Frozen Out

Looking at the thermostat locked at 60 degrees for the thirteenth time, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the power cord running to the AC unit on the wall. Early yesterday morning, period cramps had me rolling in bed in pure agony. I turned the thermostat up to 78 degrees. But less than ten seconds later, the temperature plummeted right back down to its lowest setting. On the other end of the phone, Carter sighed, sounding entirely exasperated. "Stop throwing a tantrum, Mia. If you turn the heat up, how is Chloe supposed to sleep?" "She has hyperthyroidism; she runs hot. The slightest sweat makes her break out in hives." "What about me? I'm in so much pain I feel like I'm dying." "If you're really that cold, just put a couple of extra blankets on." Put a couple of extra blankets on? Before he left on his business trip, he deliberately took every single duvet in the house into the guest room, terrified Chloe might catch a chill from the AC. Before his trip, because Chloe casually mentioned she couldn't sleep on an unfamiliar mattress, he postponed his flight and drove across the state just to pick up her custom mattress. But buying me a bottle of Advil was somehow a waste of his time. "Be a good girl. I'm shutting off your access to the master smart-home controls." "I don't want you getting delirious from the pain and messing with the temperature again. You'll make Chloe sick." Blood dripped from the webbing of my hand, where the scissors had slipped and sliced my skin. I didn't cry. I just peeled off the heavy down jacket I was wearing indoors. I calmly dialed my real estate agent. "Yes, I want to list this property immediately. Fire-sale price." "I don't care who's living inside right now. Bring potential buyers to tour it first thing tomorrow morning. If they don't open up, break the door down." Carter. I am done catering to the icebox you built just to please another woman. ... At 8:00 AM the next morning, the doorbell rang frantically. My agent, followed by several prospective buyers, was right on time. The door to the guest bedroom flew open, and Chloe rushed out. Seeing a crowd of strangers outside, she shrieked in terror. She shrank into the corner of the sofa, crying as she dialed Carter's number. "Carter, there are so many strangers trying to break down the door... I'm so scared..." Less than forty minutes later, the front door was pushed open. Carter, who was supposed to be out of state on a business trip, stood in the doorway looking exhausted and travel-worn. Because of a single phone call from Chloe, he canceled his itinerary and caught the first flight back. "There is a legal dispute regarding the deed to this property. I'm not signing anything, which means it can't be sold. Please leave." He pulled out the joint ownership documents and dispersed the agent and the buyers as quickly as possible. The door clicked shut. The living room fell dead silent, save for Chloe's deliberately muffled sobs. Carter didn't explode. He didn't yell. He took off his suit jacket, draped it over the shivering Chloe, and then turned his head. He looked at me with the exact expression you'd use on a child throwing an unreasonable tantrum. "Mia, I understand your cramps were bad." "But cutting the AC power cord and sending a real estate agent to break down the door... isn't that a bit hysterical?" His tone was perfectly flat. As if my agonizing pain last night was just a pathetic, self-directed play for his attention. I looked at his stoic face and stiffly raised my right hand. Because of the force I used to cut the thick power cord last night, the sharp edge of the scissors had gouged deeply into the webbing between my thumb and index finger. By now, the skin around the wound was covered in dried, blackened blood. My face was deathly pale. My voice trembled uncontrollably. "Carter, I was in so much pain I thought I was dying... Are you blind? Do you not see the blood on my hand?" "You flew hundreds of miles back here, and you only care if she got scared?" My hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly. My junior year of college, I got a paper cut from a piece of printer paper. A tiny bead of blood welled up. He was in the middle of a crucial, career-defining thesis defense. But he ran out of the exam hall like a madman, sprinting all the way back to our tiny, off-campus apartment, panting heavily. His eyes were red as he gently cradled my hand, carefully blowing on the tiny cut. His voice had trembled. "How could you be so careless? Does it hurt? Come on, let's go to the clinic." And now. The gash on my hand was so deep you could see the white tissue underneath, the fresh blood congealing into a thick, ugly scab. Carter's gaze landed on my wound for exactly one second. Just one second. He looked away, completely unfazed, and coldly pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Bring it in." The moment he spoke, his assistant pushed the front door open. Several workers walked in, carrying massive bundles. A towering pile of ten cheap, synthetic winter duvets was dumped right at my feet. "Didn't you say you were freezing?" "I told you to put a few extra blankets on, but you insisted on making a scene." "Are these enough blankets for you now?" His brow furrowed, his voice dripping with profound disappointment and impatience. "Chloe has hyperthyroidism. She runs hot. The slightest sweat makes her break out in hives." "Can you please grow up? Stop using self-harm to beg for attention." "We are adults. Acting like this just makes you look pathetic." I stared dead at the ten winter duvets piled at my feet. And suddenly, I understood. My physical pain ceased to exist in his reality a long time ago. He wasn't blind. He just didn't care. He wasn't concerned if I was freezing. He definitely wasn't heartbroken over my bleeding hand. He was just using these heavy blankets to forcefully, self-righteously shut me up. He was using this absurd, punishing display of "extra care" to protect Chloe's sacred 60-degree AC setting. "Mia, I'm so sorry..." Chloe peeked out from behind Carter, her eyes red, her voice barely a whisper. