Al sat back in the hard wooden chair, his legs stretched out in front of him as he lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily in the sterile hospital room. His eyes flickered over to the table where his wife lay unconscious, strapped in with a white sheet draped over her slender form. A couple of nurses scurried around, whispering to each other, but the real action was yet to begin. He’d been told this was necessary, that this procedure would fix her. He’d always known there was something wrong with her—she’d become too... difficult, too independent. Always questioning him, always needing things he didn’t have time for. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t handle her place.

He glanced at the doctor, who was already prepping the tools. A clean, efficient set of instruments lined the table, but Al wasn’t looking at those. No, his eyes were on his wife. She’d been so... difficult lately, always talking about “rights” and “self-empowerment” when what she really needed was a good dose of discipline. This would put her in her place.

“Don’t worry, Al” the doctor said, his voice neutral as he checked the monitor. “We’re just removing the parts of her mind that don’t serve her anymore. You’ll have your happy wife again.”

Al nodded, blowing out another stream of smoke. He’d heard all the stories—other men had their wives ‘fixed’ like this. No more temper tantrums, no more nagging. Just a quiet, obedient woman to take care of the house, cook dinner, and smile sweetly when he came home from work.

"Yeah" he muttered, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Guess I won't have to deal with her being all... emotional anymore."

The doctor gave him a tight smile, and then it was time. The lobotomy would start. Al just sat there, watching as the procedure began, the coldness of it all strangely soothing. When this was done, his wife would finally be the wife he’d always wanted—a perfect little housewife.