Summer Has Ended, And Winter Is Eternal

My husband had a severe addiction for physical intimacy.

However, in the seven years of our marriage, he never touched me, not even once. To suppress his urges, he soaked himself in bone-chilling ice water every night. His arms were covered in needle marks from constant injections.

It broke my heart to see him like that. I offered myself to him many times, but he insisted on simply giving me a restrained kiss on the forehead before saying, “Don’t be silly, Summer. I’m not like those animals. How could I ever bear to hurt you? For you, I’d gladly live the rest of my life in a platonic marriage.”

This strange, almost obsessive restraint of his lasted seven years.

Despite the numerous times he pushed himself far enough to end up hospitalized, he still refused to cross that line.

Then, on our wedding anniversary, a young woman named Anna Brandt came in for her ninth hymen restoration surgery. After the anesthetic was administered, her cheeks flushed red. As her mind grew hazy, she started crying weakly like a lost kitten. Looking at the love bites scattered across her body, I shook my head and assumed she was just another girl who had gone astray.

That was until I heard her last tearful whisper.

“John Shaw, you jerk.”

My hand trembled and I nearly dropped the scalpel.

Because my husband’s name also was John Shaw.

After the surgery ended, I quietly slipped my watch into Anna Brandt’s purse. That diamond watch had been a gift from John. Inside it was the most advanced GPS tracker and listening device available.

That night, I sat at the dining table and stared blankly at the spread of food I had prepared.

Danny Young, my husband’s secretary, suddenly came in to deliver a bunch of luxurious jewelry that nearly filled room.

“Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw said that he has an important business meeting tonight and that he can’t make it back to celebrate your anniversary. He picked all of these out for you himself.”

I looked at the dishes, long gone cold on the table. Then, I opened my iPad and checked my watch’s GPS. It showed a location in an upscale gated community.

Years ago, I had been kidnapped. That brush with death left John unable to sleep properly for six months. He thus became obsessed with my safety and gave me that watch. To think that it was presently used to reveal his unfaithfulness…

“John, today’s your seventh wedding anniversary with your wife. Are you really not going home?”

Loud jeers and laughter erupted in the background. Once it died down, a low, magnetic chuckle cut through the calming chuckles.

“You want me to go back and be stuck with that fish-eyed face?”

His tone was casual, edged with mockery. I closed my eyes and could almost picture the scene, John lounging at the head of the table, a cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slow curls of smoke.

More laughter followed. Then, came