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My name is Madelaine Petch. I am twenty-seven years old & I have brown-black hair. I went to a high school in New York, where I lived most of my childhood, and graduated as valedictorian. Soon after, I attended Yale and graduated four years later with a Psychology degree. Did I use my degree at all after that? No.

During the second half of my last year at Yale, I married a man whom I met next to a crime scene. He had coffee-coloured hair, ocean eyes and quite a muscular body. He preferred blondes, though, so I stupidly dyed my hair for him and we married outside beside the hills and mountains.

At twenty-four, I made vows to sell myself to a man who cheated on, abused and wrecked me. Yes, he was intelligent. Yes, he graduated from Princeton. And yes, he was apart of Times's "Top 200 Richest Men in America". But he wasn't worth shit. He wasted my time, my efforts, and most aspects of my life. And when he called me ugly one night, a permanent line was drawn and I thought I killed him.

Sure, I was melodramatic to kill him for calling me unattractive, but he deserved every bit of the pain I served him that one night.

I honestly thought I was free after that; until the doctors took ahold of him and found out he was still alive.

Then, he twisted, played and tortured me in an empty room where I was seen as a monster for "murdering" him. What he didn't know was that in a week's time, he was going to die in my bloody hands.

And guess what? He did.

Now, I am free. Now, I am in a new country and living my best life off of my dead husband's money. Now, I am forever a hero.

My name is Madelaine Petch.

And this is the end of my story.