Back to High School, I Refuse to Fund Her

As the college entrance exams approached, I paid the top student in our class to tutor me.

But the day she came over, she brought along her childhood sweetheart and insisted that he join our study sessions.

I declined her request politely, and she did not press the matter further.

The boy left my house in defeat and was struck by a car, suffering injuries so severe that they left him crippled. He could no longer continue his education and was forced to drop out, taking on grueling manual labor to survive.

The girl continued tutoring me nonetheless. We both gained admission to the same university, grew close over time, fell in love, got married, and started a family.

But on the night of our wedding anniversary, Sharon slipped poison into my soup and watched impassively as I began to convulse and vomit blood, the crimson stain spreading slowly across the floor.

"This is what you owe Harry," she said with cold venom. "Taste what it's like to lose all hope."

It turned out that she had harbored resentment toward me for all those years.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first came to my house with her friend.

It was our fifth wedding anniversary. The moment I stepped through the door, I saw a lavish array of dishes spread across the dining table.

My wife, Sharon Flores, placed a gentle hand on her abdomen and smiled up at me. "I've prepared a special surprise for you."

I immediately assumed she meant she was pregnant, and joy overwhelmed me to the point that I lost all sense of direction. I didn't question it even when I caught the faint, bitter odor rising from the bowl of soup she handed me.

Five minutes after I finished it, a searing pain tore through my stomach.

"Ow, my stomach hurts so much," I groaned.

Her lips curved into a chilling smile. "Well, it should."

Cold sweat drenched my body, and before I could fully grasp what was happening, she kicked me viciously in the gut.

Our marriage had never been as passionately intertwined as some young couples', but we had always enjoyed a peaceful harmony, never exchanging harsh words, let alone laying a hand on one another.

I looked up at her, overwhelmed by shock and terror. I didn't know what was going on.

Another wave of throbbing pain radiated from deep within me, and tears streamed down my face despite my efforts to hold them back. Through clenched teeth, I begged her to take me to the hospital.

Instead of helping, she turned around and locked the door. Her silhouette loomed above me.

"Please, help me," I pleaded, not understanding why she would turn on me like this.

She positioned herself with her back to the light, her face shrouded in shadow, her expression impossible to read.

"If it weren't for what you did back then," she hissed, "Harry would never have been hit by