The Anniversay Divorce Gift

For five years, my marriage to Mark Johnson was a meticulously guarded secret, hidden for the sake of his booming tech career. Our fifth anniversary arrived, a date circled in red, feeling like a cruel joke. That day, the love I' d poured into him for a decade finally ran dry, replaced by a hollow ache. I typed Sarah' s number, my best friend and legal wizard. "It's time," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me. "I need the papers." Mark was about to get an anniversary gift unlike any other: a signed divorce agreement. I left his office, the signed papers clutched in my hand, just after hearing him rush off to his adopted sister, Chloe, for yet another fabricated crisis. The realization hit me: he had married me for convenience, for the perfect image I provided, while his heart belonged to another. The following morning, I stopped making his coffee, subtly stepping away from his touch, creating an ocean of distance between us. Then, disaster struck. Chloe's "emergency" made him abandon a multi-million dollar deal, and when I, his secret wife, suffered a devastating miscarriage alone, he was absent, doting on her. The pain was a physical blow, but it burned away the last thread of hope. I was alone. I had always been alone. I cut every tie, professional and personal, making myself unsearchable, then booked a one-way ticket out of the country. Mark was forced to sign the final divorce papers himself, confirming his obliviousness. But then, he started showing up. First in Italy, then in Paris. He won't give up, claiming he loves me, but his newfound desperation only proves the truth: he wants what he can't have. Now, he' s followed me to Santorini, refusing to leave. My story isn't over. It' s just beginning.