Chapter 2: The Price of Survival

The next time I saw Lauren was a week later.

I’d just picked up my passport and was heading out when I heard a voice—familiar, grating—call out behind me.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I stepped into the hallway, passport clutched tight. Laughter echoed—loud, unmistakable. I turned. There she was again: Lauren, with Brett and his parents, all looking like they’d stepped out of a vacation ad. My stomach twisted up tight.

Lauren’s hair was still streaked with gold from the sun, her skin practically glowing. Brett’s parents wore their Sunday best, grinning at her like she was their own. I felt invisible—a ghost haunting the edge of their perfect family snapshot.

The laughter cut off, sudden and sharp, as soon as they saw me. Lauren’s eyes widened in surprise.

She blinked, trying to process me for a second—like she was surprised I still existed. I saw a flash of annoyance, but she smoothed it over with her practiced smile.

“Ethan, what are you doing here?”

Her tone was breezy, almost dismissive, as if I was just some old classmate she’d run into at the grocery store.

Brett shot me a look, all challenge. “Lauren, Ethan probably saw your Instagram and came here just to pick you up.”

He said it with a smirk, his arm sliding tighter around Lauren’s waist. His eyes dared me to make a scene.

Lauren’s lips curled. “Looks like you finally learned to behave. Guess auctioning you off was the right call.”

She tossed her hair, her words sharp as a slap. My face burned. Memories clawed up inside me.

At her words, the memories hit me like a gut punch. My shirt stuck to my back with sweat.

It was like plunging into ice water. I could still smell the dog’s fur, the dirty straw. My left hand ached with phantom pain. I tried to steady my breath, but my heart just hammered harder.

A week ago, just because I bid against Brett for the drug Dad needed, he accused me of targeting him. Lauren backed him up, going nuclear. I watched, helpless, as Brett stomped Dad’s medicine to powder, one pill at a time.

I can still hear the crunch of those pills under Brett’s shoe. Lauren laughed, like it was all hilarious. I wanted to scream, to launch myself at him, but my legs wouldn’t move. Rage burned, useless and raw.

I was so furious, I swung at Brett. Lauren just snapped and put me up for auction—ninety cents, that’s all.

My punch was wild, desperate. Brett went down easy, but Lauren’s glare was ice. "You want to act out? Fine. Be the entertainment." The crowd ate it up. I just wanted to vanish.

When the auction ended, she left with Brett. I was bought as a punching bag. No one cared.

They didn’t even look back. Someone shoved me into a corner, people jeering, laughing. Someone handed me busted boxing gloves. I knew it was going to be a long night.

During that time, I was used as a human target. They tortured me till my skin was torn up, then locked me in a cage to fight a German shepherd for scraps. That’s how I lost my left hand.

The details smear together—fists to my head, blood on my tongue, the sick snap when the dog’s jaws clamped down. I screamed until my throat shredded. By the end, I didn’t even know where I was. I’d lost something I’d never get back.

Blinking back to now, I realized Brett’s parents were sizing me up.

They looked me up and down, faces stuck between curiosity and plain old disdain. I could feel their judgment—wondering what I was doing here with Lauren.

“And who is this?”

Brett’s mom’s voice was sticky-sweet, but her eyes were sharp as tacks. She clutched her purse like I might steal it.

Before I could open my mouth, Lauren cut in. “My housekeeper.”

She didn’t even pause, like she’d rehearsed that lie a hundred times. My cheeks burned. She tossed all their bags at me—designer suitcases, heavy as bricks. The handles bit into my hand.

The bags hit the floor with a clatter, one popping open—shoes and toiletries scattering everywhere. Brett’s parents just watched, lips tight.

A wave of bitterness crashed over me, sharp and hot.

I swallowed, the taste of humiliation thick and sour. I’d given up everything for Lauren—my pride, my comfort, my family. Now I was just the help.

All these years, Lauren kept our marriage a secret—afraid of office gossip. Even now, she wouldn’t acknowledge me. Not even outside work.

I remembered begging her to wear her wedding ring at company parties. Every time, she brushed me off—"Bad for my image," she’d say. I told myself it didn’t matter. Standing here, I felt like a stranger in my own life.

All those years of compromise for love—what a joke. What a fool I’d been!

Missing my left hand, I fumbled the luggage, and everything crashed to the floor.

