Thanksgiving of Lies

Thanksgiving of Lies

Gavin

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Thanksgiving at our Palo Alto mansion always felt like a picture-perfect scene. My five-year-old son, Leo, innocently reached for a cookie offered by Chloe, my husband Ethan' s glowing, pregnant sister-in-law. Then, horrifyingly, Leo started gasping for air, his small face turning a terrifying shade of blue. He was deathly allergic to peanuts, and Chloe' s feigned shock, "Oh my god, I had no idea!" was chilling. Ethan, my powerful tech mogul husband, immediately turned his furious gaze on me. "Sarah, how could you be so careless? You know about his allergy!" he roared, for all our wealthy guests to hear. At the hospital, while Leo fought for his life, Ethan comforted a tearful Chloe outside. He sneered at me, "Amelia would have been a better mother," then forced me to endure an invasive stem cell donation for Chloe' s high-risk pregnancy. I woke up, groggy and sore, just in time to hear the doctor confirm I' d likely never conceive again, followed by Ethan' s chilling response: "Good. She doesn' t deserve more children." "Good." That word ignited a cold, sharp fury in my veins, extinguishing any remaining hope or loyalty. Was I merely a disposable placeholder in this gilded cage, forced to sacrifice my body for the very people who had deliberately harmed my son? The injustice burned hotter than any physical wound. They thought I was broken, that I' d crawl back. They were wrong. My wedding ring felt like a brand, not a bond, as I slipped it off and handed Ethan the divorce papers. My escape, meticulously planned, had just begun, and the world was about to see what happens when a broken woman rebuilds herself, stronger and utterly ruthless.

Introduction

Thanksgiving at our Palo Alto mansion always felt like a picture-perfect scene.

My five-year-old son, Leo, innocently reached for a cookie offered by Chloe, my husband Ethan' s glowing, pregnant sister-in-law.

Then, horrifyingly, Leo started gasping for air, his small face turning a terrifying shade of blue.

He was deathly allergic to peanuts, and Chloe' s feigned shock, "Oh my god, I had no idea!" was chilling.

Ethan, my powerful tech mogul husband, immediately turned his furious gaze on me.

"Sarah, how could you be so careless? You know about his allergy!" he roared, for all our wealthy guests to hear.

At the hospital, while Leo fought for his life, Ethan comforted a tearful Chloe outside.

He sneered at me, "Amelia would have been a better mother," then forced me to endure an invasive stem cell donation for Chloe' s high-risk pregnancy.

I woke up, groggy and sore, just in time to hear the doctor confirm I' d likely never conceive again, followed by Ethan' s chilling response: "Good. She doesn' t deserve more children."

"Good." That word ignited a cold, sharp fury in my veins, extinguishing any remaining hope or loyalty.

Was I merely a disposable placeholder in this gilded cage, forced to sacrifice my body for the very people who had deliberately harmed my son?

The injustice burned hotter than any physical wound.

They thought I was broken, that I' d crawl back.

They were wrong.

My wedding ring felt like a brand, not a bond, as I slipped it off and handed Ethan the divorce papers.

My escape, meticulously planned, had just begun, and the world was about to see what happens when a broken woman rebuilds herself, stronger and utterly ruthless.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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