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

Chapter 3

The morning sun spilled across the floor, but the bedroom felt as cold as an ice cave.

Arthur stood right by the edge of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't move. He didn't rush. He just watched.

On the bed, Eleanor was curled into a tight ball, clutching her swollen belly with both hands. Her face was twisted in a mask of absolute agony, her teeth gritting hard.

"Ah... oh God, Arthur, it hurts!" Eleanor gasped, her breath coming in short, panicked pants. "The babies... something is wrong with the babies! It’s your fault! You tearing up those papers yesterday... your anger is killing our children!"

If this had been his past life before the frozen wasteland, before the fake trial, before he watched them betray him, Arthur would have lost his mind right here. He would have dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, crying out for an ambulance, ready to give her anything.

Instead, his expression remained completely blank. Cold. Dead.

"Arthur! Are you deaf or just a monster?!" Eleanor shrieked, tears flooding her eyes as she squeezed her stomach tighter. "I’m in labor! Get me my phone! Call Dr. Vance right now! If anything happens to these triplets, I will never, ever forgive you!"

Arthur turned slowly on his heel. He walked into the bathroom, filled a plain glass with tap water, and walked right back out.

He didn't run. His steps were slow and steady.

He stopped beside the mattress and held the glass out toward her.

Eleanor stared at the glass of water, then up at his face, her theatrical cries stalling for a second. "Water? I told you I'm in agonizing labor pain, and you hand me a glass of water?! Are you out of your mind?!"

Arthur didn't flinch. He leaned down, bringing his face right down to her level, his eyes boring straight into hers.

"Are you sure it's labor pain, Eleanor?" Arthur asked, his voice low, smooth, and chillingly calm. "Or is your heart just racing because Dr. Vance isn't here to hold your hand?"

The room went dead silent.

Eleanor’s breath hitched in her throat. The fake pain on her face vanished for a split second, replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated panic. Her eyes went wide.

"W-what... what are you talking about?" she stammered, her voice losing its dramatic edge. "Have you lost your mind? I’m having contractions!"

"You aren't having contractions, Eleanor," Arthur said, holding her gaze without blinking. "Your stomach doesn't hurt. You're just sweating because you lost control of me yesterday, and you have no idea what my next move is."

"How dare you?!" Eleanor screamed, her face flushing bright red with sudden fury. She pushed herself up against the headboard, pointing a shaking finger at him. "I am carrying three of your children! I am carrying your flesh and blood! And you stand there accusing me of faking?! You ungrateful, heartless bastard!"

"You used to think I was stupid, Eleanor," Arthur interrupted, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made the air feel heavy. "Now, every time you lie, your left eye twitches. Save your performance for the court."

Eleanor froze.

Right on cue, her left eyelid flicked uncontrollably.

A surge of pure venom twisted her features. The mask of the helpless, suffering wife shattered completely. Blinded by rage and the terrifying realization that he saw right through her, she raised her right hand and swung it with all her might, aiming a vicious slap straight across his face.

"You bastard!" she screamed.

Smack!

Before her hand could even come close to his cheek, Arthur's hand shot out.

His fingers clamped down hard around her wrist, catching her strike right in mid-air. His grip was like a steel vise, locking her bones in place.

Eleanor gasped, her eyes flying wide open in shock. She tried to yank her arm back, pulling with all her strength, but Arthur’s hand didn't budge a single millimeter. It was immovable.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, her voice trembling—this time, not from acting, but from genuine, creeping fear. "Arthur, you're breaking my wrist! Let go!"

Arthur leaned in closer, his dark eyes staring deep into her soul, stripping away every lie she had ever told him.

"I'm going to tell you this only once," Arthur whispered, every word landing like a heavy stone. "Never swing at me again. And don't ever use these babies as your shield. You don't care about them. You never did."

With a sudden, sharp motion, he shoved her hand away, letting her drop back against the pillows.

Eleanor clutched her red wrist, breathing heavily as she stared up at him as if he were a complete stranger—or a monster wearing her husband's skin.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice shaking violently. "You... you aren't Arthur. What is wrong with you?!"

Arthur didn't smile. He didn't yell. He just looked down at her with a quiet, terrifying resolve.

"I'm just a man who finally woke up," Arthur said softly. He turned his back on her, walking toward the bedroom door without looking back. "Get dressed, Eleanor. We have a lot of things to talk about today."