After Conspiring to Cure Me With Dogs, My Husband Regretted Madly

When I was nine, I was attacked by a pack of stray dogs and needed seventy-two stitches in my right leg. Ever since, I start shaking the moment I hear a dog bark.

In six years of marriage, my husband James Dickerson moved us into a no-pets residential complex for me, even avoiding anything with animal patterns.

Over the holiday weekend, the whole family went camping to watch the moon, and he assured me again and again that the campsite didn't allow pets.

Then my best friend led out three large dogs and, smiling, launched a desensitization-therapy livestream.

"The family really does get exhausted. Desensitization is the only way out."

I demanded to leave right then.

James saw me trembling and said,

"Avoidance only makes the trauma worse. You can't spend your whole life going out of your way around dogs."

My dad stood off to the side and scolded me coldly.

"They're all doing this for your own good. Don't hide behind your illness to put on airs."

Amid a chat feed counting down three, two, one, James unhooked the leash with his own hands.

When the dogs lunged, I was so terrified I scrambled under the table and wet myself on the spot. The old wound on my right leg split open on the gravel.

Myrtle chased after me, filming with her phone.

"Don't cover your face. Only a full reaction has evaluation value."

That evening, James handed me a bill for a dog exam totaling 0-08,600.

"You kicked and hurt Myrtle's dog, so you'll settle this yourself."

"The treatment failed because you still weren't brave enough."

I paid off my own medical bills and contacted a lawyer to preserve the evidence.

The dog's exam bill, I returned exactly as it was.

Beneath the bill was a signed divorce agreement.

"Let go! I want to go home."

Not far off, my best friend Myrtle Swanson was holding three large dogs.

My husband, James, held me tight.

"Jasmine, be good."

My whole body was spasming uncontrollably, my shirt soaked through with cold sweat.

"You promised me! There would absolutely be no dogs here."

He gently rubbed the back of my neck.

"Myrtle set this up especially for you."

"Avoidance only makes the trauma worse. You can't spend your whole life going out of your way around dogs."

"Jasmine, I want our future children to have a normal mother."

"This is for our future too, right?"

My dad came out with a stern face.

"Jasmine, you're thirty years old. Are you still making an issue of something that happened when you were nine?"

"They're all doing this for your own good. Don't hide behind your illness to put on airs."

Myrtle came closer with a selfie stick, shoving the camera into my face.

"Everyone, did you see that?"

"This is the real reaction of someone with severe dog phobia."

"The family really does get exhausted. Desensitization is the only way out."

The rank smell of the dogs pressed in.

My stomach churned violently, and my legs went so weak I couldn't stand.

"James, I'm going to die..."

James avoided my eyes and turned to look at Myrtle.

"Ready?"

Myrtle gave an OK sign.

"Counting down, three, two, one! Everyone, hit that like button!"

James let go of me and took the leash from Myrtle.

The metal clasp gave a crisp click.

The three large dogs barked wildly and charged straight at me.

I let out a scream that broke off in pitch.

My body instinctively lurched backward, and I tripped over the camping chair.

The old wound that had needed seventy-two stitches years ago struck a sharp rock head-on.

Blood gushed out.

Claws pressed down on my shoulder.

A rough tongue licked across my neck.

My vision went black, and my breath stopped.

Warm liquid ran down the inside of my thigh.

An overwhelming shame and terror drowned me.

I crawled under the folding table, shaking, curled into a ball.

Myrtle held up her phone and kept filming.

"Don't cover your face. Only a full reaction has evaluation value."

She narrated to the screen, excited.

"Look, everyone, the patient is showing an extreme stress response."

"This is the painful phase that desensitization therapy has to go through."

I bit my lip open and tasted the thick tang of blood.

Before I passed out, I heard James's shout.

"Jasmine! Jasmine..."

The ward door swung open, and James strode in on his long legs.

He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

His warm fingers reached out and tucked my sweat-damp hair behind my ear.

"Does it still hurt?"

