On our wedding night, my wife, Sarah, wouldn’t let me touch her. She said she was too tired and asked me to wait a while. But every night, in the dead of night, she’d sneak downstairs to the basement. When she returned, she’d always shower, and an eerie, unsettling smell would cling to her. I asked her what she was doing. She said she was doing yoga. Yoga in the middle of the night? I couldn’t take it anymore. One night, I secretly followed her down to the basement. She spotted me, spun around, and grabbed the collar of my pajamas, yelling: “Get up here!” “You can’t go into the basement!” “Otherwise, we’re getting a divorce!” I clutched the stair railing, trembling with anger. My parents bought this house for us as a wedding gift. This is my home! Why can’t I go into my own basement? As my wife, who does she think she is talking to me like that? I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. “Sarah, is that how you talk to me?” Sarah still had a tight grip on my pajama collar, her slender fingers surprisingly strong. “Mark, let’s go upstairs first. I’ll explain everything in the bedroom.” “You can’t explain it here?” I pointed to the pitch-black basement below. “Why can’t I go down there? Don’t I have a right to know?” “I’m doing yoga, and that’s my private space down there. It’s not time to share it yet.” She stepped down a few stairs, blocking my path with her body. “Why?” “Because it’s just not the right time. When it’s ready for you to see, I promise I’ll show you!” My gut twisted with frustration. I took another deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “If that’s the case, did you really have to snap at me like that?” “I…” She bit her lip. “I was just a little worked up, you know? Besides, you know I’m direct; you’re used to that.” I scoffed and turned to go upstairs. Fine, I’d wait until she left for work tomorrow, then I’d check out what was really going on down there. Back in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. There had to be something fishy going on in that basement, something serious. Was it a secret Sarah didn’t want anyone to know? I looked at her. She was also awake, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. I remembered how shocked I’d been when she first asked me out. She was so beautiful, with so many guys after her, while I was just an average-looking guy. What did she even see in me? She’d said she liked my kindness, my quiet demeanor, and the sense of calm I brought her. I believed her. But if that was true, why did she push me away every night? I’m her husband, after all. Was this normal? Finally, I couldn’t hold back. I reached out, wanting to gently caress her cheek. “What are you doing?!” She pulled away like she’d been burned, glaring at me with disgust. The kind of look you give something revolting. I suddenly got it, and angrily turned away. But I couldn’t let that insult slide. If she didn’t have feelings for me, why did she ask me out? Why marry me?! Thinking that, I spun around, glaring at her. “You said you needed time, that we couldn’t be too intimate yet, and I get that. But why such a strong reaction when I just touched you?” “How many times have I explained this? It’s a psychological thing. I’m looking for a therapist, aren’t I? You need to be patient.” Sarah picked up her phone and gently tapped my shoulder with the back of it—she wouldn’t even touch me with her hand. “Mark, please, just give me six months, okay? After six months, I promise I’ll be better.” She tapped me with her phone, not even her hand. Was I really that repulsive to her? Could I even believe her? But right then, I had no choice but to wait. I sighed and rolled over. Truth is, I’d given her everything. From the start of our relationship, I’d done whatever she wanted. She said she liked jewelry, so I bought her expensive necklaces. She wanted to travel, so I took her everywhere. She mentioned investing, so I supported her learning about finance. I gave her everything I had, did my best to get her whatever she wanted. But this is what I got after the wedding. It all had to connect to that basement! I had to find out what was going on!
