How to Freeze a Husband

This winter, our family flew to Fairbanks, Alaska, to see the snow. My husband forbade me from buying a heavy winter parka, claiming it wasn’t actually that cold and he wasn't going to let me waste his money. I obeyed. I packed only a light autumn jacket and a pair of thin leather loafers. But when no one was looking, I silently typed into my phone’s search bar: How long does it take for a grown man to freeze to death at thirty below zero? 1 It was late November. My husband, Derek, announced that things were slow at his firm and he wanted to use his remaining PTO to take the family on a vacation. Our son had been begging to see the Northern Lights and real snow for months, so the destination was set: Fairbanks, Alaska. A week before our flight, I was scrolling through an outdoor apparel site, looking at down jackets. Derek caught a glimpse of my phone screen. His jaw tightened instantly. "Jesus, you really are a black hole for money, aren't you?" he snapped. "Who told you to buy a parka? It’s a five-hundred-dollar coat you’re going to wear exactly once. What’s the point?" I panicked, words tumbling out in a rush. "The forecast says it’s going to drop to minus thirty degrees at night." "It’s a dry cold up north, Nora. Not like the humidity down here. It’s purely physical. Down here, the dampness gets into your bones. Up there, you barely feel it." We lived in Miami. It was hot year-round. On the absolute coldest days of January, a fleece zip-up was more than enough. Derek’s face had already shifted into that familiar, terrifying mask of irritation. He snatched the phone from my hands, aggressively tapping the screen to delete every item in my cart. Then, with a disgusted scoff, he lobbed the phone back at me. The heavy corner of the device struck me squarely in the orbital bone. I let out a sharp cry of pain, tears welling up instantly as a dull, throbbing heat radiated across my face. He just smiled. It was a vicious, triumphant smirk. "I break my back providing for this family, and you bleed my wallet dry without a second thought. I swear to God, marrying a miserable bitch like you was the biggest mistake of my life." I didn’t say a word. I just stood up, walked quietly into the master bathroom, and ran the cold tap, splashing water over my rapidly swelling eye. I knew better. Talking back to Derek only ever bought me a more savage beating. When I finally crept back into the bedroom, the lights were off. Derek was already snoring. I moved silently to the edge of the mattress, standing there in the dark, staring down at him without blinking. If I did something to him right now, I thought, would he even wake up in time? No. I had to hold back. For my two kids, I had to swallow the bile in my throat. They could survive growing up in a house without a father. But they could never survive having a mother in a prison jumpsuit. Following Derek’s strict orders, we packed only light jackets and everyday shoes. I didn't even pack thermal underwear. We each had a small carry-on, half empty. On the drive to Miami International, Derek gripped the steering wheel, holding court from the driver’s seat. "Don't grow up to be like your mother, kids. Crying over every little thing. We’re used to the damp cold of Florida—we’re practically bulletproof. Alaska’s got nothing on us. You’ll see when we land." Miles and Sophie were in elementary school, at that vibrant, chaotic age where all they cared about was the adventure. They were buzzing with excitement, completely tuning out their father’s lecture. I turned to Derek, forcing my lips into a gentle, adoring smile. "You always know best, honey." He took one hand off the wheel and pinched my cheek—hard enough to hurt, but disguised as affection. He smirked, satisfied. "That’s a good girl." In his eyes, I wasn't a person. I was a prop. A doll he could bend to his will. If I cooked a meal he didn't like, he’d throw the plate at the wall, or worse, over my head. If he wanted sex, the time and place didn't matter; I was expected to submit, breathless and compliant. If he had a bad day at work, or even just a nightmare, it became a valid excuse to use his fists on me. Every single day I spent with him was lived in a state of suffocating, vibrating terror. Hours later, the jet engines roared as we climbed to thirty thousand feet. Derek kept slapping the side of his head, irritated by the pressure popping his ears. I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered softly. "Enjoy the ride to hell, my love." 2 We touched down at Fairbanks International Airport. The moment we stepped off the plane and onto the jet bridge, a biting, aggressive chill seeped through the metal walls. Derek’s face went slightly pale, but his ego was an iron shield. "See? I told you. Not even that cold. A winter coat would’ve been a massive joke." The passengers walking off the plane beside us overheard him. They turned and stared at him in his thin fleece like he was genuinely out of his mind. By the time we hit the arrivals hall, nearly every tourist from the lower forty-eight was pulling snow pants and heavy parkas out of their carry-ons. Derek