Is 'She'S My Wife' A Meme From A Viral Video?

If you ask my Alpha father to tell you about anyone in the pack, then he will speak about them in high esteem. If you talk to him about me, then he will deny even knowing me. While parents are supposed to love and protect their children, my father does the exact opposite. No one in our pack even knows that I'm alive. They all think that I died in childbirth. Along with my mother. And he's hated me for that ever since. And he's told me that the pack would hate me for killing their Luna. Only if they really knew the truth. But approaching my 16th birthday our pack had visitors come to help with training the warriors. My father thinking that our pack was becoming an easy target. And well, it was. Until the Alpha of the Protectors Pack found me and declared that I was his and not my fathers. But is that enough to stop my father from trying to get me back? Is there more to my story than I know? Is there a reason why my father kept me beaten and secluded? I guess I was going to have to find out what his real motives are. And how far he is willing to go to get his own way.

"Let's get divorced." Layla said quietly but firmly. She couldn't take it anymore. Her marriage with Nate has been a facade, constructed solely to fulfill her father's dying wish. Even though Layla used to think she could his heart through time, she finally gave it up seeing his ex-girlfriend coming back. She should be the one to stand beside Nate. After all, she has always been the one in his heart. That's why Nate never laid his hand on her throughout their entire marriage, wasn't it? Layla was a girl with dignity. If Nate didn't show any interest in her, she didn't want to be the wrong person to occupy him, even if it hurt to let go. However, why didn't Nate just accept it and move on? Seeing the divorce paper, he said to Layla coldly, "as long as the paper is not signed, you are still my wife and no other man can lay his hands on you."

A text message popped up in the class group chat. A student had been in a car accident and had been rushed to the hospital. She urgently needed a donor with a rare RH-Negative blood type. Wanting to help, I went to the hospital and donated 800 milliliters of blood. Afterward, I passed out from blood loss. When she woke up, she claimed she was pregnant and said the baby was mine. Everyone accused me of crossing a line despite being an educator and professor in college. They said I had slept with a student and got her pregnant. I went to confront her, but she acted like she was the victim. "Your blood is in my body now, and in the baby's body too. What's wrong with saying the baby is yours? From now on, my baby and I are depending on you. You'd better take good care of us and make sure we don't suffer, or I'll sue you for seducing me and dumping me!" Furious, I shoved her. She rammed her stomach into the corner of a table on purpose and miscarried. The internet decided I was a scumbag who had killed the baby on purpose. "How can someone like that exist? How can someone like that teach at all!" I lost my job. I was doxxed and harassed over the phone. Someone even threw acid on me and destroyed my face. I lost everything. My wife, who was eight months pregnant at the time, believed me and defended me, only for the internet to turn on her too. They accused her of helping a monster to hurt others. The stress caused her to have a serious hemorrhage, and she and the baby both did not make it. Crushed by guilt and grief, I jumped off a building and killed myself. That student, however, profited from my tragedy and became an influencer with a million followers overnight. When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed to the day I saw the message in the group chat.  

My wife, Alayna Watson, is childish as ever even though we've been married for eight years. From time to time, she'll use her prank toys on me just to trick me. Oftentimes, I just toss the toys into the store without thinking much about them. A few days later, when I'm cleaning the house, I suddenly remember the box that Alayna has pranked me with, so I decide to throw it away. When I open the lid, I smell a foul odor wafting from within the box. A severed arm lies quietly there. I slump to the floor instantly out of alarm and shock. With trembling fingers, I manage to call 911. When the DNA results are out, the police officer shows a weird and conflicted expression. "Sir, the DNA we've extracted from this arm… belongs to Alayna Watson."”

On the first day of New Year's, my good buddy, Vincent Wales, sent me a video. “Leon, take a look. Does this woman look like your wife? It’s all over.” In the video, a man and a woman were making out passionately. As the car rocked violently, the woman’s face came into view. It was unmistakably my wife. My blood rushed straight to my head. My hands shook as I dialed her number. “Hello, honey… What’s the matter?” Her breathing was uneven, like she had just been doing something intense. I was about to speak when she suddenly let out a few loud cries. “A-Ah… It’s nothing. I’ll hang up now. I’m just playing cards with friends." With that, all I heard was the dial tone. Playing cards? She had clearly told me she was working overtime!

I always thought my wife was just an ordinary "brother-loving sister," the kind who would do anything for her brother. But one night, I watched in frozen horror as she dismembered her brother in our storage room. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned and looked straight at me. She flashed her usual gentle smile. "Honey," she called softly, her voice sweet and familiar—exactly the same as always.