Heart's Sorrow Unboxed

Heart's Sorrow Unboxed

Gavin

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The world slammed back into me in a dizzying rush. One moment, oblivion. The next, I was back in a familiar bed, the sun warm, the scent of roses faint. My heart seized at the June 12th calendar-the day it all began to unravel in my first life, the day before Richard announced he was funneling our savings into his first love' s art gallery. Then he walked in, handsome and dismissive, still my husband, yet a stranger. The sight of him brought nothing but a hollow echo. I stood by the fireplace, a silent observer as Vivian Hayes, ethereal and artfully fragile, entered the room, captivating Richard with a tenderness he' d never shown me. Later, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place: a beautifully wrapped gift, a silver hairpin "Heart' s Sorrow," a sketch Vivian had made, fumbled into my hands by a clearly distracted Richard. My husband had handed me a gift meant for his artistic mistress, the one he had always loved more. The bitter taste of betrayal choked me. This time, I closed the box and pushed it back across the table. "I think you' ve made a mistake," I said, my voice clear as a bell, shattering the forced cheer of the family dinner. The silence was deafening, Margaret' s smile frozen, Richard' s jaw tight, Vivian' s face a mask of shock. I placed my napkin on the table, the desire for divorce no longer a desperate plea, but a cold, final business decision. "If you'll excuse me," I said, walking away from the stunned table, leaving behind the wreckage of a life I was no longer willing to live. I was alive, I was back, and this time, I was going to rewrite my own story.

Introduction

The world slammed back into me in a dizzying rush. One moment, oblivion. The next, I was back in a familiar bed, the sun warm, the scent of roses faint.

My heart seized at the June 12th calendar-the day it all began to unravel in my first life, the day before Richard announced he was funneling our savings into his first love' s art gallery.

Then he walked in, handsome and dismissive, still my husband, yet a stranger. The sight of him brought nothing but a hollow echo.

I stood by the fireplace, a silent observer as Vivian Hayes, ethereal and artfully fragile, entered the room, captivating Richard with a tenderness he' d never shown me.

Later, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place: a beautifully wrapped gift, a silver hairpin "Heart' s Sorrow," a sketch Vivian had made, fumbled into my hands by a clearly distracted Richard.

My husband had handed me a gift meant for his artistic mistress, the one he had always loved more. The bitter taste of betrayal choked me.

This time, I closed the box and pushed it back across the table. "I think you' ve made a mistake," I said, my voice clear as a bell, shattering the forced cheer of the family dinner.

The silence was deafening, Margaret' s smile frozen, Richard' s jaw tight, Vivian' s face a mask of shock.

I placed my napkin on the table, the desire for divorce no longer a desperate plea, but a cold, final business decision.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, walking away from the stunned table, leaving behind the wreckage of a life I was no longer willing to live.

I was alive, I was back, and this time, I was going to rewrite my own story.

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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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