They called him Weak, He Became Untouchable

The Breaking Point

The notification sound pierced through Andrea’s fever-induced haze. 

He struggled to focus on the glowing screen of his phone, Sofia's name appearing once again with the same familiar demand.

"Nikolas needs blood again. Get to the hospital. Now."

A bitter smile twisted across his pale lips. With trembling fingers, he scrolled through their message history—dozens of identical requests stretching back months.

 Not once had she asked how he was feeling, not once had she shown concern for his deteriorating health.

His body ached as he forced himself to sit up, the high fever making every movement feel like he was moving through molasses. 

The constant blood donations had left him weak, anemic, but Sofia never seemed to care about the toll it was taking on him.

How do I refuse her this time? he wondered, staring at the cold, clinical message. How do I tell my own wife that I can barely stand?

The email notification chimed, interrupting his thoughts. Andrea frowned—who would be emailing him at this hour? He opened it, and his world shattered.

The image hit him like a physical blow. Sofia, disheveled and intimate with another man in what looked like a hospital room. The accompanying message was even crueler:

"Your wife knows what real love feels like. You're nothing but a pathetic blood bank, you useless live-in son-in-law. She's mine now."

The phone slipped from his numb fingers. 

Years of sacrifice, of following Sofia's every command, of giving his blood month after month to keep Nikolas alive—all of it crumbled in an instant. 

He had endured the cold marriage, the constant demands, the way she treated him like a servant rather than a husband. But this... this was the final betrayal.

So this is what I am to her, he thought, his heart turning to ice. A convenient blood donor. Nothing more.

Forty minutes later, Andrea stood outside Nikolas' hospital room, his face a mask of calm despite the storm raging inside him. He had taken a taxi through the city, using the ride to steel himself for what was coming.

Sofia emerged from the room, her expression immediately shifting to one of irritated impatience when she saw him.

"You're late," she said coldly, not even bothering with a greeting. "Nikolas' been waiting. The doctors said his levels dropped again."

Andrea studied her face—the same beautiful features that had once made his heart race, now seeming alien and cruel. "I had some... delays."

"I don't care about your delays," Sofia snapped, crossing her arms. "You know how important this is. Nikolas needs the transfusion today."

"I'll give the blood," Andrea said quietly, his voice steady. "But I have one condition."

Sofia's eyes narrowed dangerously. "A condition? Since when do you make conditions?"

"Since now."

"Let me guess—you want more money again?" Her voice dripped with disdain. "I've already given you more than enough over the years. You live comfortably because of me. Why are you always so greedy?"

Andrea reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document. "I don't want your money, Sofia. I want you to sign this."

Sofia glanced at the papers with visible annoyance. "What is it now? Another one of your ridiculous requests?"

"A divorce agreement."

The words hung in the air between them like a blade. Sofia's perfectly manicured eyebrows rose in surprise, then quickly settled into a frown of irritation.

"A divorce agreement? Really, Andrea? You're going to throw a tantrum because you're sick? We've been through this before—"

"This isn't a tantrum," Andrea interrupted, his voice still eerily calm. "I don't want a single penny from you. I don't want the house, the car, or any of your family's money. I just want you to sign this document."

Sofia snatched the papers from his hand, barely glancing at them. "What exactly is this supposed to accomplish?"

Before Andrea could respond, a doctor burst through the doors of Nikolas’ room, his face flushed with urgency.

"Mrs. Sofia, please come quickly," the doctor said breathlessly. "Nikolas is having another episode. He's refusing treatment and demanding to see you immediately. If you don't calm him down—"

"I'm coming," Sofia said, her entire demeanor transforming in an instant.

Andrea watched in fascination as his wife's cold, harsh features melted into something he had never seen before—genuine warmth, concern, even tenderness. A soft, pampering smile spread across her face as she looked toward Nikolas’ room.

In three years of marriage, she has never smiled at me like that.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him," Sofia murmured to the doctor, her voice gentle and loving. 

Then, without even looking at Andrea, she scrawled her signature across the divorce papers and thrust them back at him.

"Whatever you want to buy, just buy it," she said dismissively, already moving toward Nikolas' room.

 "As long as you keep giving Nikolas blood, I can agree to any request. Just... handle whatever this is and get ready for the transfusion."

With that, she disappeared through the door, leaving Andrea standing alone in the sterile hospital corridor.

Andrea looked down at the signed document in his hands, Sofia careless signature still wet on the page. 

The woman who had just signed away their marriage without a second thought was now cooing softly to another man through the door.

Three years, he thought, carefully folding the papers. Three years of my life, my blood, my health—all for someone who never saw me as anything more than a useful tool.

The sounds of Sofia's gentle laughter drifted through the door, mixed with Nikolas' pleased voice. 

Andrea had never heard her laugh like that during their entire marriage. It was warm, genuine, alive—everything she had never been with him.

He turned and walked toward the exit, his steps steady despite his weakness. The divorce papers felt weightless in his pocket, but somehow, he felt lighter than he had in years.

There will be no next time, he thought, pushing through the hospital's glass doors into the cool night air. No more blood. No more begging. No more being invisible in my own marriage.