After 5 years of cleaning up after him and being his 24/7 nurse, i heard my paralyzed husband laughing with a stranger saying: “she’s a free maid, a useful idiot”! in that moment, the submissive woman died, and a silent avenger was born who would leave him with nothing…
Chapter 1: The Saint in the Glass Cage
The sprawling Greenwich mansion was shrouded in the silence of winter, broken only by the hum of the oxygen concentrator and the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The suffocating smells of disinfectant, lavender, and decaying flesh mingled, creating the oppressive atmosphere that I, Elena Vance, had breathed for the past five years.
Five years. 1,825 days. 43,800 hours.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to a spa, had dinner with friends, or even gotten a full eight hours of sleep. My life revolved around Mark – my husband.
Mark was once a Wall Street “shark,” arrogant, handsome, and ruthless. But a skiing accident in Aspen had left him quadriplegic, only able to move his neck and face.
I refused to put him in a high-end nursing home. I fired the hired nurses because they weren’t careful enough. I taught myself how to insert a catheter, how to suction phlegm, how to turn him every two hours to prevent bedsores. I became his hands, his feet, his whole world.
Everyone called me “Saint.” Mark called me “Angel.”
Until this afternoon.
I was downstairs in the kitchen preparing pumpkin soup – the only thing Mark could easily swallow. I realized I’d forgotten to bring the baby monitor we used so I could hear if Mark needed anything.
I wiped my hands on my apron and tiptoed upstairs. Mark’s bedroom door was slightly ajar.
Julian was visiting today. Julian was Mark’s private lawyer and best friend. I stopped at the door, intending to knock to bring him tea.
But the laughter from inside made me freeze.
It was Mark’s laughter. It wasn’t the weak, weary smile he usually gave me. It was a hearty, mocking, and… powerful laugh.
“You’re right, Julian,” Mark’s voice rang out, clear and sharp, without a hint of illness. “The plan is perfect down to the last millimeter.”
“And what about Elena?” Julian asked. “She looks utterly exhausted. Don’t you feel any guilt?”
Mark scoffed. That laugh was like a blunt knife cutting into my gut.
“Guilt? Why? She loves it. Look at her, running around, emptying chamber pots, wiping people down… She’s a free maid, a useful fool!”
I froze. The tray in my hand began to tremble.
“Think about it,” Mark continued. “If I had hired a professional nurse 24/7 for the past five years, I would have spent about $2 million. Elena saved me that money. She took better care of me than anyone else, and I didn’t spend a dime, just a few ‘I love you’ and ‘Thank you’. Women are so easy to fool.”
“But how long are you going to keep up the act?” Julian asked. “The five-year term of the insurance policy is almost over.”
“That’s right. Next week, when the $10 million permanent disability payout is deposited into my secret Cayman account, I’ll have a ‘miraculous recovery.’ I’ll start moving my fingers, then my toes… And then, I’ll divorce her. I’ll say I need space to start a new life. I’ll kick her out with a paltry alimony payment from the prenuptial agreement.”
“You’re a genius, Mark. And a bastard too.”
“That rich bastard,” Mark gloated.
In that moment, the woman named Elena – his devoted wife, his diligent nurse – died. She died right there in the cold hallway, amidst the smell of disinfectant and betrayal.
I didn’t burst in. I didn’t scream. I didn’t drop the tea tray.
I quietly turned and walked down to the kitchen.
I set the tea tray down on the marble countertop. I looked at my reflection in the oven: disheveled hair, dark circles under my eyes, hands rough from cleaning chemicals.
“A useful fool,” I whispered.
I opened the medicine drawer. Beside the bottles of vitamins and anticoagulants, was a tiny vial of the medicine my doctor had prescribed for my stress-induced insomnia: Lorazepam.
A plan formed in my mind. Cold. Cruel. And permanent.
I wouldn’t let him divorce me. I won’t let him enjoy his $10 million along with his false sense of freedom.
A silent avenger was born.
Chapter 2: Dinner of Truth
I brought tea up to the room as if nothing had happened. I smiled at Julian, adjusted Mark’s pillow. I played the “helpful fool” role so brilliantly that they didn’t suspect a thing.
A week passed.
It was the fifth anniversary of Mark’s accident. It was also the day the insurance money was paid out.
Mark suggested a small dinner. Just the two of us. He said he wanted to thank me. I knew it was his secret farewell party before he started his “recovery” act and dumped me.
I prepared a lavish dinner. Beef Wellington, grilled asparagus, and a bottle of 1990 Chateau Margaux red wine.
I helped Mark sit up, propping a pillow behind his back. He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of an impending victory.
“Elena,” Mark said, his voice falsely sweet. “You’ve worked so hard for me. I have a feeling… something miraculous is about to happen. I feel my fingers…”
“It’s a little numb.”
“Really?” I widened my eyes, feigning surprise. “That’s great.”
“Let’s drink to celebrate,” Mark urged.
I poured the wine. His glass, and mine.
“To celebrate freedom,” I said, raising my glass.
“For freedom,” Mark repeated, his smile taking on a completely different meaning than mine.
He drained his glass.
Five minutes later.
The smile on Mark’s lips began to stiffen. His eyelids drooped. His tongue tied.
“Elena… this wine… it’s a little strong…” Mark mumbled.
“It’s not the wine, Mark,” I said, my voice calm, sitting opposite him, gently swirling my glass. “It’s the medicine.”
