Not His Second Choice Anymore

Not His Second Choice Anymore

Gavin

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I woke up in 1982, my 22-year-old body buzzing with memories of a 72-year marriage to Mark Johnson. This was my second chance. Today was the day Mark proposed in our past life, and my heart beat with familiar hope, ready to relive our perfect love story. I found him at the town gathering, my heart leaping. But he wasn't looking for me. Instead, Mark went straight to Bree Thompson, his confident smile fixed on her. Then, loud enough for everyone, he asked her out. My treasured memory, my entire hope, shattered instantly. That perfect marriage, all those cherished moments, felt poisoned. He was reborn too, and he clearly wanted someone else. Public humiliation, malicious accusations, and finally, deliberately snapping my guitar string right before my talent show performance-his cruelty knew no bounds. My beautiful past was ruined. Was our entire 72-year marriage a lie? Was I just a convenient second choice? The rage and disbelief at this changed man consumed me. Why was he so intent on destroying me? Why did he hate the life we' d built? The confusion was a constant ache. But defiance sparked. I sang acapella, winning a demo deal. Enraged, Mark dropped his charade, spewing venom about how I'd held him back. "We're done!" I declared, finally seeing the selfish parasite he always was. This was my true second chance: to embrace my music, my freedom, and my own splendid future.

Introduction

I woke up in 1982, my 22-year-old body buzzing with memories of a 72-year marriage to Mark Johnson.

This was my second chance.

Today was the day Mark proposed in our past life, and my heart beat with familiar hope, ready to relive our perfect love story.

I found him at the town gathering, my heart leaping.

But he wasn't looking for me.

Instead, Mark went straight to Bree Thompson, his confident smile fixed on her.

Then, loud enough for everyone, he asked her out.

My treasured memory, my entire hope, shattered instantly.

That perfect marriage, all those cherished moments, felt poisoned.

He was reborn too, and he clearly wanted someone else.

Public humiliation, malicious accusations, and finally, deliberately snapping my guitar string right before my talent show performance-his cruelty knew no bounds.

My beautiful past was ruined.

Was our entire 72-year marriage a lie?

Was I just a convenient second choice?

The rage and disbelief at this changed man consumed me.

Why was he so intent on destroying me?

Why did he hate the life we' d built?

The confusion was a constant ache.

But defiance sparked.

I sang acapella, winning a demo deal.

Enraged, Mark dropped his charade, spewing venom about how I'd held him back.

"We're done!" I declared, finally seeing the selfish parasite he always was.

This was my true second chance: to embrace my music, my freedom, and my own splendid future.

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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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