muttered under his breath, mocking them for being dramatic. Miles tugged at my hand. "Mommy, I’m freezing." I stroked his hair, my heart aching. It’s okay, baby, I thought. Our savior is almost here. My best friend, Rachel, and her boyfriend, Chase, were waiting for us at baggage claim, their arms loaded with massive shopping bags. The moment Rachel saw me, she dropped the bags and pulled me into a fierce, crushing embrace. I felt her tremble, her voice cracking right against my ear. "You’re finally here." I hugged her back, fighting the intense burn behind my eyes. "It’s been too long. Derek and I talk about you all the time." Rachel, Derek, and I went to college together. Back in the day, the three of us were inseparable. Rachel pulled back and shot Derek a teasing grin. "Have you been keeping Nora locked in a tower, Derek? It’s been years since you let her come visit me." Derek, ever the master of playing the devoted, loving husband in public, smoothly wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his side. "Hey, it’s a long flight. You know I just hate seeing my wife exhausted from traveling." Rachel’s eyes darted between Derek’s grip on me and my stiff posture. Her gaze was incredibly complex before she settled on a knowing smile. "Still the ridiculously doting husband, I see." She bent down and unzipped the two massive duffel bags they had brought. She pulled out four heavy, extreme-weather down coats. Derek’s expression soured. "I don’t need that. It’s really not that cold out here." "Don’t be an ass, Derek. I already bought them. Just humor me," Rachel said, tossing the largest coat straight at his chest. Back in college, Derek had harbored a massive crush on Rachel. She was the girl who existed on an untouchable pedestal. But she had a serious boyfriend at the time, so he settled for me. I was young, foolish, and easily blinded by his practiced charm. Seeing his college phantom smiling at him now, Derek’s defenses melted. He swallowed his pride and slipped the coat on. The kids and I put on our parkas, the heavy material falling past our knees, instantly shielding us from the ambient chill of the airport. I looked over just as Derek was struggling to push his arms through the sleeves. The coat was painfully tight across his shoulders and stomach. Rachel giggled. "Oh, man. Derek, you’ve filled out a bit over the years. I ordered your size based on your frat boy days." Humiliated, Derek ripped the coat off and threw it directly at my head. "I’m sweating in this thing anyway. I don’t want it. Put Rachel’s charity away." The heavy fabric hit me in the face, messing up my hair. The static electricity made the strands stick up wildly. Rachel took a step forward, her hand reaching out to help me, but I caught her eye and gave a micro-shake of my head. Don't. Chase, Rachel’s boyfriend, was a golden retriever of a guy—tall, athletic, and eight years her junior. Without missing a beat, he stepped in and smoothly took the luggage from my hands. Derek didn't stop him, but I could feel his dark, venomous gaze locked onto the back of my neck. I kept my head down, gripped my kids' hands, and hurried toward the automatic doors. The second we cleared the sliding glass and stepped out into the brutal Alaskan night, I saw Derek physically stall. His entire body locked up. The minus-twenty-degree air hit him like a physical blow to the chest. Every step he took toward the parking garage looked agonizing. But his pride was a sickness. Even if he were currently pissing blood from the cold, he would never admit he was wrong. Thankfully, the heated SUV was parked close. He was the first one to dive into the backseat. 3 Rachel drove us out to her gorgeous A-frame cabin in the hills. The second we walked through the door, Chase practically dragged Derek out onto the back deck for a beer and a smoke, finally giving Rachel and me a moment alone. As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut behind us, Rachel unleashed a furious, whispered tirade, cursing Derek’s entire bloodline. "Nora, why the hell did you go through this insane runaround? Having me order the coats, wiring me the money in secret—what is going on?" The parkas Rachel had brought to the airport were paid for by me. "He wouldn't let me buy them. He said it was a waste of money. If a package from REI showed up at the house, he would have beaten the hell out of me." Rachel stared at me, horrified. "Nora, why haven't you left him?" "I tried. The first time he hit me, I said the word 'divorce.' He locked the deadbolt, took my phone, and beat me on and off for three days. He didn't stop until I swore on my mother's life I would never leave him." Derek and I had married right out of college. Miles came shortly after. I never entered the workforce; I stayed home to raise the baby. In the beginning, Derek played the part of the perfect provider. But a month postpartum, I accidentally dropped a ceramic dinner plate. It shattered. He grabbed a jagged shard from the floor and used it to teach me a lesson. My body was still mapped with the pale, silver scars from that night. Rachel looked at my trembling hands, her own body shaking