They Fed Me to the Crocodiles

It was my seventh wedding anniversary, secretly married to movie star Ethan Chase.

He gave my sister Violet Taylor the screenplay I'd spent three years writing.

Then forced me to star in a trashy B-moviedoing yoga in lace lingerie on the back of a drugged crocodile.

The sedative wore off. Three adult crocs lunged, tearing into me.

Ethan dove into the pool like a madman to save me. His hand got shredded.

Covered in blood, I was shoved into an ambulance, fighting for my life.

My mom, who'd depended on me for everything, bandaged Ethan's wounds while sobbing:

Did we go too far? Ruining Wendy's legs just so Violet could win an award? If Wendy dies I won't live either.

Ethan gripped my limp hand, soothing her: We'll make it up to Wendy. But Violet only has a month left.

Only by crushing Wendy's front runner status can Violet win the Golden Globefulfill her final wish.

Mom, trust me. Even if Wendy loses her legs, I'll take care of her forever. She'll forgive us.

Numb as I was, a thousand needles pricked my heart.

I wanted to know how they'd ever make this right. But I wouldn't get the chance.

Because the one dying wasn't her. It was me.

Every day they doted on Violet, I'd been silently counting down to my end.

When I woke, Ethan frantically clutched my hand.

Mom dabbed red-rimmed eyes nearby.

I tried to turn but couldn't move.

The blanket slipped as I struggled.

Violet took one look at me and screamed, then fainted onto the sofa.

Ethan and Mom rushed to cradle her.

That's when I saw itmy legs gone from the thighs down. Empty pant legs knotted below the stumps.

In the TV's reflection, a scar like a centipede crawled over half my skull.

After Violet fainted, Mom's expression twisted.

She wheeled on me, jabbing a furious finger.

Why'd you have to throw off the covers?

Violet was already traumatized seeing you covered in blood when they admitted you! Now your legs scared her unconscious! What were you thinking?

I shrunk into myself like a scolded child, tears burning.

Ethan patted my shoulder, then moved to carry Violet to a doctor.

In seven years of marriage, I'd never asked him for anything.

But now, every time I closed my eyes, I saw those crocodile jaws snapping toward me.

I grabbed his hand, voice trembling:

Ethan, please stay. I'm terrified.

He patted my hand.

Be good, Wendy. I'll have plenty of time for you later.

Violet's different. She's only got this one month. We need to cherish it.

Then he pried my fingers off, one by one, scooped up Violet, and hurried out.

A sob tore from my throat.

Violet was his childhood friend.

Her fainting spell? That deserved comfort.

Me? Just his wife of seven years.

Just stage IV pancreatic cancer. Just mauled, legs gone, fresh out of hell.

I didn't need comforting.

I'd thought being obedient, understanding, working hardthat would earn me love.

Turns out, no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough.

Just like before.

Seven years ago, I got blacklisted for refusing a director's casting couch offer.

The stress got so bad I shaved my head, ready to marry my fianc, another struggling actor.

On our wedding day, he ran off to Europe with my sister Violet.

Everyone laughed. People called me unlovable, a woman no one would want.

Ethan Chase, that year's hottest rising star, stepped onto the stage and proposed to me instead.

We were happy after that.

I helped him network, find directors, accompanied him to countless auditions.

We huddled together for warmth on a single bed during freezing winters.

The worst year, he got diagnosed with kidney failure. Our bank account was almost empty.

I worked five jobs, dawn till midnight, scrambling for his treatment.

When a kidney donor match was found, I didn't hesitate. I gave him one of mine.

Seven years proved it. I loved him. He loved me.

But now I understand the truth. Ethan married me only to stop me from ruining Violet's wedding by confronting my runaway fianc.

I'd thought listening to Mom, giving my fianc to Violet, would make her love me more.

Turns out,every bit of love I've ever received was just a byproduct of their devotion to Violet.

That evening, Violet showed up.

She wore a miniskirt, flaunting long, perfect legs, smirking.

You'll always be my loser. All I had to do was fake some tears, say I wanted an award, and Ethan and Mom couldn't wait to ruin your legs.

A legless freak like you disgusts us. If I were you, I wouldn't want to live.

Furious, I grabbed my phone and threw it.

I missed. But she flew into a rage, pulling a fruit knife from the drawer and lunging at me.

The blade sliced my left cheek. Blood poured down, stinging sharply.

I wrestled the knife from her and raised it high.

Ethan snatched it back and cradled Violet, What the hell were you doing?

Violet burst into dramatic tears, claiming I'd called her a slut and threatened to break her legs and kill her.

I shook my head at Ethan.

That's not true.

Ethan even glance me away, carefully shielding Violet as they left.

My mother heard the commotion and appeared at the door.

She watched me pressing tissues to my bleeding face. Serves you right. Why provoke Violet?

She didn't step inside. Just turned and hurried after Violet.

I'd known Mom didn't love me since I could remember.

She'd had Violet with her rich ex-husband. After the divorce, she married my father.

She constantly berated him for not earning enough, calling me lazy for eating too much.

When storms came, she'd stare out the window, worrying if Violetat her fancy private school, in her mansion with nannieswas warm and fed. Never mind me in thin clothes, stomach growling.

But now I didn't want it anymore.

Much later, Ethan returned, looking vaguely guilty.

Remembering the doctor's words, I suddenly didn't want to stay silent.

I told him Violet tried to stab me.

Ethan didn't blink.

I know. You couldn't reach the drawer without legs.

I hurled pillows at him, screaming.

Then why blame ME?!

Ethan rubbed his temples, frustrated.

Wendy, Violet's just childish. Humor her, okay?

Besides, she can't compete with you anymore. All our love is yours now. Everyone will focus on you. Just let her have this, please?

But I'm sick too. Why won't you humor ME?

Six months ago, I was diagnosed with ancreatic cancer. Doctor said I had six months at best, maybe only one.

Seeing Ethan, who loved me so deeply, and my mother, who'd relied on me for seven years, I didn't know how to tell them.

So I wrote a beautiful script about our love story. To film it. Give them something to remember me by.

The script was highly praised by industry insiders, with a strong chance of winning awards.

Then Violet came back. Told Ethan and Mom she had one month to live. She wanted to fulfill her dream: be a famous actress before she died.

Ethan gave her my script.

I begged him. I told him I'm sick. This is my dream too.

He pulled my fake diagnosis from a drawer, slammed it in my face,.

Which prop department made this? Even faked the doctor's signature.

Not sick until Violet's back? Can't stand her being happy?

She's DYING, Wendy. And you want to steal this from her?

Ethan wiped my tears, pulling me back to the present.