When Love Became A Transaction

When Love Became A Transaction

Gavin

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The phone rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound cutting through the quiet of my office. It was Olivia, my wife. A smile touched my lips. Six months pregnant, a miracle after years of heartbreak. "Hey, honey. Everything okay? Did you pick out a color for the nursery yet? I' m still team blue." Then, silence. A heavy, dead-air kind of quiet. Her voice, when it came, was a ghost: "Ethan... can you come to the hospital?" My heart stopped. My mind raced through a thousand terrible possibilities, but none prepared me for the sight of her in the surgical waiting room, her face pale, her belly-our baby-gone. "I had an abortion, Ethan." Her words shattered my world. "He was bad luck," she said simply, as if explaining the weather. Then she pointed towards the ICU. "Liam is in here. He was in a car accident." Liam. Her college sweetheart. The ghost in our marriage. "The baby... he was too perfect. All our good luck went to him. I had to get rid of the bad luck. I had to save him." Her twisted logic was terrifying. I stumbled home to find my mother humming happily in the nursery, folding a tiny blue onesie. The room was a testament to a dream now destroyed. "She lost him," I managed to tell her, a desperate lie to shield her from the grotesque truth. But she sensed it. The pain of our son' s death, coupled with Olivia's betrayal, hit my mother hard. Her doctor called it "broken heart syndrome." Then came the call from Olivia's doctor. "It's highly unlikely Olivia will be able to conceive again. The damage is permanent." That night, I discovered our joint savings account, tens of thousands of dollars, completely drained. Funneled to Liam's experimental medical clinic. I found Olivia at his bedside, peeling an apple for him. "It wasn't a problem," she said, "It was a sacrifice. For you. For us." "Good girl," he replied. "Once I'm out of here... Miller will be out of the picture." My son's death wasn't a tragic act of madness. It was a transaction. And I had been played for a fool from the very beginning. Liam called me, arrogant and triumphant. "You were just a placeholder." "You're too selfish!" Olivia shrieked, when I confronted her. Her words, so twisted and absurd, snapped the last thread of any feeling I had for her. "I want a divorce, Olivia." I hung up, then blocked both their numbers. The decision was made. The war had just begun.

Introduction

The phone rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound cutting through the quiet of my office. It was Olivia, my wife.

A smile touched my lips. Six months pregnant, a miracle after years of heartbreak.

"Hey, honey. Everything okay? Did you pick out a color for the nursery yet? I' m still team blue."

Then, silence. A heavy, dead-air kind of quiet.

Her voice, when it came, was a ghost: "Ethan... can you come to the hospital?"

My heart stopped. My mind raced through a thousand terrible possibilities, but none prepared me for the sight of her in the surgical waiting room, her face pale, her belly-our baby-gone.

"I had an abortion, Ethan." Her words shattered my world.

"He was bad luck," she said simply, as if explaining the weather. Then she pointed towards the ICU. "Liam is in here. He was in a car accident."

Liam. Her college sweetheart. The ghost in our marriage.

"The baby... he was too perfect. All our good luck went to him. I had to get rid of the bad luck. I had to save him." Her twisted logic was terrifying.

I stumbled home to find my mother humming happily in the nursery, folding a tiny blue onesie. The room was a testament to a dream now destroyed.

"She lost him," I managed to tell her, a desperate lie to shield her from the grotesque truth. But she sensed it.

The pain of our son' s death, coupled with Olivia\'s betrayal, hit my mother hard. Her doctor called it "broken heart syndrome."

Then came the call from Olivia\'s doctor. "It\'s highly unlikely Olivia will be able to conceive again. The damage is permanent."

That night, I discovered our joint savings account, tens of thousands of dollars, completely drained. Funneled to Liam\'s experimental medical clinic.

I found Olivia at his bedside, peeling an apple for him. "It wasn\'t a problem," she said, "It was a sacrifice. For you. For us."

"Good girl," he replied. "Once I\'m out of here... Miller will be out of the picture."

My son\'s death wasn\'t a tragic act of madness. It was a transaction. And I had been played for a fool from the very beginning.

Liam called me, arrogant and triumphant. "You were just a placeholder."

"You\'re too selfish!" Olivia shrieked, when I confronted her.

Her words, so twisted and absurd, snapped the last thread of any feeling I had for her. "I want a divorce, Olivia."

I hung up, then blocked both their numbers. The decision was made. The war had just begun.

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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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