Yesterday, He Left Me in the Snow

Noah did not understand.

He stared at the phone as if the screen had betrayed him.

“No active consciousness?”

He laughed once.

Short.

Sharp.

Wrong.

“That’s impossible.”

Then he struck my body.

My head snapped sideways.

A thin line of dark blood slid from my split lip.

Noah’s breathing grew heavy.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

No, I thought.

I am dead on purpose?

Interesting accusation.

He seized my hair and slammed my head into the wall.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, the plaster cracked.

“You always do this,” he hissed. “You make me the villain when I’m the only one trying to save this marriage.”

Blood smeared the wall.

“You think my mother accepted you easily? You think I didn’t fight for you?”

He hit my head again.

“If not for me, what would you have? No parents. No status. No family.”

My body folded to the floor.

Noah stood above it, chest rising and falling.

Then he opened the control panel.

My corpse knelt.

Hands on thighs.

Head lowered.

My voice emerged, flat and obedient.

“I’m sorry, husband. I was wrong.”

Noah watched.

The anger slowly drained from him.

He crouched before me.

“That’s better.”

He reached out and brushed blood from my forehead.

His fingers trembled.

For a moment, he looked almost tender.

That had always been the cruelest part.

He could hurt me, then look heartbroken by the evidence.

He brought the first-aid kit and cleaned the wound he had made.

“Mira,” he murmured, “don’t hate me.”

Too late.

“I hate hurting you. You know that, right?”

I used to believe him.

Every abuser has a holy voice after violence.

Noah kissed my forehead.

“I’m doing this so my family will accept you. So we can have a real future.”

There was no future.

Not anymore.

Yesterday afternoon, we were driving home from the hospital after Vivian called.

His sister had just given birth and was recovering at his mother’s house. She had seen a picture of me in my winter coat and laughed over the phone.

“Mira’s coat is gorgeous,” Vivian said. “That must have cost a fortune.”

Noah’s face changed.

His mother had always said I spent too much.

That I dressed above my worth.

That an orphan girl should be grateful, not vain.

I explained the coat was old.

A gift from Rowan years ago.

Wrong answer.

Noah pulled over on an empty road outside the city.

Snow fell hard enough to erase the lane markings.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He unbuckled my seat belt.

Then he opened my door and dragged me out.

“Noah?”

“Take it off.”

“What?”

“The coat.”

I stared at him.

“Are you insane? It’s freezing.”

He yanked the coat from my shoulders.

Cold bit through my sweater instantly.

“Noah, please.”

“You need to reflect,” he said.

Reflect.

His favorite word after punishments.

He threw my phone into the snow beside me.

“There. If you really need help, call someone.”

Then he got in the car.

I ran after him.

Slipped.

Fell.

The car drove away.

For a few minutes, I thought he would come back.

He always came back after going too far.

I curled around myself in the snow, teeth chattering so violently my jaw hurt.

The phone lay inches from my hand.

I tried to reach it.

The Obedience Patch pulsed.

Restriction: unauthorized emergency contact.

Restriction: husband approval required.

Restriction: remain in assigned location.

My fingers froze before they touched the screen.

I do not know how long dying took.

Long enough for fear to become anger.

Long enough for anger to become relief.

When my breathing stopped, I felt warm for the first time all night.

Then I rose from my body.

And watched it stand.

The Obedience Patch kept firing.

Muscles moved.

Knees bent.

Hands picked up the phone.

My corpse walked home through the snow.

Noah never knew.

Now, in our apartment, he finished bandaging my forehead and stood.

“There are housewives gathering downstairs,” he said, looking at his launch schedule. “Go talk to them. Make friends.”

My body rose.

“You’ll help them understand how good Obedience is.”

He smiled.

“After today, you’ll become their role model.”

Role model.

A dead woman with a neural leash.

How inspiring.