Her Regret, My Horizon

Her Regret, My Horizon

Gavin

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It was our seventh wedding anniversary. Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him. My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian. "Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek. But this year was different. Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht. The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery. I wasn't her husband. I was her conveniently understanding placeholder. A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom. Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line. Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin. Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her. My new life began the second her Uber pulled away.

Introduction

It was our seventh wedding anniversary.

Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him.

My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian.

"Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek.

But this year was different.

Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht.

The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery.

I wasn't her husband.

I was her conveniently understanding placeholder.

A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom.

Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line.

Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin.

Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her.

My new life began the second her Uber pulled away.

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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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