Chapter 8: The Trap Tightens

I spun around. My wife stood there, her face blank. Her eyes gave nothing away. The silence stretched between us, thick as wet concrete.

“I’m going to work,” I tried to joke, forcing a smile. The words tasted sour in my mouth.

“Didn’t you already quit?” Her tone was icy. My stomach dropped as I remembered.

A week ago, I’d come home and she’d rushed into my arms, sobbing. She’d buried her face in my shirt, shaking. It was the kind of vulnerability she rarely showed. I wrapped my arms around her, worried.

She told me a coworker had died from overwork, leaving his wife alone. I listened, rubbing her back. She cried harder, insisting I quit my job. She wouldn’t let it go—begged, pleaded, tears soaking my shirt.

“We’ve saved enough over the years. For my peace of mind, can’t you just rest at home for half a year?” She looked at me with those pleading eyes, and for a second, I felt lucky.

Back then, I was touched. After some hesitation, I agreed and quit. It felt right—a little vacation. I texted my boss, packed up my desk, ignored the teasing from coworkers. I was grateful then. Now, I was terrified.

Every memory felt twisted. Had she planned this all along? It was like I’d walked into a web, never seeing the threads until now.

“Go back and rest. I’ll make you some oatmeal later.” Her voice was gentle, but her grip on my arm was firm. I let her steer me to the bedroom, my mind spinning.

Like a puppet, I let her push me back to bed. The sheets felt like a cage.

“Ah, my stomach hurts. I’ll go to the bathroom.” Oldest trick in the book. She watched me go, suspicion flickering in her eyes.

I rushed in and messaged the mysterious group friend: “Help! What do I do now? The earthworm on her neck even grew a claw!”

He replied instantly: “Looks like your wife really hates you. She’d rather die herself than let you live any longer.”

His words landed like a punch. I stared at the screen, heart racing.

“Can you just tell me what’s really going on?”

My patience was gone. I needed answers—now.

But all these insiders refused to explain, only taunting and goading me. It was maddening.

“Until you tell me what you did to your wife, I won’t tell you the truth. If you confess, maybe I’ll consider saving you.”

The ultimatum was clear. I clenched my fists, desperate.

“I’ll tell you everything about me and my wife, but you have to promise I’ll survive.”

“Fine. Here’s a friendly tip: if you want to live a few more days, eat more mercury.”

I stared at the words. Was this some kind of code?

“Are you crazy? That’s poisonous!”

It was the first real anger I’d felt in hours. My hands shook as I typed.

“You have to choose: poison or death.”

The words echoed in my head. I imagined choosing between them—neither option a way out.

“What happens after I eat mercury?”

“Wait for me to meet you.”

That was all. My pulse pounded. I tried to compose myself, then went back to bed like nothing was wrong.