My wife's childhood friend killed my parents while driving drunk. 
When I tried to call the police, she blindfolded me and dragged me to a basement.
For three years, I endured unspeakable torture in the dark. 

After each session of pain, a cold, piercing female voice whispered in my ear:
"Ethan, do you still hate him?"
One day, lying on the freezing floor, I pleaded into a phone,
"I don't hate him anymore! I don't hate him!"
Laughter erupted from the other end—my wife's voice, bright and cruel.
The day they released me, I flinched from her embrace.

She froze, stunned.
When I numbly demanded a divorce, she lost her mind.
…
In the damp, shadowy basement, I sat in a corner, one leg mangled.

The slick walls soaked my shirt.
When the door opened, spilling light, I shielded my eyes, unaccustomed.
Footsteps approached, and I instinctively shrank back.
"Mr. Caldwell, Ms. Hayes sent me to get you."
I glanced up at the man—Victoria's longtime bodyguard.
Lowering my gaze, I muttered," Okay."
Struggling to my feet, I limped a few steps.
The bodyguard's face twisted in shock."Sir, your leg?"
My hand gripped my pant seam, head bowed."Cabinet fell on it. Probably fractured."
He blinked, incredulous."Why didn't you tell Ms. Hayes?"
I gave a bitter laugh, silent.
Tell her what?
Would Victoria let me see a doctor?
Or bring one to me?
"Let me help you," the bodyguard said, his expression conflicted, stepping forward.
Moments after leaving the basement, I saw Victoria and Ryan Mitchell stepping out of a car.
"Vicky, told you he'd play the pity card to soften you up," Ryan sneered."Look—just a short walk, and he's got someone carrying him."
Victoria glanced at me, saying nothing, her eyes full of triumph.
She walked over, arms outstretched for a hug. 
But I recoiled violently, curling into myself, ignoring the searing pain in my leg.
"Don't hit me! Please, don't—I'm sorry, I was wrong!"
Victoria's arms froze midair, her face a mask of disbelief.
Slowly, she lowered them, staring."What's going on here?"
She turned to the bodyguard, demanding answers.
He seemed rattled by my reaction, stammering,Ma'am, he—"
"Vicky!"Ryan's sharp call cut him off. She glanced back instinctively.
The bodyguard swallowed his words.
"Ethan Caldwell, still holding a grudge for Vicky locking you up to reflect? Staging this drama to guilt-trip her?" Ryan mocked." Drop the act. You admitted your mistake. Vicky and I aren't pressing charges for your false accusations."
His emphasis on "that incident" was clear.
My trembling stopped, my mind dazed.
Ryan chuckled."See, Vicky? Told you."
I stayed crouched, unmoving.
Victoria's voice turned cold."Ethan Caldwell, three years wasn't enough time for you to learn your lesson?"