Shattered Vows: Rise Of The Neglected Wife

It was past eleven at night. The biting wind of a New York winter whipped through the streets as Chloe Lancaster walked out of the private hospital's sliding glass doors. Snowflakes, thick and heavy, were just beginning to fall, swirling in the halo of the streetlamps.

She had just undergone a severe gastric resection surgery to repair a perforated ulcer-a physical manifestation of the stress that had been eating her alive for six years. Five hours in the operating room. Five hours of being cut open and stitched back together. And yet, not a single person had come to check on her.

She pulled her white wool coat tighter around her shivering frame, her hand instinctively pressing against her abdomen where the fresh incisions burned with a dull, throbbing ache.

Across the street, in the sprawling pedestrian plaza, a few straggling groups of young women were gathered, pointing excitedly at the massive digital billboard that dominated the side of a skyscraper. Despite the cold, they were cheering.

Chloe's feet stopped moving. She stood on the snow-dusted pavement and looked up.

On the towering screen, a live feed from a lavish gala was playing. There, standing in the center of a glittering ballroom, was the heir to the Briggs empire, her husband, Bryon Briggs. He was looking down with an expression of uncharacteristic warmth, his hand resting over the hand of a beautiful woman as they jointly cut into a towering, six-tier cake.

The woman was Isabella Waller, Chloe's sister, and a celebrated cello soloist.

Beside them, jumping with excitement, was Chloe and Bryon's five-year-old daughter, Daisy. The little girl reached up, handing a brightly colored painting to Isabella. Even without audio, the bold, crayon letters at the top of the canvas were legible: *Sweet Home*.

The camera zoomed in, capturing the audio of the moment. "Congratulations on a perfect concert, Auntie Izzy! We love you!" Daisy's sweet, childish voice echoed through the plaza's speakers.

Isabella smiled, a radiant, flawless curve of her lips. She looked like a princess holding court. And Bryon, a man known in the corporate world for his ruthless aggression and arrogant demeanor, was looking at his "first love" with a depth of affection that practically bled through the pixels of the screen.

"Wow, look at them. They literally look like the perfect family. The genetics there are insane," one of the girls in the plaza squealed, clutching her friend's arm.

"I am so jealous of Isabella," another chimed in. "She's gorgeous, she's a musical genius, and she has this billionaire and his cute kid completely obsessed with her. She really won at life."

Listening to the gushing admiration of the strangers, Chloe felt as if a jagged piece of ice had been driven straight through her chest. The freezing snow was blowing fiercely, but it was nothing compared to the hollow, drafty void opening up inside her.

If they are the perfect family of three, then what the hell am I?

Chloe remembered that painting. Daisy had spent half a month holed up in her playroom, fiercely guarding her work. She had told Chloe it was a "top-secret surprise for someone special." Chloe, in her foolish, desperate naivety, had assumed it was for her upcoming birthday.

But the "someone special" was someone else entirely.

It made sense. No one cared that she had been rushed to the hospital with a perforated stomach. Why would anyone remember her birthday?

Chloe stood frozen in front of the giant screen, watching that laughing, joyous scene loop on the evening news broadcast. She stood there for a long, long time, until her white coat blended seamlessly with the falling snow, before she finally forced her numb legs to move.

It was past midnight when she finally returned to the Briggs mansion.

The sprawling estate was pitch black, silent as a tomb.

She collapsed onto the living room sofa, too exhausted and in too much pain to climb the stairs. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she opened her messages with Bryon.

"I want a divorce."

She hit send. The message sat there. Delivered. Ignored.

Bryon had always been like this. He treated her existence as a minor inconvenience, something to be looked past.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications. It wasn't Bryon. It was the "Waller Family" group chat.

Bryon had just uploaded a dozen high-resolution photos and videos of Isabella's cello concert and the after-party. The chat immediately exploded with activity.

Mother: "My daughter is an absolute angel! So beautiful!"

Brother Cameron: "Not just beautiful, but her technique on the cello is unmatched. She's too perfect."

Father: "Isabella is the pride of the Waller family. Whoever marries our Izzy is going to be the luckiest man alive."

Then, a voice note from Daisy: "I wish Auntie Izzy could be my mommy!"

Isabella replied with a string of heart emojis: "Thank you to my amazing family. I love you all so much."

Chloe stared at the screen, her vision blurring. Right above this sickening display of mutual adoration was the message she had sent five hours ago.

"My stomach is killing me. I think something ruptured. Can someone please take me to the hospital?"

They had all seen it. They were all active on their phones. They just didn't care.

Even though Isabella had been living abroad for the last six years, returning only recently, she was still the undisputed princess of the family. Chloe, who had stayed behind, who had cooked, cleaned, and cared for every single one of them, was nothing more than an outsider they tolerated.

She didn't know how long she lay curled up on the sofa, the physical pain in her gut warring with the agony in her heart.

Eventually, the sound of the front door unlocking broke the silence.

"Daddy, I want to sleep in Auntie Izzy's bed tonight. Are you going to sleep with us too?" Daisy's voice drifted into the dark foyer.

"Don't be silly, Daisy. Daddy can't sleep in your aunt's bed," Bryon's deep, gravelly voice replied, though it lacked its usual sharp edge.

"But you never sleep with Mommy!" Daisy protested innocently.

"Oh my god, Bryon, are you actually considering it? I'm just kidding!" Isabella's bright, flirtatious laughter rang out, sharp and grating in the quiet house.

Bryon didn't deny it. He didn't correct her.

Chloe's breath hitched. Every inhale felt like swallowing crushed glass.

"Mommy texted that she was having surgery, but I know she's lying," Daisy grumbled, her little footsteps stomping on the hardwood. "She just wants attention so we won't play with Auntie Izzy. Mommy is so mean and jealous."

The lights flicked on, blindingly bright. Daisy stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Chloe, who was lying on the sofa just a few feet away.