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have complained about being hot." "Please don't be mad at Carter. I'll help you carry these blankets into your room..." "Stop. Don't move." Carter grabbed Chloe's wrist, pulling her back behind him, glaring at me coldly. "She brought this on herself. Let her carry them." The air in the room seemed to freeze completely. I didn't cry. I didn't hysterically kick the blankets over like he expected me to. I just found it hilarious. Hilarious, and absolutely nauseating. Under Carter's wary, cold stare, I expressionlessly lifted my foot. I kicked the blankets blocking my path out of the way. "Carter, you are disgusting." I didn't say another word. No arguments. No accusations. Stepping over the cheap synthetic fabric, I walked past them without looking back, straight into my bedroom. The door locked with a definitive click. Shutting out the man who was once willing to run across town to blow on a paper cut, forever. Since I couldn't sell the house, I couldn't be bothered to waste any more energy on it. I simply became a ghost in my own home. Leaving early, coming back late. I stopped complaining about the 60-degree chill. I stopped touching anything in the kitchen. I didn't even spare Carter or Chloe a single glance. In Carter's eyes, my silence was the obedience he had been waiting for. "See? Wasn't it better to just behave?" Three days later, after working late, I pushed the front door open at 10:00 PM. The living room was pitch black. Exhausted, I walked toward the master bedroom, peeling off my sweat-soaked blazer as I went. I was left in a thin, form-fitting camisole. As I looked up, I froze in my tracks. In the blind corner of the hallway ceiling, a tiny red light was blinking. In the moonlight streaming through the window, I finally saw it clearly. A 360-degree, high-definition smart security camera. And the lens was aimed directly at my bedroom door! I slammed my hand against the hallway light switch and whipped my head around. It wasn't just the hallway. Above the TV in the living room, next to the chandelier in the dining room—there were three cameras in total! And the focal point of every single lens intersected perfectly along the path I walked every day. My blood ran ice cold. I threw open the door to the guest bedroom. Inside, a blinding ring light was shining. Carter was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of warm water. Chloe had her phone mounted on a tripod, right in the middle of an e-commerce livestream. Hearing the door crash open, Carter whipped his head around. He immediately scowled and pressed his index finger to his lips. "Shh. Keep your voice down. Chloe is dropping a link for her followers. Don't interrupt her." At that exact moment, my eyes swept past them to the massive monitor casting Chloe's livestream. My brain completely short-circuited. On the screen, broadcasted to the world, was the live feed from the hallway camera! Right in the center of the frame, crystal clear, was a video of me stripping off my clothes. Tens of thousands of people were watching the stream. The chat was scrolling furiously with vile, disgusting comments about my body. "What the hell are those cameras doing out there?!" I glared at him, my voice shaking with pure rage. I lunged forward to rip Chloe's phone off the tripod. "Turn it off! What gives you the right to broadcast my private life?!" "Ah!" Chloe shrieked in terror, dropping the phone onto the floor. She shrank behind Carter, forcing out crocodile tears. "Mia, I'm so sorry..." "I was doing a brand deal for a smart home security system. I just wanted to show my followers the HD quality of the backend app..." "I didn't know you were taking your clothes off in the hallway..." Carter violently shoved me back, grabbing my arm and hauling me away from the fallen phone. "Mia, what the hell is your problem now?!" "When you cut the power cord in the middle of the night with scissors, you terrified Chloe." "She already struggles with anxiety! She was terrified you were going to snap and attack her! Installing a few cameras was just to make her feel safe!" "She's doing a brand deal for her career. She just accidentally switched to the wrong camera feed!" "You were wearing a bra, you weren't naked! Stop screaming like a banshee and trying to ruin her hard work!" "Make her feel safe?!" I pointed at the camera in the hallway, aimed directly at my bedroom door. My eyes were bloodshot. "So to make her feel safe, you get to blatantly spy on me in my own home?!" "You let her use my privacy as a cheap gimmick to sell products to tens of thousands of strangers?!" "Do I not have the right to basic human privacy anymore?!" I violently cut her off, reaching up to rip the power cord out of the camera. Carter gripped my wrist like a vice, his brow furrowing deeper. "If you stop acting like a psycho and destroying property, these cameras are just useless pieces of plastic to you!" "If you have nothing to hide, why are you so scared of a camera?!" "Other than going to work and sleeping, what 'privacy' do you possibly have that needs protecting?!" I stared in absolute disbelief at the man I had shared a bed with for five years. "Carter, this is my house! I am your legal wife!" I struggled desperately against his grip. Tears threatened to spill, but I bit my lip hard, refusing to let them fall. "What do you see me as now? A dangerous criminal you have to guard against?!" "A prisoner whose body you put on display for the internet?!" "If Chloe has anxiety, then maybe she should get therapy! I'm your wife! Why am I always the one who has to compromise?!" Instead of letting go, his grip tightened, bruising my wrist. "As long as you behave, I won't even look at the camera logs!" "Why do you have to be so petty over such trivial things? Why do you constantly have to turn this house into a warzone?!" I stared at Carter's cold, merciless face. My struggles abruptly stopped. In this house, I had been reduced to a literal, transparent prisoner. Worse, I was a cheap, humiliating punchline for the internet to gawk at. I was a prisoner in my own home. I stopped talking. I just yanked my hand free from his grip. "Fine. I won't unplug it." "Install a hundred of them if you want." I turned around and grabbed the handle of my bedroom door. My voice was incredibly light, stripped of all emotion. No hysteria. No further accusations. "Carter. As long as you're happy." The door clicked softly shut behind me. Leaving Carter standing there, his frown deepening into something resembling unease.