I pulled him out of that world, and he found another. But my parting gift shattered them.
—I’m leaving you, Annie.
Those words, spoken in a flat, unfamiliar voice, sliced through the evening’s quiet like a knife.
The fork slipped from Annie’s trembling fingers and clattered against the plate. The festive table she’d spent hours preparing, the candles… all of it twisted into a cruel, absurd backdrop.
—What?… What do you mean, leaving? Simon, what are you saying?— Her voice cracked. —We… we’ve been through everything… I… And today’s our anniversary…
She’d wanted this evening to be special—ten years since their wedding day. Just the two of them. A night that was supposed to prove the worst was behind them.
After the accident, her husband Simon had changed—grown quiet, distant. Annie told herself it was just his slow recovery. She believed her love and care would melt the ice between them.
But now he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his mother, who had just barged into their home uninvited.
Margaret Holloway, her mother-in-law, was beaming. Dressed as if for a gala, her thin lips smeared with bright red lipstick, she strode in and placed a possessive hand on her son’s shoulder. She hadn’t come to visit. She’d come to witness an execution.
—Perfect timing, the anniversary!— Her voice dripped venom. —Time to end this farce! I always knew my son needed a woman of his calibre, not some nursemaid-slave!
Annie’s heart skipped a beat. Nursemaid-slave… Was that what she was?
—And I’ve found her!— Margaret announced grandly, ignoring her daughter-in-law’s stunned silence. —My best friend’s daughter, Emily! Clever, beautiful, owns a flat in Kensington! She won’t bore you, son, with tales of reheated soup!
So it was all decided. While she’d fought for his life, they’d been secretly auditioning her replacement. Picking out a new model, like she was a worn-out coat.
Simon nodded, agreeing with every word his mother said. There was no guilt in his eyes, no regret. Only cold, weary disgust.
—Understand, Annie. When I was lying there in hospital, helpless… I needed you. But now I’m back on my feet. And I need a woman who inspires greatness, not one who reminds me of weakness.
It was over. Completely. Undeniably. A verdict delivered by two people she’d loved and executed on her wedding anniversary.
Like a reel of silent film, the past year flashed before Annie’s eyes. Not a life—a survival.
She remembered the call. The detached, bureaucratic voice on the other end that began her personal hell: “Your husband’s been in an accident. He’s in ICU.”
Then the hospital. Endless white corridors reeking of bleach and despair. The first conversation with the exhausted surgeon who rubbed his temples and sighed.
—His condition is stable but critical. We’ve done all we can. Beyond this… recovery is unpredictable. It depends on care. And his will to live.
“Depends on care.” That phrase became her sentence and her mission.
The numbers in their bank account dwindled like March snow. She sat in the consultant’s office as he politely but firmly explained that free treatments had run out—real rehabilitation required money. A lot of it.
That same day, she went to the pawnshop. Took off the gold earrings—her late mother’s last gift. The man behind the counter weighed them in his palm.
—Sure about this, love? These are memories.
—Memories won’t put him back on his feet,— she snapped, grabbing the crumpled notes.
Next went the necklace, the bracelet, then finally the thin wedding band she had to pry off her swollen finger.
When there was nothing left to sell, she took a second job. Days in a stuffy shop, nights as a care assistant. She slept three hours a night, learned to nap on the bus.
Margaret visited once a week. Not to help—to oversee.
—Why is he so pale? You’re not feeding him!— she hissed while Annie mopped the hospital floor.
—The doctor said only broth for now,— Annie murmured.
—Doctor! What does he know? You’ll kill him with that miserable face of yours! A man needs energy, not your sighs!
Not a penny of help. Not once.
Then came the physiotherapist. A sturdy young man named Daniel.
—Annie, this is a marathon, not a sprint,— he’d say, demonstrating exercises. —Every day. Through the pain, through the exhaustion. Don’t let him wallow. Pity is poison.
And she didn’t. Dragged him to the bathroom. Massaged his stiff muscles until her own fingers ached. Made him do exercises even when he cursed. Read to him so the silence wouldn’t drive him mad.
Her strength faded as his slowly returned. She grew thin, dark circles under her eyes. He put on weight, colour in his cheeks.
She’d breathed her own life into him.
Now he sat before her. Strong. Healthy. Filled with her strength—and looking at her like she was empty space.
Annie slowly studied their smug faces. Margaret’s triumphant smirk—she’d already mentally claimed her role as mother to a “successful” son. Simon’s expression was complacent—relieved, it seemed, of the burden of gratitude.
They expected tears. Hysteria. Accusations.
But there were no tears. Inside, everything had burned to ash, leaving only hollow, icy stillness. And in that stillness grew not revenge—but calculation.
Annie didn’t just stand. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin—and suddenly felt taller than both of them.
—Well, if that’s how it is…— Her voice was steady, not a trace of weakness. —Before the divorce, I’d like to give you a parting gift.
Simon smirked sceptically. Margaret snorted. Probably expecting some sentimental trinket or old photo album.
Annie went to the bedroom and returned with a neat transparent folder. For a year, she’d collected receipts—documentary proof of her love and his salvation.
She placed it on the table before Simon. The plastic rustle cut through the silence like a gunshot.
—What’s this?— he asked warily.
—Open it.
He hesitated, then did. The first page—an invoice from a private clinic for an astronomical sum. Next—a loan agreement in her name. Then dozens of smaller receipts: medications, physio sessions, special meals, the orthopedic bed… All itemised, totalled.
His gaze froze on the final figure circled in red. The number was staggering. Simon paled. His hands, so strong moments ago, trembled.
—I… don’t understand…— he whispered.
—You understand perfectly, Simon,— Annie said firmly. —You said you only needed me when you were weak. So if I was just hired help, it’s time to settle the bill.
She paused, letting it sink in.
—Under the law, marital debts for shared needs are split fifty-fifty. Your treatment was a shared need. I’m filing for divorce and demanding half.
Margaret snatched the folder like a predator seizing prey. Her manicured nails scrabbled at the pages, eyes darting frantically over the numbers. Her victorious smile melted into horror.
—You… you wouldn’t dare!— she shrieked.
—Oh, I dare,— Annie replied coolly. —Consider this payment for your son’s newfound clarity. Enjoy your fresh start.
The trial was gruelling. A farcical spectacle. Margaret wailed that Annie was a fraud who’d tricked her “poor, sick boy” into paying for air.
Simon mumbled something about “voluntary help,” eyes downcast. Relatives were dragged in to swear Annie had always been “ungrateful.”
But Annie stayed silent. The documents spoke for her. Piles of receipts, bank statements, loan agreements. Paper doesn’t lie. And the judge—a weary woman—listened to them.
Annie won.
Their three-bedroom flat was legally split in half. But Simon’s share of the debt nearly equalled his half of the property. The choice was simple: sell his share and pay her, or sign it over entirely.
At the final hearing, in the stifling courthouse corridor, their exhausted lawyer offered a settlement.
—My client, Simon Holloway, in lieu of repayment, transfers full ownership of his share to you,— he droned, barely hiding his irritation at losing.
Annie glanced at her ex-husband. He stood hunched in the same suit she’d bought him for his birthday—now hanging off him like a stranger’s clothes.
Beside him stood his mother, a fury. Her face grey with rage, hair dishevelled.
The dream of a “new, glamorous life” with a wealthy fiancée had crumbled. Now he wasn’t a prize—just a debtor with ruined credit.
And no home.
His new love had nothing to gain. Emily, the “clever
