Regretful Man, Redeemed Woman

Regretful Man, Redeemed Woman

Gavin

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I put the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, a soft thud in the quiet study. Ethan didn't even look up from his laptop. "Divorce papers," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the thousand times I' d practiced this moment. He signed them without a glance, dismissing a decade of my love, two years of marriage, with a casual flick of a pen. "I' m going to be busy with Isabella for the next few days," he added, attention already back on his screen. "Don' t call me unless the house is on fire." His indifference was a physical blow, a chilling premonition of the betrayal to come. Just three weeks ago, I had held a positive pregnancy test, naive hope swelling in my heart that our baby would finally make him see me, make our house a home. Instead, I watched him propose to Isabella, his college sweetheart, on the evening news, a public spectacle of his true affections. The shock sent me to the floor, pain tearing through me, and I woke up in a hospital bed-alone-the doctor' s grim words confirming I had lost our child. He never even knew it existed. Now, I found myself packing a single suitcase, leaving behind everything, even the life I had so desperately tried to build. My best friend, Chloe, asked, "He didn' t even ask why?" "No," I whispered, my hand instinctively going to my flat stomach, an ache, a constant, dull reminder. I felt empty, completely empty, yet a strange sense of calm settled over me. Because as I looked at the signed papers, I knew this wasn't just a divorce. It was a declaration of independence.

Introduction

I put the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, a soft thud in the quiet study.

Ethan didn't even look up from his laptop.

"Divorce papers," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the thousand times I' d practiced this moment.

He signed them without a glance, dismissing a decade of my love, two years of marriage, with a casual flick of a pen.

"I' m going to be busy with Isabella for the next few days," he added, attention already back on his screen. "Don' t call me unless the house is on fire."

His indifference was a physical blow, a chilling premonition of the betrayal to come.

Just three weeks ago, I had held a positive pregnancy test, naive hope swelling in my heart that our baby would finally make him see me, make our house a home.

Instead, I watched him propose to Isabella, his college sweetheart, on the evening news, a public spectacle of his true affections.

The shock sent me to the floor, pain tearing through me, and I woke up in a hospital bed-alone-the doctor' s grim words confirming I had lost our child.

He never even knew it existed.

Now, I found myself packing a single suitcase, leaving behind everything, even the life I had so desperately tried to build.

My best friend, Chloe, asked, "He didn' t even ask why?"

"No," I whispered, my hand instinctively going to my flat stomach, an ache, a constant, dull reminder.

I felt empty, completely empty, yet a strange sense of calm settled over me.

Because as I looked at the signed papers, I knew this wasn't just a divorce.

It was a declaration of independence.

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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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