with rage. "This is attempted murder, Nora. We are going to the police. Tonight." I offered her a hollow, deadened smile. "Every lifeline you can think of, Rachel? I’ve already grabbed it. And they all snap. No one is coming to save me." Over the years, I had quietly reached out to family members, to our pastor, to old friends. Try to work it out. He's stressed at work. Think of the kids. A broken home is worse. Every marriage has rough patches. Don't do anything rash. I had consulted a divorce attorney. I even installed a hidden nanny cam in the living room. But Derek wasn't afraid. He laughed in my face. He told me that even if I filed, he would drag the custody battle out for a decade, bankrupt me, and make sure I only ever saw my kids on supervised weekend visits. And he wasn't bluffing. The legal system in Florida requires money and stamina—two things I didn't have. The last time I fought back, six months ago, he put me in the ER with a fractured rib. As I lay in the hospital bed, he leaned over and whispered that if I ever tried to take the kids away, he would drive up to Boca Raton and kill my parents. I never mentioned divorce again. Shortly after the ER visit, Sophie was born. I leaned fully into the role of the broken, submissive wife. I stopped arguing. I stopped flinching. Derek loved the new dynamic. He felt like a king. Meanwhile, I quietly took on freelance digital illustration work under a pseudonym. Over the past year, I had secretly squirrelled away about four thousand dollars a month. It was enough to start over. I had already convinced my parents to extend their snowbird stay in Florida indefinitely, keeping them safe and out of state. All the pieces were on the board. I was just one move away from freedom. If Derek wouldn't give me a divorce, then he would just have to make me a widow. 4 Later that night, after getting the kids settled in the guest room, I slid into bed. The door opened, and Derek climbed under the duvet, bringing a cloud of stale tobacco smoke and radiating a terrifying, icy chill. He had been out on the deck with Chase. He was practically vibrating from the cold. I kept my eyes shut, regulating my breathing to feign sleep. A blue glow illuminated his side of the bed. He was on his phone. Through the sliver of my half-open eyelids, I watched him open iMessage. He was texting a contact saved as Roxy. [Roxy]: Derek, baby, are you in Alaska yet? I’m literally dying to see you. [NoLimits]: Daddy’s dying to see his little wildcat, too. Did you get the lingerie I shipped to the hotel? I rubbed my eyes, pretending to wake up groggy, and shifted toward him. "Honey? Why are you still awake?" Derek aggressively flipped the phone face down on the mattress and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Mind your own goddamn business!" he hissed, storming out into the hallway. The second the door clicked shut, I reached beneath my pillow and pulled out a cheap prepaid Android phone. On the screen, notifications were piling up. Yes. I was Roxy. My brilliant, arrogant husband had no idea that the 22-year-old college girl he’d been sexting for the last three months was a complete fiction engineered by his wife. [NoLimits]: I need to see you in that red silk tonight. What’s your room number? I’ll take an Uber right now. [Roxy]: Ugh, you’re so pushy. I don’t think I want to see you tonight after all. [NoLimits]: Are you fucking kidding me? I flew all the way out to this frozen wasteland just to see you. Don’t play games with me. [Roxy]: I’m tired. Going to sleep. Night. I sent the last text, powered off the burner phone, shoved it deep into the lining of my suitcase, and pulled the covers up to my chin. A few minutes later, the bedroom door flew open. Derek slammed it shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He flipped the overhead light on. I bolted upright, clutching the blankets, playing the part of the startled wife perfectly. "Derek? What’s wrong?" His eyes were bloodshot. His brow was furrowed so deeply it looked like one solid, furious line across his forehead. He lunged across the bed, burying his hand into the roots of my hair, and violently yanked me off the mattress. I hit the hardwood floor hard. My scalp burned. I felt the sharp sting of hair ripping from the follicles. Roxy had rejected him, so he needed an outlet for his bruised ego. I was his favorite punching bag. He raised his fist, his knuckles white. Suddenly, I started thrashing wildly. "Do it!" I hissed, my voice a frantic, urgent whisper. "Hit me! Rachel and Chase are right across the hall. If you hit me, I’m going to scream, and your perfect little act will be over!" It was the first time in years I had actively defied him. Derek froze, his fist suspended in the air. He gripped my jaw tightly, his fingers digging into my cheeks, his eyes narrowing into cold, dead slits. "You just wait," he breathed, his voice dripping with venom. "Wait until we get home. I am going to end you." But he let me go. Out in the real world, he was utterly obsessed with his image as a successful, respectable family man. He wouldn’t dare leave a mark while there were witnesses in the house.