My marriage to David Miller was a picture of perfection, a dream life built on his charm and our shared happiness. Then came the call: my mother in an accident, and David, my husband, utterly unreachable. Hours bled into sterile dread in the hospital waiting room, a dread far deeper than my mother' s condition. An unknown text arrived, a single photo: David, arm around another woman, intimate, familiar. It was my aunt, Sophia Hayes, my mother' s estranged sister, her smile painfully like mine. My world, once perfect, splintered into a million icy shards under the humming hospital lights. He returned late, weaving slick lies about dead phones and urgent meetings, as if I were a child to be placated. But as he signed the papers I put before him, oblivious, a chilling sense of irony settled heavy in my gut. The man I thought I knew, the husband who murmured of naming our child "Sophia," was a stranger. I found his study, not an office, but a shrine to her, filled with desperate letters and a diary detailing his monstrous plan: I was just a "perfect-looking replacement" to bear "his Sophia." The love, the marriage, the baby-all a grotesque fabrication, designed to resurrect his lost obsession. The pain threatened to split me, but beneath it, a cold, hard resolve began to form, sharper than any grief. He thought he' d signed investment papers; he' d signed his divorce, and my consent to end the lie he' d so carefully constructed within me. I walked out that night, leaving his diary open, his delusion exposed, ready to erase every trace of his monstrous fantasy.
My marriage to David Miller was a picture of perfection, a dream life built on his charm and our shared happiness.
Then came the call: my mother in an accident, and David, my husband, utterly unreachable.
Hours bled into sterile dread in the hospital waiting room, a dread far deeper than my mother' s condition.
An unknown text arrived, a single photo: David, arm around another woman, intimate, familiar.
It was my aunt, Sophia Hayes, my mother' s estranged sister, her smile painfully like mine.
My world, once perfect, splintered into a million icy shards under the humming hospital lights.
He returned late, weaving slick lies about dead phones and urgent meetings, as if I were a child to be placated.
But as he signed the papers I put before him, oblivious, a chilling sense of irony settled heavy in my gut.
The man I thought I knew, the husband who murmured of naming our child "Sophia," was a stranger.
I found his study, not an office, but a shrine to her, filled with desperate letters and a diary detailing his monstrous plan: I was just a "perfect-looking replacement" to bear "his Sophia."
The love, the marriage, the baby-all a grotesque fabrication, designed to resurrect his lost obsession.
The pain threatened to split me, but beneath it, a cold, hard resolve began to form, sharper than any grief.
He thought he' d signed investment papers; he' d signed his divorce, and my consent to end the lie he' d so carefully constructed within me.
I walked out that night, leaving his diary open, his delusion exposed, ready to erase every trace of his monstrous fantasy.
Introduction
01/07/2025
Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
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Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
01/07/2025
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