The Divorce That Saved Him

The Divorce That Saved Him

Gavin

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The launch party for my wife' s tech startup was a whirlwind, but then the smoke started. A rigged collapsed, a fire erupted. I saw Jennifer, my wife of twelve years, instinctively shield her prized intern, Ethan, and drag him to safety, abandoning me as the world went dark. I woke up a month later in the ICU, my lungs ravaged. The first thing I saw was a message from Jennifer. My heart fluttered with foolish hope. "Ethan is recovering at home," it read, "he's craving that clam chowder you make. Drop some off for him." Not a single "How are you?" or "I'm glad you're alive." Just a demand. A chore. For him. Something inside me, twelve years of devotion, finally snapped. I canceled our expensive IVF appointment and booked a one-way trip to Iceland. Jennifer called, not concerned for my health, but enraged about the money and the IVF. She called me jobless, worthless, and praised Ethan as "brilliant" and "forward-thinking." Then I found the single rose she sent me, a stark contrast to the 999 roses Ethan flaunted on Instagram. Hours later, I returned home from the hospital to changed locks and a used condom in our bedroom trash. The man she wanted, the one who would beg, was gone. My love had turned to ash. I calmly called a divorce lawyer. This wasn't just about betrayal; it was about finally choosing myself.

Introduction

The launch party for my wife' s tech startup was a whirlwind, but then the smoke started. A rigged collapsed, a fire erupted.

I saw Jennifer, my wife of twelve years, instinctively shield her prized intern, Ethan, and drag him to safety, abandoning me as the world went dark.

I woke up a month later in the ICU, my lungs ravaged.

The first thing I saw was a message from Jennifer.

My heart fluttered with foolish hope. "Ethan is recovering at home," it read, "he's craving that clam chowder you make. Drop some off for him."

Not a single "How are you?" or "I'm glad you're alive." Just a demand. A chore.

For him.

Something inside me, twelve years of devotion, finally snapped. I canceled our expensive IVF appointment and booked a one-way trip to Iceland.

Jennifer called, not concerned for my health, but enraged about the money and the IVF.

She called me jobless, worthless, and praised Ethan as "brilliant" and "forward-thinking."

Then I found the single rose she sent me, a stark contrast to the 999 roses Ethan flaunted on Instagram.

Hours later, I returned home from the hospital to changed locks and a used condom in our bedroom trash.

The man she wanted, the one who would beg, was gone.

My love had turned to ash.

I calmly called a divorce lawyer. This wasn't just about betrayal; it was about finally choosing myself.

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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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