My response to @owasco's short story contest using the following prompt and adding to her story.

Check out the details on her post Here.

The prompt-

The Sandwich

"Ugh! The bread is soaking wet! Bread is not supposed to be soaking wet!" he snarled at me as he spit a soggy mouthful of half-chewed peanut butter sandwich into a tissue. I stood at attention next to his bed. He handed the sodden and heavy tissue to me.

He was now vegan, grain free, nightshade free, lectin free, phytic acid free, and deaf to my feeble protestations. He was not free, however, from his acutely tuned palate, which was maddeningly different from mine.

He had requested a peanut butter sandwich. I knew meeting all his new diet criteria would be a bitch, but I rose to the challenge. I had to.

I chose a very small ten-dollar loaf of 'bread' and bought it. I bought some raw peanuts. I shelled the peanuts. I soaked, sprouted, and dehydrated the peanuts. After very lightly roasting them, I ground those peanuts into peanut butter. I then very carefully smeared the freshly ground peanut butter onto the somewhat normal looking bread. I made sure to get the peanut butter to the edges just like I had learned in home economics class long, long ago.

I knew how to make a proper tea sandwich.

I now spent my life trying to make this man happy. I signed up for that didn't I? Wasn’t that my reason for being? To make this man happy?

Well, he was not happy with that sandwich.

My continuation-

Source

In my naivety, I thought married life would turn out the way I anticipated - happy, full of glorious celebrations and cherished by the man I loved.

Bradley had smashed that dream for me shortly after our hasty marriage. Within a few dates he had convince me he didn’t have long to live and we needed to have quality time together.

With the innocence of youth, I agreed to forsake my dream wedding of being surrounded by family and friends and happily accompanied him to City Hall for a quick ‘I do.’ A clerk was our witness.

I had imagined my married life one way but it was swiftly turning out another.

HIs hypochondriac needs started to drain me physically and emotionally. Bradley had his doctor on speed dial and every time someone mentioned an illness he was sure it had befallen him.

I spend more time with my husband in the doctor’s waiting room than my own living room.

Bradley demanded my sole attention and had complete control over what clothes I wore. Jealousy would raise it’s ugly head and if he thought a dress or skirt looked too sexily he would pull it out of shape.

Slowly he isolated me from life-long friends by constantly criticizing and insulting them. Wanting to be the perfect partner, no matter how I felt, I always agreed with his unreasonable opinions. Isn’t this what a good wife does?

Loneliness and depression were becoming part of my life without a close friend to confide in.

Five long years of this merry-go-round had passed and Bradley finally contacted a serious life threatening disease, COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease).

He had never smoked and blamed his illness on too much dust and cat dander in our tiny apartment. This being the result of my poor housekeeping skills and the dammed cat he despised. Now the disease had progressed to the point where he could no longer walk or dress himself.

With only the TV to keep him company when I wasn’t at his beck and call, he listened to every food show and was convinced the additives in food were making his disease worse.

I spent hours roaming specially shops for foods he would eat. Now he had spit out that expensive bread. I was getting sick of beating myself up to please hm. The last straw was yesterday when forbade me to visit my ailing mother in another city.

I could feel an evil smile spreading across my lips as I imaged the peanut butter sandwich laced with arsenic...

...end of story.

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