Episode 2

"Well, what did he say?" My sister Sheba asked, her eyes locked onto me as if I were presenting her with a contract. Impatience radiated from her.

I stared at the tea in my hand, searching for the right words to convey my predicament. How could I tell her that I was the problem without outright saying it?

...

She had hurriedly left her own home as soon as she heard that he had laid a finger on me. It was a desperate lie, an attempt to draw her into my delusion.

"So? Where is that mad man?!" She shouted, impatient and panting as if she had just finished a marathon, awaiting her victory like a queen.

She was visibly agitated, ready to hit anyone or anything for my sake. As touched as I was by her concern, I was also apprehensive about telling her that he hadn't actually harmed me.

I faked it. I faked another bruise on my arm, using a knife to cut myself before her visit to my house.

"Oh my days, did he do this to you?" She asked, carefully examining my arm in anger.

"I'm calling the police," she immediately reached for her phone to dial 911, but I stopped her abruptly, hushing her.

"Sheba, please, please don't do this. I still have unfinished business here," I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes, almost on my knees, while she stood there, helpless and feeling helpless on my behalf.

"I have something to tell you, let's go inside. Come," I urged her to follow me, and there it was, the shattered glass still scattered across my living room floor.

I couldn't bring myself to clean up the mess; those pieces meant too much to me. You might ask why I didn't just hire a maid to do it. Well, Rick didn't believe I deserved a maid either.

I prepared his bath, cooked his meals three times a day, cleaned up, and took care of the house and him. He had only promised me a maid if I would give him a child. And I hadn't complained all this time.

On the other side of the room lay the vase he had thrown at me earlier.

"He threw that vase at me," I said with a trembling voice as my sister dropped her purse on the couch and walked toward me, ready to embrace me. I braced myself and let the tears flow, sobbing in her arms. She didn't say a word, simply standing there and stroking my hair until I calmed down.

...

"He said he wasn't going to accompany me to the hospital, that he's the man and that everything he says and does goes," I swallowed hard, relieved that I was finally able to voice those words to my sister. She stared intently at me, and the next thing I felt was a smack on my face.

"Have you lost your mind?! Or your ability to think, Jane!" She scolded me angrily as I touched my face, shocked that she had raised her hand against me.

"And you believe him?! I tell you, let's call the police on this man, and you believe him! You still protect the one person who has hurt you day in and day out and is clearly incapable of giving you a child!" She banged her fist on the table, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she rubbed her head with her hand.

"You don't know that!" I retorted, raising my voice slightly. In that split second, I forgot I was speaking to my elder sister, who had come to help me as a favor.

She gave me a long, stern stare, displaying her annoyance at my tone, but to my surprise, she remained composed.

"Sis, I know you're in love," she began, taking hold of my hands. I was a bit afraid that she might slap me again.

"But your childlessness goes beyond him not appreciating the beautiful woman you are. It goes beyond him not loving you!" She tried to explain, but it felt like pouring water onto a stone.

"Every man wants at least a child of his own, and if your man doesn't, then something is definitely wrong, and we have to find out," she said with finality in her tone. Deep down, I was scared of what I might discover at the end of all this drama.

During our intimacy, we never used condoms. I always made sure to follow the doctor's instructions and have sex, especially during my ovulation. We had a fulfilling sex life, but nothing came of it. I had always believed that I was simply barren, but the doctor assured me that I was perfectly fine and nothing was wrong with me.

...

"Doctor, are you sure? Are you sure you won't check again?" I asked, desperate for answers. It had been twelve months of hoping for my period to disappear, hoping to be pregnant, but I woke up to the frustrating wetness of blood beneath my garments. It tormented me, and I cried my eyes out before pulling my hair back and heading to the doctor's office.

"Jane, there's nothing wrong with you. All the tests you've taken show that all your eggs are intact and have been regularly ovulating, but no sperm has managed to fertilize them," she explained, and I stared at her as if I had seen a ghost.

"So, what are you saying, then?" I asked, impatiently seeking answers.

"Your husband needs to undergo a full examination for us to be sure," she said, dismissing me from her office. Well, why wouldn't she? It was the fifth time I had taken tests at the hospital, and they always gave me the same results.

They kept telling me that I was fine, but I chose to believe that I wasn't. I also smelled and appeared quite insane that morning, so I was certain I made the doctor very uncomfortable.

...

"So how do we find that out?" I asked, still harboring doubts that my husband was truly the problem.

"I know a doctor. I've spoken with her, and she's offered to help," she explained, and I was confused as to why we needed another doctor besides mine.

"To run the test on your husband at the hospital, we need his semen, and the only way to obtain it is through his sperm. You and he don't use condoms, so it's impossible for you to collect a sample, but it's quite possible that he uses condoms with his mistresses," she clarified, and I began to understand where she was going with this.

"So you want us to retrieve his sperm through one of his mistresses? How do we do that?" I asked, confused because all his mistresses knew me, and none of them liked me in the least.

"That's where my doctor comes in," she glanced around, as if wary of someone overhearing us, but it was just the two of us in the house.

"My doctor will sleep with your husband," she said, and I tried to protest, but she cut me off.

"The reason being that we know her, we'll pay her, and she's a doctor, so she can handle things professionally. She's the best person for the job," she tried to convince me, but a hard knot formed in my stomach as she laid out her plan.

I didn't know how to react to the plan.

"Sheba, this is dangerous. What if he finds out?" I was afraid of orchestrating such a scheme against my husband.

"That man doesn't know his left from his right as long as he's with a woman, so relax," she assured me, and I mustered a fake smile in response.

Deep down, I didn't want it to happen so that I wouldn't have a reason to leave my husband. But at the same time, I wanted it to happen because I was slowly becoming fed up.

Weeks passed, and it was finally time to receive the test results from the doctor. I made sure to send a sample to my doctor as well, just to be sure. The results confirmed that he had undergone a vasectomy.

My world came crashing down as I read the contents of the paper I held in my hands, tears staining the paper.

"Jane! What is this?" My husband stormed into my room, and I knew exactly why.

I had left the test results on his bed, so he would see that I had discovered his dirty secret.

"Exactly what it is," I said calmly, putting on my last piece of jewelry before heading to the gym.

"Why is this? How did you...?" He stuttered, and I chuckled lightly.

"Rick, this contract has officially come to an end," I declared, dabbing perfume on my neck and wrists as I grabbed my gym bag from on top of the bed, along with my phone from the drawer where I had placed it.

I reached the entrance of my room, where he stood bewildered like a lost child. I gave him one last piercing stare and brushed past him as if he didn't exist.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered to myself, making sure he could hear every word.