The Anniversary Betrayal

The Anniversary Betrayal

Gavin

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The music was thumping, a forced celebration for our third wedding anniversary, but all I wanted was to give Olivia the velvet box in my pocket. Instead, I pushed through the crowd to find her, radiant, but not looking at me – she was looking at Liam Hayes, her childhood best friend. Then, Liam dropped to one knee, holding a diamond ring, and asked my wife to marry him. My blood ran cold as her friends cheered, chanting, "Say yes!" and Olivia giggled, touching his face without a word of protest. When I finally confronted them, Liam mocked me, and Olivia dismissed it as "just a game." Before I could react, Liam feigned an ankle injury, and Olivia, with an ugly scowl I' d never seen before, pushed me away, shouting that I' d ruined her party. I stumbled, my feet tangled, and the world tilted. I woke up at the bottom of the stairs, my leg screaming, the house silent. My wife, on our anniversary, had left me there, bleeding and broken, to care for a man who faked an injury. At the hospital, Liam intercepted the paramedics' call, claiming I was drunk and Olivia was too busy caring for his "bad ankle." Then Olivia called, not to check on me, but to accuse me of pulling a "stunt" for attention, and demanding I apologize to Liam. The doctor' s grim prognosis-a tibia fractured in two places, a permanent limp-crushed me. But the real blow was realizing Olivia had been actively preventing a pregnancy for a year, all while pretending to dream of a family with me. How could I have been so blind? How could the woman who once called me her hero leave me to bleed? Lying in that sterile hospital bed, ignored and abandoned, a cold, unwavering certainty settled within me: it was over. I couldn't do this anymore. I would cut every tie, sever every connection, and rebuild my life, far away from the wreckage of our marriage.

Introduction

The music was thumping, a forced celebration for our third wedding anniversary, but all I wanted was to give Olivia the velvet box in my pocket.

Instead, I pushed through the crowd to find her, radiant, but not looking at me – she was looking at Liam Hayes, her childhood best friend. Then, Liam dropped to one knee, holding a diamond ring, and asked my wife to marry him.

My blood ran cold as her friends cheered, chanting, "Say yes!" and Olivia giggled, touching his face without a word of protest. When I finally confronted them, Liam mocked me, and Olivia dismissed it as "just a game."

Before I could react, Liam feigned an ankle injury, and Olivia, with an ugly scowl I' d never seen before, pushed me away, shouting that I' d ruined her party. I stumbled, my feet tangled, and the world tilted.

I woke up at the bottom of the stairs, my leg screaming, the house silent. My wife, on our anniversary, had left me there, bleeding and broken, to care for a man who faked an injury.

At the hospital, Liam intercepted the paramedics' call, claiming I was drunk and Olivia was too busy caring for his "bad ankle." Then Olivia called, not to check on me, but to accuse me of pulling a "stunt" for attention, and demanding I apologize to Liam.

The doctor' s grim prognosis-a tibia fractured in two places, a permanent limp-crushed me. But the real blow was realizing Olivia had been actively preventing a pregnancy for a year, all while pretending to dream of a family with me. How could I have been so blind? How could the woman who once called me her hero leave me to bleed?

Lying in that sterile hospital bed, ignored and abandoned, a cold, unwavering certainty settled within me: it was over. I couldn't do this anymore. I would cut every tie, sever every connection, and rebuild my life, far away from the wreckage of our marriage.

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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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