Deafened by the Meds, the Abandoned Wife Finally Stops Playing NiceChapter 1

The day the diagnosis came down—permanent, irreversible deafness—was the day I finally stopped fighting.

I stopped blowing up Joshua's phone when he didn't come home. I stopped losing my composure in public whenever one of his young models tried to provoke me. I faded into the background, becoming the quietest, most invisible ghost in the Sawyer mansion.

It was all because of the doctor's cold ultimatum.

"Ms. Delgado, unless you have the full support of the Sawyer Foundation to cover your treatment, you won't survive the month."

So, I became obedient.

Even when Joshua brought a newly crowned Hong Kong beauty queen home for the night and ordered me to cook hangover soup for them, I didn't flinch. I brought the tray over with a practiced smile, checked the temperature against my wrist, and offered it to him.

After all, I couldn't hear anymore. Why should I care who his whispered sweet nothings were meant for?

But when I looked him in the eye and signed, *[Drink slowly,]* the bowl in Joshua Sawyer's hand shattered against the floor.

——

"Faith Delgado, don't play dead with me!"

I couldn't hear the words, but the way his lips curled back over his teeth told me he was roaring.

Hangover soup pooled across the marble, swirling around jagged porcelain shards that bit into my ankle. The old me would have screamed. Would have leaped up, tears streaming, begging him to look at my wound.

Now?

I simply crouched down.

Piece by piece, I collected the broken ceramics. Blood from my ankle ribboned through the brown broth, painting a gruesome abstract across the tiles.

"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?"

Joshua's leather sole crunched down on the back of my hand just as my fingers closed around a shard. He ground his heel, crushing bone against stone.

The pain should have been blinding.

I didn't even flinch.

The doctor had warned me—the damage to my auditory nerve would likely dull my pain receptors too. Heaven's parting gift. A way to endure this hell with a shred of dignity intact.

I looked up and offered him a perfect, hollow smile. With my free hand, I signed:

*[I'm sorry. I'll go cook another bowl.]*

Joshua froze.

The rage in his eyes stalled, curdling into something worse. Deep, visceral disgust.

"Faith, looking at you now... taking everything like a doormat..." His lip curled. "It makes me sick."