Love's Bitter Truth

Love's Bitter Truth

Gavin

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For ten years, I was the picture of a devoted husband, building a life with Chloe in our comfortable Bellevue home. My life felt stable, successful, exactly what her image-conscious parents approved of for their daughter. Then came the news: Leo, Chloe' s tumultuous musician ex, had died. A drug overdose, labeled suicide. Days later, my wife, my Chloe, drove her car straight off the Deception Pass Bridge. Grief-stricken, clearing out her laptop, I stumbled upon a password-protected blog. "Leo1998." Inside, ten years of her raw thoughts: "I married Ethan today... They just gave me a life sentence with his shadow." Another entry: "I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming... I felt so disgusted afterward I scrubbed my skin raw." My heart, already broken, shattered into a million pieces. The woman I adored had spent a decade despising my every touch, every act of love, pretending I was another man. My entire existence was a lie. The words burned through me: disgust, resentment, pity. My world collapsed beneath the weight of her betrayal. How could my decade of unwavering dedication, my honest love, have been nothing more than a painful charade for her? The sheer, pointless waste of it all. Then, darkness. But instead of an ending, I jolted awake to the smell of stale coffee, in my old college dorm. My phone buzzed: a text from Chloe. The date: September 15, 2014. Ten years in the past. The day of our first official date. This time, I knew the cost of playing her fool. This time, I would write my own story.

Introduction

For ten years, I was the picture of a devoted husband, building a life with Chloe in our comfortable Bellevue home.

My life felt stable, successful, exactly what her image-conscious parents approved of for their daughter.

Then came the news: Leo, Chloe' s tumultuous musician ex, had died.

A drug overdose, labeled suicide.

Days later, my wife, my Chloe, drove her car straight off the Deception Pass Bridge.

Grief-stricken, clearing out her laptop, I stumbled upon a password-protected blog.

"Leo1998."

Inside, ten years of her raw thoughts: "I married Ethan today... They just gave me a life sentence with his shadow."

Another entry: "I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming... I felt so disgusted afterward I scrubbed my skin raw."

My heart, already broken, shattered into a million pieces.

The woman I adored had spent a decade despising my every touch, every act of love, pretending I was another man.

My entire existence was a lie.

The words burned through me: disgust, resentment, pity.

My world collapsed beneath the weight of her betrayal.

How could my decade of unwavering dedication, my honest love, have been nothing more than a painful charade for her?

The sheer, pointless waste of it all.

Then, darkness.

But instead of an ending, I jolted awake to the smell of stale coffee, in my old college dorm.

My phone buzzed: a text from Chloe.

The date: September 15, 2014.

Ten years in the past.

The day of our first official date.

This time, I knew the cost of playing her fool.

This time, I would write my own story.

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