Suitcases toppled, stuff spilling out across the linoleum. I tried to gather it up one-handed, cheeks burning as Brett’s parents traded glances. Lauren just watched, stone cold.

Brett’s mom’s face twisted in disapproval. “Lauren, what’s wrong with your housekeeper? Can’t even handle the luggage?”

Her voice was sharp, way too loud. I heard snickers from people nearby. I wanted to sink into the floor.

Lauren just stared, eyes cold as ice.

She didn’t say a thing—just crossed her arms and waited for me to finish. There was something in her eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was satisfaction or just emptiness.

I took a breath and forced myself to speak. “I’m not the housekeeper. I’m Lauren’s husband. Though, not for much longer.”

My voice was steady, steadier than I felt. I met Brett’s parents’ eyes, daring them to say something. For a moment, the room went quiet.

I was about to hand Lauren the divorce papers I’d prepped.

I dug the envelope from my jacket, the papers inside already wrinkled from being handled too much. My hands shook, but I pushed through.

Brett piped up, all sarcasm, “Ethan, why take it out on the luggage?”

He snickered, nudging Lauren, like we were all in on some joke. My jaw clenched. I wasn’t biting.

“Lauren, it’s all my fault. If I’d known you’d be this upset, I never would’ve asked you to go all out at the auction for me, or dragged you along on our world tour these past days. You deserve better.”

He put on a show, voice trembling just enough to sound real. I saw right through it, but Lauren’s face softened.

Lauren softened at his words, and she shot me a look colder than January.

She stepped closer to Brett, her hand landing on his arm. Message received: I was the outsider now.

“Husband? I don’t even know you. Stop making things up!”

She said it loud, for everyone to hear. The last flicker of hope inside me died.

After calming Brett and his parents, Lauren yanked me aside and hissed, “Ethan, Brett’s parents are pressuring us. I’m just acting, pretending to be his girlfriend to keep them happy. Don’t ruin my cover.”

Her voice was low and sharp, her nails digging into my arm. I caught a whiff of her perfume—expensive, biting. For a second, I almost believed her. But then I remembered everything she’d done.

She yanked me so hard my wound split open again.

Pain shot up my arm. I gasped, blood soaking the bandage. Lauren’s eyes went wide.

She finally noticed my scars when she heard me gasp. For a second, concern flickered. She reached out, hesitating.

For a heartbeat, she looked like the woman I married—the one who used to laugh at my dumb jokes and sneak me notes. Her hand hovered, unsure.

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. “Who did this to you? I’ll make sure they never work again—I’ll get back at them for you, okay?”

I almost wanted to believe her. But the words were empty, like she was reading from a script.

I sneered and brushed her hand away. “No need, Lauren. Let’s just… divorce.”

I stepped back, putting real space between us. I saw her confusion, the way she searched my face for the old Ethan—the one who would’ve begged for her attention.

I was about to mention the divorce, but Lauren looked at me, genuinely surprised. She couldn’t figure out why I was so cold now, when I used to cave so easily.

She blinked, caught off guard. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. I almost pitied her.

After a moment, she sighed, pulling out her phone and booking three tickets to Miami. “Fine, stop sulking. I remember your dad always wanted to see the ocean in Miami. I booked the tickets. When he’s better, I’ll take you both on vacation. When we get back, I’ll make time to try for a baby—give your dad the grandson he keeps asking about. Happy now?”

She waved her phone like that fixed everything. Her voice was tired, her eyes glassy. She had no clue what I’d lost.

My heart twisted, my eyes stinging. She didn’t know Dad was already gone. Four days ago.

I bit the inside of my cheek. There was nothing left to say. The woman in front of me was a stranger.

After Dad was diagnosed with liver cancer, he just faded. All he wanted was to hold a grandson. Lauren always said she was too busy for kids.

I remembered Dad’s hands trembling, the way he’d stare at old family photos, sighing. He never asked for much. Lauren always had an excuse—another meeting, another deadline. I kept hoping she’d come around. She never did.

A week ago, I heard about a special medicine at the auction. I sold the old family house to buy it.

It was the house I grew up in—the one with the creaky porch swing, the big maple out front. I signed it away without feeling a thing. All I could think about was saving Dad.

I never expected to see Lauren there, claiming the company was struggling. Brett sat right beside her.

She looked surprised to see me, but not upset. Brett leaned in, whispering. I felt like a stranger at my own father’s wake.

