The Wife Who Walked Away

The Wife Who Walked Away

Gavin

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For thirty years, I lovingly maintained our family home, a legacy from my parents. Now, in my late fifties, a promise resonated: the Italy trip my husband, David, made me under wedding fireworks. When I finally brought up that cherished dream, he scoffed, "Too old for that." Days later, on his laptop, I saw it: five plane tickets to Rome and Florence. For David, our son Mike, his wife Jessica, our grandson Leo. And my sister, Emily. Not for me. My dream trip, his very promise, was given to everyone else-especially Emily, whom David openly admired. This wasn't an oversight; it was a deliberate, casual cruelty. I drove them to the airport, listening to their excited chatter. At the curb, David publicly humiliated me over a "lost" passport, grabbing my arm. Even after it was found, he didn't apologize. They just rushed to the gate, leaving me alone. No one looked back. The humiliation burned, hotter than anything before. My family, my entire life, simply walked away, discarding me. Thirty years of giving, of being taken for granted, culminated in this brutal moment. This was my reward. I watched them disappear, then turned and walked out of the airport for good. I drove straight to a real estate agent, listing the house-my house, inherited and solely in my name. Then, I booked my own one-way ticket: Paris, France. My flight was in three days, the same day they were due in Rome. My old life was over.

Introduction

For thirty years, I lovingly maintained our family home, a legacy from my parents.

Now, in my late fifties, a promise resonated: the Italy trip my husband, David, made me under wedding fireworks.

When I finally brought up that cherished dream, he scoffed, "Too old for that."

Days later, on his laptop, I saw it: five plane tickets to Rome and Florence.

For David, our son Mike, his wife Jessica, our grandson Leo.

And my sister, Emily.

Not for me.

My dream trip, his very promise, was given to everyone else-especially Emily, whom David openly admired.

This wasn't an oversight; it was a deliberate, casual cruelty.

I drove them to the airport, listening to their excited chatter.

At the curb, David publicly humiliated me over a "lost" passport, grabbing my arm.

Even after it was found, he didn't apologize.

They just rushed to the gate, leaving me alone.

No one looked back.

The humiliation burned, hotter than anything before.

My family, my entire life, simply walked away, discarding me.

Thirty years of giving, of being taken for granted, culminated in this brutal moment.

This was my reward.

I watched them disappear, then turned and walked out of the airport for good.

I drove straight to a real estate agent, listing the house-my house, inherited and solely in my name.

Then, I booked my own one-way ticket: Paris, France.

My flight was in three days, the same day they were due in Rome.

My old life was over.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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