His eyes seemed to brim again with the old tenderness.

My nose stung, and tears fell without warning.

Instinctively, I reached to grab his hand.

I wanted him to pull me into his arms and comfort me the way he had for the past six years.

But a second before my fingertips touched him, James pulled his hand back.

He held out a sheet of paper to me.

"You kicked and hurt Myrtle's dog, so you'll settle this yourself, all right?"

It was a bill for a dog exam totaling 0-08,600.

My hand froze in midair.

"James, I got eight stitches in my right leg."

James frowned slightly.

"Surface wounds heal fast, and besides, you hurt yourself by being careless."

"But Myrtle's dog is different. Because you frightened it, it needs a full psychological intervention and exam."

"Jasmine, desensitization therapy is scientific. You have to trust us."

"The treatment failed this time only because you still weren't brave enough."

He stood up and patted my head.

"Don't worry, I've already had the livestream video cleaned up."

"No one will see your... video."

"Myrtle's over there by herself and can't manage it all. I'm going to go check on her."

With that, he turned and left without a trace of reluctance.

I took out my phone.

Sure enough, there wasn't a single video anywhere online, but my private messages were full of abuse.

Calling me a drama queen, mocking me for being scared of a dog.

Cursing me for knowing I was sick and still refusing to treat it, saying I was nothing but dead weight.

It didn't matter anymore.

I opened my messages and pulled up the chat with my childhood sweetheart, the top attorney.

Saul Vance, are you back in the country?

He replied instantly.

Just landed. What's up?

Yes! I need a lawyer!

"Jasmine Delgado, you're gambling with your own life."

The attending physician walked in holding all my test reports.

His brows were knit tight, his face ashen, and he slapped the reports down on the bedside table.

"Your heart rate spiked as high as 180, and your blood pressure blew straight past the danger line."

"This isn't desensitization at all. This is deliberate, murder-by-accumulated-trauma."

I leaned back against the pillow, listening numbly.

"The nerve in your right leg is damaged again."

The doctor pointed at the scan, his tone heavy.

"This forced exposure has already triggered a relapse of severe PTSD."

"Any more stress could be life-threatening."

When he saw I gave no response, the doctor sighed and left.

The ward door was pushed open.

My dad and James walked in, one behind the other.

James saw my pale face and asked gently.

"How are things? Any better?"

I held the real diagnostic report straight out to him.

"See for yourself!"

My dad snatched it away and gave it a careless glance.

"Torn nerve in the right leg? Severe PTSD?"

He sneered, crumpled the report into a ball, and threw it on the floor.

"Jasmine, are you paying for fake medical records to run away from reality?"

My dad jabbed his finger at me.

"Your mother passed early, so I had to be both father and mother to you."

"When you got bullied at school, how did I teach you?"

"Dad's here, don't be afraid. When you hit hard times, you face them head-on."

He glared at me, disappointed I hadn't turned out tougher.

"And now look at you, playing dead at the first little setback."

I looked at my dad.

The man who once shielded me behind him was now driving the knife into my wound with his own hand.

A flicker of hesitation crossed James's eyes as he reached up and gently wiped the tears from the corner of my eye.

"Jasmine, are you really hurting this much?"

After wiping my tears, he laid his hand across my mouth.

"If it hurts, bite me. As long as it heals you, I'll hurt right along with you."

Myrtle's voice rang out.

"James, Mr. Delgado."

"I've brought the assessment plan from abroad."

Myrtle walked up to the bed and handed the file to James.

"I consulted a top expert at the Johns Hopkins University Psychology Lab for this."

"A plan tailored specifically for Jasmine."

James took the folder and opened it.

It was packed densely with English jargon and flashy charts.

"It's written out very clearly here."

Myrtle pointed to one line of text.

"The initial physical rejection and mild self-harm are all stage-by-stage victories."

"The bleeding shows her psychological defenses are reorganizing."

James gave the report in his hand a quick look.

Then he looked at me, every trace of tenderness gone from his eyes.

