
The Secondhand Fatigue CurseMy wife's first love was bound to an "overachiever" system—every ounce of exhaustion he racked up from grinding away at work got transferred straight to me.
He pulled seven straight all-nighters to land a multi-million-dollar deal and became a legend in the industry. Meanwhile, I ended up in the ER with heart failure.
When I tried to explain it to my wife, she shot me a look of pure disgust. "You're just born lazy," she snapped. "You can't stand seeing him succeed at such a young age, so you make up some sick fairy tale to accuse him."
After that, every late night he pulled chipped away at my body. First came nervous exhaustion, then organ failure—until I was hanging on by a thread.
I went to the hospital for tests, but the doctors couldn't find a thing. A few even hinted I might be suffering from paranoid delusions.
Then, to get his company listed on the stock exchange, he locked himself in his office for two weeks straight. I wound up dead from overexertion in my own room.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night of his very first all-nighter.
This time, I bolted the door, pulled out a full strip of sleeping pills, and smiled.
"Time to sleep."