The Divorce That Set Her Free

The Divorce That Set Her Free

Gavin

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The divorce papers lay on our dining table, stark white against the mahogany. My husband, Ethan, placed them there, his voice smooth, asking for three days. Just three days, he said, for his college ex-girlfriend, Chloe. Chloe, who he swore was a ghost from his past, was now supposedly dying of a rare, aggressive cancer. Her last wish? To marry him. And for those three days, he needed me to "not remember." He pointed to a sterile vial in his hand – Compound M-7, my creation, a memory drug I' d developed. He wanted me, his wife, Dr. Evelyn Hayes, a neuroscientist, to erase myself so he could play husband to another woman. He called it "temporary amnesia," believing there was an antidote. The audacity of his request, born from convenience and a shocking lack of loyalty, shattered everything I thought we had. He didn't know M-7 was irreversible. My secret. My burden. This wasn' t just about a weekend; it was his willingness to sacrifice me, to wipe me from his life for a dying wish he' d barely questioned. How could he ask this of me? But now, seeing his betrayal so clearly, I saw M-7 not as a tool for his deceit, but as my escape. I nodded slowly, my voice steady, whispering, "Temporary." A lie. The biggest I' d ever told him. Because he thought he was borrowing my memory, he was actually handing me my true, permanent freedom.

Introduction

The divorce papers lay on our dining table, stark white against the mahogany.

My husband, Ethan, placed them there, his voice smooth, asking for three days.

Just three days, he said, for his college ex-girlfriend, Chloe.

Chloe, who he swore was a ghost from his past, was now supposedly dying of a rare, aggressive cancer.

Her last wish? To marry him.

And for those three days, he needed me to "not remember."

He pointed to a sterile vial in his hand – Compound M-7, my creation, a memory drug I' d developed.

He wanted me, his wife, Dr. Evelyn Hayes, a neuroscientist, to erase myself so he could play husband to another woman.

He called it "temporary amnesia," believing there was an antidote.

The audacity of his request, born from convenience and a shocking lack of loyalty, shattered everything I thought we had.

He didn't know M-7 was irreversible.

My secret. My burden.

This wasn' t just about a weekend; it was his willingness to sacrifice me, to wipe me from his life for a dying wish he' d barely questioned.

How could he ask this of me?

But now, seeing his betrayal so clearly, I saw M-7 not as a tool for his deceit, but as my escape.

I nodded slowly, my voice steady, whispering, "Temporary."

A lie.

The biggest I' d ever told him.

Because he thought he was borrowing my memory, he was actually handing me my true, permanent freedom.

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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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