"Myrtle went to all this trouble to make a plan for you."

"And you try to fool us with those alarmist fake medical records?"

I stared hard at that report.

There were obvious watermark traces along the edges of the layout.

Some of the English translations even carried the stiff feel of machine translation.

But I said nothing.

My chest heaved violently, and tears fell in strings down my collar.

I stared numbly at these three self-righteous people.

Calling for help was pointless now.

They only believed what they wanted to believe.

My dad patted Myrtle on the shoulder.

"Myrtle, thank you for all your hard work this time."

"Jasmine doesn't know any better. Don't take it to heart."

Myrtle waved her hands again and again, smiling sweetly.

"Mr. Delgado, Jasmine is my best friend. This is the least I can do."

Seeing that I was fine, the three of them turned and left to attend to their own affairs.

The ward went quiet again.

I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling.

There was a knock at the door.

Saul stood in the doorway, wearing a trench coat.

He walked into the ward, his gaze falling on my leg.

"I've got a rough picture of your situation."

He pulled over a chair and sat down, then took a blank power of attorney out of his briefcase.

The next afternoon, James picked me up from the hospital.

The moment I pushed open the door, I thought I'd walked into the wrong place.

The house was filled with all sorts of lifelike stuffed dogs.

Every painting on the walls had been replaced with close-ups of dogs.

"Welcome home."

James pressed the remote in his hand.

The speaker in the corner immediately started playing barking.

"Woof, woof, woof!"

Realistic surround sound filled the entire living room.

My whole body went rigid, and cold sweat broke out.

The wound on my right leg throbbed faintly.

"Turn it off! Turn it off now!"

I braced myself against the wall, my voice shaking.

His fingertips gently wiped the cold sweat from my temple.

"This is the gentle at-home intervention Myrtle suggested."

"Jasmine, be good. You need to get used to this sound."

The barking from the speaker grew louder and louder.

I could barely breathe, and my stomach churned.

I shoved James away, grabbed a vase from beside me, and smashed it hard against the speaker.

The vase shattered.

But the speaker was untouched, still blasting its piercing barks.

"Jasmine!"

James strode over.

He wrenched my arms behind my back and pinned me down on the sofa.

"Have you lost your mind? You'll hurt yourself doing this."

"Do you realize you have manic tendencies right now? You have to get treatment."

The lock turned.

My father walked in, leading a live puppy.

My pupils shrank, my breathing came fast, and my whole body convulsed beyond my control.

James frowned slightly.

"Dad, why did you bring it here?"

My father brought the dog over to my side.

"Myrtle said desensitization should be done gradually, so let's start with a puppy."

James sighed, let go of me, and got up to take the leash from my father's hand.

He turned to look at me and pointed to the end of the hallway.

"Go to the bathroom."

I backed away frantically.

"No... I won't go!"

James came over and slid an arm around my waist.

He half-carried, half-dragged me toward the bathroom.

"This is for your own good!"

"Just stay ten minutes and get along with it."

I struggled wildly.

My father came over and, together with James, held me down.

"Be brave and give it a pat. It's not that scary."

The two of them worked together to shove me and the dog into the bathroom.

The puppy walked toward me.

Its nose touched my ankle.

"Ah!"

I screamed and scrambled up onto the sink counter, curling into a ball.

Myrtle's voice came from outside the door.

"Uncle, James, move aside a little. I want to record a video to document this."

"This is extremely valuable as early-stage intervention footage."

Through the frosted glass door, I could see three blurry figures outside.

They stood together, savoring my breakdown.

In that instant, my scream suddenly caught in my throat.

I stared at that door.

Standing outside were my father, the husband I once loved dearly, and my close best friend.

They thought this was love. They thought this was salvation.

With the most self-righteous cruelty, they had stripped me of every last bit of my dignity.

I slowly closed my mouth.

The trembling in my body stopped, as if by a miracle.

The talking outside the door stopped.

A hint of panic and confusion crept into James's voice.

