**”Ive Been Sick of You Since Our Wedding Night! You Disgust Me! Leave Me Alone!”**
Id spent weeks picking the perfect restaurant for our second wedding anniversary. I didnt just want a pretty place with good foodI wanted somewhere magical, where every detail set the mood. In the end, I settled on *The Gilded Swan*, a new spot in a historic townhouse with stained-glass windows and antique chandeliers.
Antony winced when I showed him photos of the interiors.
*”Why the fuss? We could just grab a quiet dinner somewhere. Who needs all this cheap glitz?”*
But I insisted. Sixty guests, live musicians, a proper toastmasterthe works. After that horrific car crash six months ago, I craved something dazzling, unforgettable.
Preparations took weeks.
I double-checked everythingthe decor, the menu, the evenings schedule, the guest favours. Maybe I was overdoing it because it was my first big event since the hospital. Or maybe I just wanted this anniversary to be perfect in every way. Even the wallpaper.
I smoothed the folds of my deep plum dress and checked the clock. Guests would arrive any minute. Antony stood by the window, staring blankly at the street. In the glasss reflection, I caught his tense expression.
*”Whats on your mind?”* I asked, stepping closer.
*”Nothing,”* he muttered, shrugging. *”Just not a fan of these circus acts. So much fuss for what? A show of pretend happiness!”*
I bit my tongue. Two years of marriage had taught me to ignore his jabs. Especially todaya day Id planned for months.
***
Mum and Dad arrived first. Dad, as always, looked effortlessly polished. Mum wore a new dusty-rose dress that suited her perfectly. She rushed over and hugged me tight.
*”Oh, darling, Im so glad youre here with us. After that accident, I thought Id lose my mind”*
*”Mum, not now,”* I cut in gently. *”Todays for happy memories. We agreed, remember?”*
Soon, colleagues from Dads firm (where Antony and I both worked), friends, and relatives trickled in. I greeted everyone with a smile, but my eyes kept flicking to Antony. He hung back, sipping whiskeyodd for a man who usually avoided alcohol even at parties.
Sarah Whitmore, head of accounting, came to say hello. I noticed her flinch when I turned to face her. Probably recalling how Id looked in the hospitaltubes everywhere, doctors hedging their bets.
*”Charlotte, youre glowing!”* she said stiffly. *”You look incredible, especially after well, after everything!”*
*”Thanks! You look lovely too,”* I replied, ignoring the unease in her gaze.
The party began.
Toasts were made, music played, guests danced. From the outside, it looked flawless. But I felt the tension thickening.
Antony lingered on the edges, exchanging terse words with colleagues. Occasionally, hed shoot Sarah a loaded glance, and shed pretend not to notice.
I approached him with a smile. *”Dance with me? Its our night.”*
*”Not now,”* he snapped. *”Heads spinning.”*
*”Youve been acting strange all evening.”*
*”Just tired. You know I hate crowds. Stop reading into things!”*
***
The toastmastera sharp-dressed blokekept the energy up. I watched the room, masking my nerves. Only I knew how *special* this night would be. I just had to wait.
Antony stayed withdrawn, exchanging tense looks with Sarah. Each glance twisted something in my chest, but I kept smiling, accepting congratulations.
*”Charlotte, were *so* relieved youre better!”* gushed the deputy directors wife. *”That accident was just *awful*.”*
*”Yes, dark times,”* her friend chimed in. *”But thank goodness its behind you!”*
I nodded, thanking them, but my mind strayed to the hospital. Hazy memories, hushed voices, footsteps by my bed
*”Sweetheart, its *wonderful*!”* Mum squeezed my shoulders, snapping me back. *”You look *stunning* tonight!”*
*”Thanks, Mum.”*
*”Only”* She hesitated. *”Antonys so on edge. Is everything alright?”*
*”Fine,”* I said lightly. *”Hes never liked big parties.”*
Dad joined us, tucking an arm around Mum. *”Whats the gossip?”*
*”Just girl talk,”* I deflected.
*”Darling, Im *so* proud of you,”* Dad murmured. *”Youre a fighter.”*
I hugged him, hiding my face in his shoulder. He didnt know half of what Id fought. And I prayed he never would.
The band struck up *our* songthe one wed danced to at our wedding.
I hurried to Antony. *”Dance with me? Like we did two years ago?”*
He stiffened. *”Charlotte, I said *no*. Are you *trying* to provoke me?”*
*”Why would I? Whats *wrong*?”* I searched his face.
*”Nothings wrong. Just *back off*!”*
His harshness froze me in place.
A moment later, I noticed Sarah slipping outfollowed by Antony. I waited, then tailed them.
They stood in the empty corridor, whispering fiercely. At my approach, they fell silent.
*”Whats going on?”* I asked calmly.
*”Nothing,”* Sarah forced a smile. *”Just work chat.”*
*”At our *anniversary*?”*
*”Charlotte, *drop it*!”* Antony hissed.
*”*Me*? *Youve* been off all night! Explain yourself!”*
We returned to the party. The music roared; guests danced. Dad was mid-toast. Sarah avoided my eyes, her hands shaking as she sipped her wine.
*”Talk to me,”* I pressed Antony. *”Whats happening?”*
*”I *dont* want to!”*
*”But I *need* to understand”*
*”Just *leave me alone*!”* He wheeled on me.
The music cut. The room fell silent. And in that silence, his words rang like a death knell:
*”Ive been sick of you since our wedding night! You *disgust* me! *Get away from me*!”*
***
His words hit like a slap. The room spun. Time frozeshocked guests, Sarahs ashen face, Antonys smug glare.
I exhaled slowly. *There it was.* The moment Dad and I had waited for.
Instead of pain, relief flooded melike a weight lifting. A smirk touched my lips as I nodded at the toastmaster.
The lights dimmed. The screen behind us flickered to life.
Black-and-white footage: a hospital room, machines beeping. Me, unconscious, tangled in wires. The timestampthree months ago.
Dad had shown me this video after Id come home. Hed hesitated, searching for the right moment.
*”I had to monitor your care,”* hed said grimly.
Onscreen, the door creaked open. Two figures crept inAntony and Sarah.
*”Quiet,”* Sarah whispered. *”What if she wakes?”*
*”She wont,”* Antony said, almost *pleased*. *”Doctors said shes done for.”*
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Guests gaped; Antonys knuckles whitened on his chair.
The video played on. Antony grabbed Sarah, kissing her hungrilyright beside his *dying wifes* bed.
*”Everythings falling into place,”* he panted. *”Once shes gone, well be free.”*
*”But *what if* she survives?”* Sarah pulled back.
*”She *wont*,”* he said smoothly. *”Ive planned for everything.”*
More clips followed: their hushed talks by my bed, their confidence in getting away with it. Each frame was a nail in their coffin.
I paused on the *worst* shot: them mid-embrace, my lifeless body visible behind them.
Silence.
***
Mum shattered it first. *”Oh *God* How *could* you?!”* She lunged, but Dad held her back.
Sarah bolted for the doorblocked by security.
The room erupted.
*”Thisthis isnt what it looks like!”* Antony stammered. *”Charlotte, youve got it all”*
*”Got *what*?”* I stepped forward, my voice steady. *”That you plotted my *inheritance* while I fought for life? That you