Brett bid against me for the medicine. To save Dad, I had to go all in. No choice.

Every time I raised my paddle, Brett did too. His eyes sparkled, like it was a game. I gripped my seat, praying. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Lauren thought I was picking on Brett and put me up for auction as a joke.

She stood, her voice ringing out. “Let’s auction off Ethan! Ninety cents to the highest bidder!” The crowd roared. I wanted to vanish.

Without the medicine, Dad just got worse.

He faded, day by day. His skin turned yellow, eyes dull. The nurses tried, but there was nothing left to do. I called every doctor, begged for help. No one could save him.

While I was locked in a flooded cell, Dad died. I missed his last moments.

I found out from a nurse’s voicemail. She sounded sorry, but the words didn’t stick. I slid to the floor, numb.

Lauren noticed something was off, started to show concern—but Brett cut in, “Lauren, my parents are hungry. Let’s eat first, we can talk later.”

He said it with a forced smile, steering her away. I watched them go—her hand in his, their rings catching the light. I felt invisible.

He flashed those rings at me, eyes daring me to react. I just stared, empty.

“Ethan, my parents want a meal with their future daughter-in-law. Mind if I borrow Lauren for a while?”

His words were a slap. I forced a smile, pretending not to care.

I let out a cold laugh. “Of course not.”

My voice was flat, empty. Lauren looked at me, confused by how little I cared.

Lauren seemed surprised, thinking I’d finally learned to behave.

She gave me a small nod, approving, like I’d finally passed her test.

Instead, I handed her the divorce papers.

I pressed the envelope into her hand, my fingers shaking. She looked at it, puzzled.

Just sign this and we’re done. Once you sign, we’re strangers. You can have Brett.

I didn’t say it out loud, but she got the message. I was done.

“What’s this?”

She started to open the envelope, brow furrowed.

She was about to read it, but I flipped to the last page and shoved a pen at her.

I didn’t want her to read the details. I just wanted it over. I shoved the pen into her hand, jaw tight.

“Nothing important. Just sign it, don’t keep Brett and his parents waiting.”

I kept my voice light, almost joking. Lauren hesitated, but with Brett’s parents watching, she caved.

Lauren stared at me, shocked. Back in the day, if she’d told me she was dining with Brett’s family, I would’ve lost it. Now, I was calm.

She searched my face for the old Ethan—the one who’d beg, plead, fight. But I was gone.

She seemed satisfied. “Ethan, you really have matured.”

She smiled, a little smug. I swallowed my bitterness, refusing to let her see me break.

I swallowed hard, bit my cheek until I tasted blood. The pain kept me steady.

Lauren didn’t know—I wasn’t more mature. I’d just given up on her.

The truth was simple: I was empty inside. There was nothing left to save.

Honestly, I should’ve cut my losses long ago—when she hired Brett against my wishes, made me take the blame for him, left me stranded on the highway in a storm to look after Brett. I walked three hours home in the rain. By then, Dad was already in the hospital. I never forgave myself.

I remembered that night on I-480, rain hammering my face, phone dead. I walked home, soaked to the bone, shoes squelching. When I got there, Dad was already gone. I never forgave myself.

When I finally made it to the hospital, Dad’s body was cold, his mouth caked with dried blood. The doctor said he’d bitten through his tongue. He never saw me before he died.

That image still haunts me. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. I failed him. Nothing will ever change that.

…

I said nothing, just nodded, letting Lauren think I agreed.

Lauren grabbed the pen and, without even looking, signed the papers. Then she drove Brett’s family to dinner.

She barely glanced at the signature, already focused on Brett and his parents. I watched her go, feeling the finality settle in my bones.

Before leaving, she cupped my face and kissed me, soft and distant. “I promise, this is the last time. When I get back, let’s go see Dad at the hospital together, okay?”

Her lips were cold, her words emptier. I didn’t answer. She didn’t notice.

Watching her rush away, I forced a bitter smile, my passport burning in my pocket.

I stood there a minute, letting the silence wash over me. For the first time in years, I felt free.

But Lauren, there’s no ‘next time’ for us.

The thought echoed, sharp and clear. I was done.

I’d already said yes to my mentor’s invitation. In three days, I’d leave for Antarctica. After that, Lauren and I would be nothing to each other.

I pictured the endless white of Antarctica, the clean break it promised. It was the only thing keeping me upright.