I knew my husband had done it as soon as I woke up bald, and even though it hurt, I chose to exact retribution.
The morning began in an odd way. My head felt chilly when I woke up, and I froze in terror as I touched it with my hand. The skin is silky beneath my fingers. Not even a lock of hair.
My heart was racing uncontrollably. I stumbled into the bathroom after jumping out of bed. A stranger, with a bald head, wide-open eyes, and quivering lips, gazed back at me in the mirror.
“No.” Tears started to fall naturally, so I whispered.
I returned to the bedroom, buried my face in my hands, and sat on the edge of the bed. My mind was confused. It might have been a disease, a response to something, etc. However, I secretly harbored a horrible feeling that my spouse was responsible.
I picked up my phone and called him.
“Was that you?” My voice trembled as I asked.
“What do you mean exactly?” He spoke in a cold, innocent tone.
“I’m bald,” I nearly cried out.
He let out a sigh.
I’ve given you multiple warnings. Your hair is all over the place—in the bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. It disgusts me, and I’m sick of it. There won’t be any more hair now.
My chest constricted with pain and wrath.
“Are you serious?” He was already justifying himself by bringing up “cleanliness” and “order” when I yelled.
We had a lengthy argument. He believed that what he had done was perfectly acceptable. It was treachery to me.
I stopped listening after a while. I knew what I was going to do. Get even. And I did, with no remorse at all. I sincerely hope you will support me as I share my tale
First, without hesitation, I removed all of his things from the closet and set them on fire in the garden. I experienced a strange sense of release as the smoke soared.
His old laptop, which had been collecting dust on top of the wardrobe for months and bothering me, was then taken upstairs to the bedroom and thrown in the trash.
The treadmill was the next casualty. It had been collecting dust for years, taking up half the space. With joy, I disassembled it and transported it to the trash can.
He returned home in the evening. Irritated and hungry.
“What’s causing the lack of dinner?” He inquired.
I gazed calmly into his eyes.
“Because I didn’t prepare any food.”
His mouth opened to speak, but I had already packed my suitcase.
“I’m sick of having to clean up after you.” Weary of persevering. and fed up with being with someone who can do such things.
He was left alone in the empty flat as I shut the door behind me.
And I felt like I could breathe easily for the first time in a long time.
