched the halls of the building and finally found her near the elevators on the second floor, crying silently. "Delia? What's wrong? Are you in pain?" I rushed over and gripped her shoulders gently. Delia looked up, her face streaked with tears. "Miranda... I saw Willie..." her voice shook so hard her teeth clicked. I followed her gaze toward the end of the hall, where the sign for the OB-GYN department hung. My breath caught in my throat. It was Willie and Amber. 5 Willie was carefully holding Amber’s elbow, his other hand placed protectively on her lower back. Amber’s face was bright with a soft, radiant glow. The way Willie looked at her was a look I hadn't seen in years—the same tender, devoted gaze he had reserved only for me when we first fell in love. I stood there, my mouth open, but no sound would come out. "Miranda..." Delia wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, burying her face in my lap, sobbing. "Please leave him. Divorce my brother." She looked up at me, her tear-stained face filled with a fierce, quiet anger. "He doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve a single piece of your love!" A profound, hollow sadness washed over me. Of course I wanted to leave. The moment I saw them together in that car, the marriage had ended in my mind. But if I left, what would happen to Delia? If she hadn't gone to fetch my bouquet that day, she wouldn't be in that chair. In my heart, she was my real sister. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the hot tears back down. "Delia, don't say silly things," I said, offering her a weak, fragile smile as I smoothed her hair. "Maybe he was just accompanying a friend." Her tears fell onto the back of my hand, scalding hot. "Miranda, you're only staying because of me, aren't you?" She grabbed my hands, her fingernails digging into my skin. "Please, Miranda, I beg you—forget about me! I can survive on my own!" I knelt down and pulled her frail body into a tight embrace, my own tears finally breaking free. "Delia, stop. I'm not leaving you behind. No matter what happens, I'm right here with you." Terrified of running into Willie, I quickly arranged my discharge, and we went home. Willie didn't come home that night either, while a soft, steady rain tapped against the windowpanes. Sometime in the middle of the night, a heavy, muffled thud echoed from Delia’s bedroom. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. Without even grabbing my slippers, I ran out of my room. The moment I pushed her door open, the thick, metallic scent of blood hit my senses. In the pale, cold moonlight, Delia lay motionless in a dark pool of blood. "Delia!" I scrambled across the floor, throwing myself beside her and pressing my hands over the deep, weeping cut on her left wrist. "Delia, wake up! Please, don't do this to me! Look at me!" Her face was as translucent as paper, but her lips were curved into a faint, peaceful smile—as if she had finally found escape. With trembling hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers slipping on the screen several times before I managed to dial 911. While I waited for the ambulance, I called Willie like a lunatic. Once. Twice. Three times... On the thirty-sixth attempt, the call finally connected. "Willie! You need to come home right now! Delia... she tried to kill herself! There's so much blood! Please, you have to save her!" I screamed into the receiver, my voice cracking, my vision completely blurred by tears.