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My home, once a sanctuary, became a nightly carnival as my husband, Ethan, turned it into a themed party house, leaving me a ghost in my own life. Just as I believed my pregnancy might bring change, Ethan demanded I shave my head to "amuse" Chloe, a sick child he sponsored, whose hair had fallen out from treatment. My long hair, once cherished by him, fell in clumps to the floor. Then, on our fifth anniversary, he forced me, pregnant and a professional snowboarder, to be Chloe's "human cushion" on a snowy slope. The impact was brutal, resulting in a devastating stillbirth. He blamed me, accusing me of lying as he walked away, comforting Chloe while I bled on the snow. Ethan's cruelty escalated, turning my grief into a public spectacle. His friends bet on my child's life, Chloe confessed to intentionally causing my miscarriage, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, destroyed my deceased brother's grave. Why did he hate me so much? What had I done to deserve such unending torment? Why was I, his wife, subjected to such monstrous acts while a manipulative girl held all his empathy? The pain became a dull throb, and I sought refuge in numbness, deciding to end it all. A desperate plan formed, a final act of agency in a life consumed by his cruelty.