Chapter 4

That night, Ethan's private doctor came to the house.

I was in our bedroom, listening through the door. Molly's voice was a pathetic whimper.

"It hurts so much, Ethan. The doctor said it might scar. A scar, for life."

"I'll get you the best plastic surgeon in the world," Ethan promised.

"No," Molly cried. "That's not the point. She did this to me. She needs to atone for it. She has to understand what she did."

A long silence followed. Then, I heard Ethan's heavy footsteps coming toward the bedroom.

He came in with the doctor. In the doctor's hand was a medical kit.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Molly is very upset," Ethan said, his tone cold and detached. "She feels you need to make amends. The doctor is going to perform a minor skin graft. A small patch from your arm to treat her burn."

I stared at him, unable to process the words. "You can't be serious."

"Elyse, be the bigger person," he said, as if he were asking me to pass the salt. "She's just a kid. She's scared. And she's carrying my child."

Before I could protest, the doctor was already swabbing my arm with alcohol. Ethan held my other hand, his grip like steel.

"Just a little pinch," he said soothingly as the local anesthetic went in. My arm went numb.

He held me down while the doctor worked. I didn't watch. I just stared at the ceiling, feeling a piece of myself being carved away, literally and figuratively. They put a large bandage on my arm.

Ethan then walked out of the room with the small piece of my skin in a sterile container. He left me alone on the bed.

From the living room, I heard him comforting Molly. "See? It's done. She's paid for what she did. Now let the doctor fix you up."

I lay there, a bandage on my arm, listening to the man I married comfort his mistress with a piece of my body. The physical pain was nothing compared to the humiliation. I finally understood. I wasn't his wife anymore. I was just a resource. A thing to be used and discarded.