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I harbor a secret: I can see live comments. After I pause on a video of a muscular man, my husband throws me out of the car on the highway. Commenters cheer, calling him jealous and praising his cold CEO facade. Later, after I'm badly injured in an accident, he lets his first love spill hot soup on me, push me down the stairs, destroy my things, and sleep with him repeatedly, while the comments still celebrate aloof now, chase later. What they don't know is that once my heart froze, I began planning my escape. I serve him divorce papers, vanish, and marry someone far above his station. He laments; I never look back.