Morning came. As usual, I made breakfast—Sarah’s favorite. She stayed distant, eating silently without a word to me. Felt like I was her maid, not her husband. After breakfast, I drove her to work. We both worked in sales at the same perfume company, Serenity Scents. After parking, she walked into the building. Once she was out of sight, I quickly told a coworker I’d be out and left the office. I didn’t take my car—instead, I hailed a cab home. I unlocked the front door, rushed into the living room, and headed straight for the basement. When I got there, I froze. The basement door was different! At some point, it had been replaced with a reinforced door with a combination lock! Without the code, there was no way in! I pulled out my phone, took a picture of the door, and started looking up how to open this kind of lock. “What are you doing?!” Sarah suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, yelling. She hadn’t trusted me and had followed me home! She practically ran down the stairs and slapped me hard across the face. “What did I tell you?!” “You hit me?!” I held my stinging cheek. She continued to yell, “What did I tell you?!” I yelled back, “This is my house! Don’t I have the right to go in? And you couldn’t even tell me you were changing the door?!” “I was just about to tell you!” She raised her hand, ready to strike again. I dodged the slap and pulled out my phone. “I’m calling the cops!” My cheek burned, and I was shaking with anger. We’d barely been married, and she was already hitting me? What was going to happen next?! Sarah panicked immediately, grabbing my hand. “Why are you calling the police?” “This is my house, why won’t you let me in? Why did you hit me just now? Why can’t I call the police?!” I insisted on dialing 911. “Mark, don’t get so upset.” Her voice softened. “I… I was just acting on impulse.” “You get impulsive, so you hit me?” I pulled my hand away. “Let go! I’m calling the police!” She grabbed my hand again. “Mark, is calling the police really necessary? If you think this isn’t working, we can get a divorce.” Divorce?! Hearing that, I stepped back and fell silent. Things were bad, but I didn’t think we were at divorce level yet. Besides, if we split, this house—marital property—would probably get divided, and my parents’ investment would go to waste! There was no way I was letting that happen! “If we get divorced, I’ll get half this house,” Sarah added. “If you don’t want a divorce, we keep things the way they were. Now go back to work.” After thinking it over, I shot her a dirty look and headed upstairs. I had no choice—I couldn’t let my parents’ savings go to waste! “Come back!” I stopped and turned around. “You disrespected me. Don’t you think you owe me an apology? And a promise?” Sarah demanded. I was so mad I punched the stair railing. Blood started gushing from my hand. I gave her one last angry look and left quickly. “Mark, what’s up? You look terrible.” When I got back to the office, my coworker David asked. I mumbled I was fine, sat down, and opened my laptop. My right hand was bandaged, so I had to use my left. I kept my right hand under the desk so David wouldn’t see it. “Hey!” David came over, sat next to me, clapped my shoulder, and winked. “Don’t overdo it on the honeymoon, man. You look exhausted.” I forced a laugh. If only that were the problem. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and we’ve got that team-building thing. It’s family-friendly, so they want everyone to bring their spouse or partner,” David reminded me. “Missing the main activities could mess with our team’s evaluation and bonus.” I didn’t care about team-building, but I didn’t want to lose my bonus. Sarah, though, loved this stuff—she never missed company events. “If Sarah goes, I’ll go,” I said. “I just asked her, and she’s not going. If that’s the case, you two will lose this month’s bonus!” “I’ll go talk to her.” I stood up and walked to the next cubicle area where she worked. I went in and saw her chatting with two female coworkers. Two months ago, there was a hit-and-run right outside our building—some driver hit a few coworkers and took off. They still hadn’t caught him. The girls were talking about it casually. I walked right up to Sarah and quietly asked, “Are you going to the company team-building event?” “No,” she answered coldly. I whispered again, “If you don’t go, we’ll lose our bonus.” “So what if we do?” “I just don’t think we need to throw away money over this—” “Are you serious?!” Sarah suddenly yelled. “I’m staying home, end of story!” Her voice echoed through the office, and everything went quiet. All the coworkers stared at me, shocked. My face burned—I wanted to crawl under a rock. She’d just yelled at me like that in front of everyone at work! What else could I say? I hung my head and walked away. In that moment, all my fantasies about Sarah died. “Mark, hey, sorry I pushed you about that earlier.” When I got back to my desk, David put his arm around my shoulder and apologized quietly. “It’s fine.” I suddenly remembered something, picked up my phone, and sent him a picture. “David, you know a lot of people. Can you help me figure out how to open this kind of reinforced combination lock door?” David checked his phone, looked at it for a second, and nodded. “Sure, I know a guy who does this stuff. I’ll ask him for you.”