"Why has Jasmine gone quiet?"

My father answered.

"It's starting to work."

Ten minutes later, the lock clicked open.

James pushed the door open eagerly.

Seeing me sitting quietly on the sink counter, his tense shoulders relaxed.

He turned and smiled at my father.

"Dad, see? Myrtle's method works."

Myrtle held up her phone and aimed it at me.

"Jasmine, you did great! You overcame it!"

James strode over and pulled me into his arms.

"I knew my Jasmine was the bravest."

"See, it wasn't really that hard, was it?"

I kept my head down.

"Yeah... it wasn't that hard."

"You've successfully completed a stage of your desensitization."

The next day at noon, James booked out a high-end revolving restaurant in Southport.

"I promise, there won't be a single dog today."

"Just a few friends."

I wore the white dress he'd picked out, and I'd done my makeup.

In my bag were the documents Saul had dropped off that morning.

The moment I pushed open the restaurant doors.

A deafening roar of cheers swept over me.

The giant LED screen was scrolling with the words "Myrtle Swanson Fan Meetup."

Dozens of people holding up their phones all turned to look at me at once.

Myrtle, in a red dress, stood in the center.

"Thank you all for coming to witness my best friend's rebirth!"

"The ultimate desensitization test starts now."

James had been gripping my hand tightly, and inch by inch he let it go.

"Jasmine, be brave. Step across it, and you'll be free."

There was a snap.

Every light in the room went out at once.

A deafening barking erupted from the speakers.

From somewhere, James led out a Rottweiler that stood half as tall as a person.

It was a vicious breed used for riot control and hunting.

The blood in my body froze instantly, and my legs went so weak I could barely stand.

The physical terror set me trembling violently, beyond my control.

"James..."

James's voice sounded in the darkness.

"Easy, don't be afraid, I'm right here."

Then came the crisp click of a latch being released.

The Rottweiler drove me into a corner.

A rough tongue licked my neck, and sharp teeth grazed my collarbone.

Its heavy panting was right against my ear.

"Look, everyone, this is the power of science."

Not far off, Myrtle had started a paid live stream.

"Someone who used to be scared of even a Chihuahua can now be up close with a Rottweiler."

James stood at the edge of the light, looking down at the watch on his wrist.

He was keeping time.

Flashbulbs went off all across the room; they were all watching the show.

I bit down hard on the back of my hand, forcing myself to swallow every scream.

Blood ran down my forearm and dripped onto the white dress.

In the dim light, with my other trembling hand.

I quietly slipped the miniature voice recorder and pinhole camera out of my bag.

It captured the dog's frenzy perfectly.

It recorded Myrtle's teasing.

It recorded James's cold countdown.

"Ten minutes. Time's up."

James whistled, and the Rottweiler backed off.

The lights blazed on.

James walked over smiling, arms opening to receive me.

But when he saw me clearly, the curve of his lips stiffened a little.

The white dress was torn by the dog's claws, and my hands were covered in deep bite marks I'd left myself.

Blood dripped onto the floor.

There was a clear tremor in James's voice.

"Jasmine, how did you do this to yourself?"

"Didn't I tell you not to be afraid? I would never have let it actually bite you!"

I looked at him steadily, no breakdown, no hysterics.

The eyes that had been brimming with tears were now oddly calm.

I jerked my hand back, refusing his touch.

I opened my bag and pulled out the 0-08,600 vet bill for the dog.

Along with the divorce agreement Saul had drafted.

I slapped them against James's chest.

James caught them on reflex.

"What is this?"

"Jasmine, stop making a scene, let's get you bandaged up first..."

I walked past him, past the still-panting dog, past the dumbfounded Myrtle and the crowd.

And headed straight out the restaurant doors.

James stood where he was, frowning as he picked up the blood-stained stack of papers.

He thought I was throwing another little tantrum, and he was about to toss the papers away.

Until he glimpsed the large heading showing beneath the bill.

Divorce Agreement.