MY WIFE KILLED OUR THREE CHILDREN. I WAS SENT TO DIE

Chapter 2

"It was quite simple, really," Marcus chimed in, taking Eleanor by the shoulder and pulling her back up. "By blaming your 'abuse' for her mental break, Eleanor received full immunity and the court's sympathy. And as her court-appointed guardian and physician, I inherit all the remaining shelter rations and property assigned to your family unit."

"You... killed my babies..." Arthur’s entire body shook violently. Not from the cold, but from an overwhelming, suffocating surge of rage. "You murdered three innocent children just to frame me?! Just to get rid of me?!"

"They were just collateral damage, Arthur," Marcus said casually.

Eleanor raised her boot and pressed it hard onto Arthur’s chest, pushing the last remaining breath out of his lungs. "Die in the dark, Arthur. Nobody is coming to save you. Nobody mourns a child-killer."

They turned and walked away, their laughter drifting through the freezing air until it was swallowed by the howling wind.

"NO!" Arthur screamed into the sky.

The grief tore through his chest like a blade. His three little kids... held down, suffocated by the woman who gave them birth, encouraged by the doctor who pretended to help them. Framed. Hated by the world. Cast out to die like garbage.

"ELEANOR! MARCUS! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL TEAR YOU APART!"

His vision turned crimson. His blood boiled against the frost. He clawed at the snow with his bare, bleeding fingers, trying to pull himself up, but his strength failed.

The cold invaded his heart. His pulse slowed.

If there is a God... if there is a devil... give me another chance...

Let me tear them to pieces!

His heart gave one final, violent spasm, and then—everything went pitch black.

Gasp!

Arthur lunged forward, sucking in a massive gulp of air.

His lungs burned—not with icy frost, but with warm, heavy air.

He scrambled backward, his heart slamming wildly against his chest. He clutched his throat, feeling soft, warm skin. No frost. No snow. No freezing wind.

"Arthur? What on earth is wrong with you?"

A familiar voice cut through his panic.

Arthur froze. Slowly, terrified of what he might see, he turned his head.

Sitting on the edge of a luxurious velvet couch was Eleanor. She was wearing a silk maternity dress, her belly round and heavily swollen. She was holding a cup of tea, looking at him with deep irritation.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" Eleanor gritted her teeth, setting her teacup down with a sharp clack. "You're sweating like a pig. Honestly, Arthur, can you focus for one minute? We were in the middle of a very important conversation."

Arthur stared at his hands. They were smooth. No scars from the wasteland. No frostbite.

He looked around the room. Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating a brightly lit, modern living room. The TV on the wall was playing a news broadcast: "...scientists continue to monitor the uncharacteristic solar flare activity..."

The date on the wall clock read: June 14, 2025.

Two months before the apocalypse.

Three months before the birth of the triplets.

I'm back, Arthur’s mind roared. I'm actually back!

"Arthur! Are you listening to me?!" Eleanor’s voice snapped him back. She rubbed her bulging stomach with an exaggerated sigh of distress. "My back is killing me. Carrying triplets is absolute torture, and you're just sitting there staring into space!"

Arthur forced his breathing to slow down. He looked at herreally looked at her.

Underneath that soft, pregnant glow was the monster who would smother three babies in cold blood just because they carried his blood.

"What were you saying?" Arthur asked, his voice unexpectedly calm, devoid of any warmth.

Eleanor pouted, leaning back against the cushions. "I was saying, the doctor told me yesterday that stress is terrible for the babies. And the only thing stressing me out right now is our financial situation. We need cash, Arthur. Real cash."

"Cash for what?"

"For the babies!" Eleanor demanded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I talked to Dr. Vance today—he’s such a wonderful, caring doctor, by the way—and he recommended a private, high-end maternity retreat. But it costs fifty thousand dollars upfront."

Dr. Marcus Vance. The name burned in Arthur's ears like acid.

"We don't have fifty thousand dollars in cash, Eleanor," Arthur said quietly.

"Which is why you need to sign the mortgage papers for the house!" Eleanor picked up a stack of documents from the coffee table and thrust them toward him. "We can cash out the equity on this house today. Dr. Vance said he could even help us manage the funds so we don't have to worry about a thing."

Arthur looked at the papers, then looked up at her face.

In his past life, he had hesitated, but she had used her pregnancy, her tears, and emotional blackmail to force him into signing. They had lost the house right before the sky fell, leaving them broke and vulnerable when the world ended.

And all that money... had gone straight to Marcus Vance.

Eleanor shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do you not care about your own children? Do you want me and the babies to suffer?"

A slow, cold smile crept onto Arthur’s lips.

"Care about the children?" Arthur stood up, stepping toward her. "Eleanor, I care about these children more than you could possibly imagine."

Eleanor blinked, startled by the sudden chilling aura radiating from her husband. "Then... then sign the papers."

Arthur took the mortgage documents from her hand.

Without breaking eye contact, he folded them in half. Then in half again. And with a clean, sharp rip, he tore the papers right down the middle, throwing the shredded pieces onto the floor between them.

Eleanor gasped, jumping up from the couch. "Arthur! Are you insane?! What are you doing?!"

"We aren't mortgaging the house, Eleanor," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a low, deadly whisper. "And you aren't seeing Dr. Vance ever again."

Eleanor’s face paled, caught between shock and sudden panic. "What... what did you just say?"

"The game is over, Eleanor," Arthur stepped closer, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying promise. "This time, nobody is dying in the snow."