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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"Lucien, let's get a divorce," I said in a peremptory tone that was long overdue, the most decisive farewell to this absurd marriage. We had been married for exactly three years-three years that, for me, were filled with nothing but endless loneliness and torment. For three years, the husband who should have stood by my side through every storm, Lucien Sullivan, had completely disappeared from my life as if he had never existed. He vanished without a trace, leaving me alone to endure this empty, desolate marriage. Today, I finally received his message: "I'm back. Come pick me up at the airport." When I read his words, my heart leapt with joy, and I raced to the airport, thinking that he finally understood my love and was coming back to me. But his cruelty was far worse than I could have ever imagined-he was accompanied by a pregnant woman, and that woman was Carla, my closest and most trusted friend. In that moment, all of my previous excitement, all my hope, and all of our shared laughter and tears turned into the sharpest of daggers, stabbing into my heart and leaving me gasping for air. Now, all I want is to escape from this place that has left me so broken-to lick my wounds in solitude. Even if these wounds will remain with me for the rest of my life, I refuse to have anything to do with him ever again. He should know that it was his own hand that trampled our love underfoot, that his coldness and betrayal created this irreparable situation. But when he heard those words, he desperately clung to this broken, crumbling marriage, unwilling to let it end-almost as though doing so could rewind time and return everything to how it used to be. "Aurora, come back. I regret everything!" Regret? Those simple words stirred no emotion in me-only endless sadness and fury. My heart let out a frantic, desperate scream: It's too late for any of this!

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