My Wife, The Murderer

My Wife, The Murderer

Gavin

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My life was perfect, or so I thought. I was Ethan, a former architect, now a devoted stay-at-home dad, happily supporting my ambitious wife, Nicole, a rising city councilwoman, as she chased her mayoral dreams. Our beautiful daughter, Lily, was celebrating her sixth birthday at what was deceptively also a high-stakes political fundraiser in the dream home I designed. Then, the world shattered. A deafening explosion ripped through our home, and in an instant, the smoke and flames consumed everything, including my little Lily. Days later, I woke up in a hospital, horrifically burned, only to hear Nicole, my wife, coldly order the surgeon to perform a vasectomy during my skin graft surgery, not for medical reasons, but to ensure "my real son, Caleb" was the sole heir. As I lay there, paralyzed and helpless, slipping in and out of consciousness, I overheard the monstrous truth. Nicole hadn't just allowed Lily to die; she meticulously planned the "gas leak" explosion with a hitman. Our daughter, her own child, was a "political liability," an "obstacle" to Caleb's inheritance. Lily was merely a "tragic story" to secure her election. My physical pain was a dull ache compared to the pure, hellish agony ripping through my soul. How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, be such a cold-blooded monster? What kind of twisted ambition sacrifices an innocent life for power? But my shattered world was not the end; it was the beginning. In the silent, agonizing nights, the architect's mind that built structures began to deconstruct, to plan, to plot. I swallowed my screams, feigned unconsciousness, and made a silent vow: she had taken everything from me, and now, I would take everything from her. Justice for Lily, no matter the cost.

Introduction

My life was perfect, or so I thought. I was Ethan, a former architect, now a devoted stay-at-home dad, happily supporting my ambitious wife, Nicole, a rising city councilwoman, as she chased her mayoral dreams. Our beautiful daughter, Lily, was celebrating her sixth birthday at what was deceptively also a high-stakes political fundraiser in the dream home I designed.

Then, the world shattered. A deafening explosion ripped through our home, and in an instant, the smoke and flames consumed everything, including my little Lily. Days later, I woke up in a hospital, horrifically burned, only to hear Nicole, my wife, coldly order the surgeon to perform a vasectomy during my skin graft surgery, not for medical reasons, but to ensure "my real son, Caleb" was the sole heir.

As I lay there, paralyzed and helpless, slipping in and out of consciousness, I overheard the monstrous truth. Nicole hadn't just allowed Lily to die; she meticulously planned the "gas leak" explosion with a hitman. Our daughter, her own child, was a "political liability," an "obstacle" to Caleb's inheritance. Lily was merely a "tragic story" to secure her election.

My physical pain was a dull ache compared to the pure, hellish agony ripping through my soul. How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, be such a cold-blooded monster? What kind of twisted ambition sacrifices an innocent life for power?

But my shattered world was not the end; it was the beginning. In the silent, agonizing nights, the architect's mind that built structures began to deconstruct, to plan, to plot. I swallowed my screams, feigned unconsciousness, and made a silent vow: she had taken everything from me, and now, I would take everything from her. Justice for Lily, no matter the cost.

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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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