Mark tried to move. He wanted to raise his hand, but his body—the body he’d pretended to be partially paralyzed to trick the insurance company—was now truly unresponsive. But this time it was different. This time, he felt a genuine numbness. The sensation spread from his chest to his limbs.
“What… what did you do?” He tried to hiss, panicked.
“I crushed 20 Lorazepam tablets into your soup, and added some muscle relaxants to the wine,” I stood up, walked around the table, and came to his side. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill you. It’ll just put your nervous system… into hibernation for a bit.”
“You… bitch…”
I leaned down, whispering the words I’d kept secret for a week:
“I heard it, Mark. The conversation with Julian. About the ‘useful idiot.’ About the $10 million. About your miraculous recovery plan.”
Mark’s pupils dilated in horror. He tried to scream but only uttered meaningless sounds. The drug had locked his larynx.
“You want to play the paralyzed one?” I stroked his face, which was covered in cold sweat. “You’re a good actor.” “But you know what? Acting is just acting. Reality is hell.”
I took Mark’s phone out of his jacket pocket. I held his limp thumb and pressed the fingerprint sensor. Unlocked it.
“I just transferred the entire $10 million from your Cayman account to an anonymous account in Switzerland that only I have the password for,” I said, showing him the transfer confirmation screen. “As your legal guardian (Power of Attorney) that you signed five years ago, I have full authority to dispose of your assets when you ‘lose your capacity to act’.”
Tears welled up in Mark’s eyes. He was crying. Not out of regret, but because of the money.
“But money isn’t the main issue,” I continued. “The issue is you.”
I pulled out a syringe.
“You intend to recover, right? You intend to move again?” “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Uh… uh…” Mark tried to shake his head.
“This is Botulinum Toxin,” I held the syringe up to the light. “A highly potent neurotoxin. With this carefully calculated dose, it won’t kill you. But it will permanently destroy the motor nerve connections in your spinal cord.”
Mark’s eyes rolled back. He understood what I was saying.
“You faked paralysis to deceive me and the world. Now, I’m going to make your lie true. You’ll be truly paralyzed, Mark. Completely paralyzed. Locked-in Syndrome. You’ll still be conscious, still able to think, but you’ll never, ever be able to move even a finger. You’ll be imprisoned in your own body forever.”
“No… don’t…” Mark pleaded through his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I smiled, a terrifyingly gentle smile. “I won’t abandon you.” “I won’t divorce you. I’ll take care of you. Forever.”
I inserted the needle into a vein in his arm.
“I’ll be your most devoted nurse. I’ll feed you, bathe you, change your diapers. And every day, I’ll whisper in your ear how I’m spending your $10 million. I’ll bring my mistress home, right in front of you.” “And he won’t be able to do anything but lie there and watch.”
I injected the drug.
Mark twitched slightly, then his body went limp, sliding down the chair. His eyes were still open, staring at me, filled with eternal terror.
Chapter 3: The Wax Statue
The next morning.
I called 911. I cried hysterically. I said Mark had suffered a stroke at dinner.
The doctor arrived. Julian arrived. They examined Mark.
“His condition has seriously deteriorated,” the doctor shook his head. “It appears the secondary stroke has completely damaged the brainstem. He’s permanently paralyzed and has lost the ability to speak.”
Julian looked at Mark. Mark looked back at Julian. Mark tried to scream with his eyes, trying to tell his friend the truth. Save me! It’s the devil! It injected me!
But Julian only sighed, patting Mark on the shoulder. “Poor you.” “Just when I was hoping for a recovery…”
Julian turned to me. “Elena, what are you going to do? Do you want to put him in a nursing home? He has insurance money now…”
I wiped away my tears, gripping Mark’s motionless hand.
“No, Julian,” I said, my voice firm and full of (fake) love. “Mark needs me. I’ve taken care of him for the past five years. I won’t abandon him now. He’s my husband. I’ll take care of him until his last breath.”
Julian looked at me with admiration. “You’re a saint, Elena. Mark is so lucky to have you.”
Mark heard…
He was all there, in his cage of flesh, listening to his best friend praise the one who had destroyed him. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
I gently wiped it away.
“Don’t cry, my love,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Your free servant is here. And this time, the price will be your entire life.”
Chapter Ending
Three years later.
The Greenwich mansion was as magnificent as ever. I had it renovated, adding a swimming pool and a beautiful rose garden.
I pushed Mark’s wheelchair out into the garden to bask in the sun. He had lost a lot of weight, his face gaunt, his eyes lifeless but always filled with a terrifying obsession whenever he saw me.
I sat down on a chair beside him, sipping a cocktail. A young, handsome man – my tennis coach – emerged from the pool and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
“Shall we go out for dinner tonight, darling?” he asked.
“Sure,” I smiled. “But let me feed my husband first.”
I turned to Mark.
“You see, Mark. Life is still beautiful, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. He could never answer again. He was a living wax statue, a prisoner in his own home, guarded by the woman he once despised.
I hadn’t killed him. Death was too easy a release.
I had turned him into a real “useful fool”—a walking corpse that would help me legitimize my vast fortune and enjoy a life of luxury.
I fed him a spoonful of soup.
“Is it good?”
In Mark’s eyes, I saw a plea. Please, kill me.
But I only smiled.
“Eat it. You have to live a long time. To repay me.”