Evening came again. While making dinner, I checked the security camera app on my phone. Just like this morning, the camera was still broken. Had Sarah done this on purpose? I finished cooking and brought the food to the dining room. Sarah got home carrying a cake, but she was acting weird—hiding it from me, tucking it away in the pantry. I caught a glimpse anyway: a fancy French mousse cake. I paused. It wasn’t her birthday or mine. What was she up to? She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. During dinner, we barely spoke. She acted like a restaurant customer, me like the server. By bedtime, my right hand needed a new bandage. I carefully unwrapped it, put on antiseptic cream, and re-bandaged it myself. Sarah lay next to me, completely ignoring me. “By the way, Mark, what have you decided?” Sarah suddenly asked. I was startled. “Decided about what?” “About the divorce, I mean. Have you thought about it?” she asked again. I scoffed. What was she really after? Did she marry me just for this? I shot back, “What do you think? Do you want a divorce?” Sarah stayed quiet. “If you’re not happy with our marriage, just say so,” I said flatly. “I won’t stop you.” Sarah’s expression darkened. She suddenly turned away from me. “Go to sleep, just go to sleep!” “You said to give you time, that once your psychological issues got better, things would be fine. Remember?” I said pointedly. “We’ll see,” she said sharply. “I’m tired, just go to sleep!” I finished getting ready for bed, turned off the light, and lay down. We shared a bed but lived separate lives—this was pure torture. But for now, I had to tough it out. I must have dozed off without realizing it. Maybe it was muscle memory or just my subconscious at work, but I woke up in the middle of the night. Moonlight filtered into the bedroom—not bright, but enough to see by. I turned my head, and Sarah was gone! She must have snuck down to the basement for her “yoga” again. As I rolled over to get up, I heard a clink and my left wrist suddenly felt heavy! I tugged, and saw a silver handcuff locked around it—the other end chained tightly to the bedpost! Clank! I pulled with all my strength; my wrist burned, but it wouldn’t budge! “Are you kidding me?!” I was livid! Sarah had handcuffed me just to go to the basement! She wasn’t even treating me like a person! Just then, I heard footsteps outside! Sarah was back! In a split second, I flopped back down, pretending to be sound asleep. A minute later, Sarah tiptoed over and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. She gently lifted my left hand, unlocked the cuff, unhooked the chain from the bed, and stashed it away—hardly making a sound. When she was done, she lay back down. Like she was checking if I was awake, she tapped my shoulder lightly with her phone. I didn’t move, keeping up the “asleep” act. She exhaled, apparently relieved, and finally settled in. I caught a whiff of her shower gel, plus a faint cake smell. And mixed in with those was that weird, unidentifiable odor. Had Sarah taken the cake to the basement? Was she eating cake during her “yoga”? Or was there something else hidden down there? I couldn’t make sense of it. Soon, she was breathing softly. I couldn’t sleep though—just lay there staring at the ceiling. Morning came. When I looked in the mirror, I had huge dark circles. I wasn’t exactly a model, but I usually kept myself presentable. Seeing how run-down I looked made me feel even worse. I had to end this—if things kept going like this, the stress would break me. After breakfast, I checked the living room trash can specifically. There was a cake box in there! It was definitely the one Sarah brought home last night! So who ate the cake? Was someone hiding in the basement?! My heart raced. Was Sarah hiding someone down there? Her lover?
“Mark, I heard back from my friend!” David grabbed my arm as soon as I got to the office, talking loudly. With other coworkers around, I quickly shushed him. He laughed, covering his mouth, then leaned in close. “My friend says she can get that door open!” Perfect! I was thrilled. Once the nearby coworkers left, I pulled David over and whispered, “David, I need a favor.” He raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, we’re friends—just say the word!” I checked the office door to make sure no one was coming, then put my arm around his shoulder and murmured in his ear. He nodded as I spoke. “Leave it to me!” We talked it over for ten minutes, then he took off. I stayed at the office, waiting. While I waited, I noticed Sarah sneaking glances my way a few times. She was obviously keeping an eye on me, making sure I wasn’t planning to sneak home again like before. At eleven, David texted: Sorry, couldn’t get the door open. Felt like someone was inside—right when we almost had it, they locked it again. My stomach dropped. We’d underestimated Sarah! Now what? Should I call the cops? If I didn’t, whatever was in that basement would stay a secret forever. But if I did… what if there was nothing? Our relationship would be totally ruined! What was I supposed to do? Quitting time came again. I drove Sarah back to the house. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, she lunged at me—scratching my face, yanking my hair. No warning, just attacking me out of nowhere! “What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled, covering my face. She didn’t say a word—just kept hitting me harder and harder. My face and head burned; I was scared she might actually hurt me badly if this kept up. I fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckled it, and tried to open the door to get out. She latched onto my arm with one hand to stop me, while the other kept attacking—scratching, punching, hitting my face and body! The pain was too much, so I started yelling for help. She clamped her hand over my mouth to muffle me. Then I remembered the small scissors in the glove compartment. I fumbled it open, grabbed them, and held them up toward her! “Ah!” She yelped and finally backed off. I gasped for air, glaring at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was clutching her left wrist—it was bleeding badly, cut by the scissors! My face throbbed and my head was spinning. “Why the hell did you attack me?” I shouted. “You had it coming!” she snapped. “Had what coming?” “You know exactly why!” Then it hit me—she must have found out I tried to get someone to open the basement door! “You sneaky bastard!” She pointed at me, venom in her voice. “I warned you to stay away from the basement, to leave it alone!” “This is my house! My parents bought it!” I shot back. “And I told you to give me six months! That after six months, things would get better! Don’t you remember?” “I don’t believe a word you say! With that attitude, in six more months you’ll probably kill me!” I’d hit my breaking point. When you can’t take it anymore, you just can’t.
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