His Other Woman, My Broken Heart

His Other Woman, My Broken Heart

Gavin

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It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone at a dinner table set for two, a positive pregnancy test clutched in my hand. I' d imagined telling Ethan a thousand times, picturing his joy, the final piece of our life together clicking into place. But then headlights swept across the living room window, and relief turned to ice as I watched him help Chloe, his college sweetheart and the ghost of our marriage, out of the passenger door. I knew, in that single, shattering moment, that it was over. Chloe had waltzed back into our lives months ago, claiming heartbreak, and Ethan had swallowed it whole, canceling our plans to "cheer her up." Now, she was in our living room, draped on our couch, with Ethan stroking her hair, a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. He accused me of being selfish for pointing out it was our anniversary, twisting our wedding vows into a weapon against me, defending Chloe with a venom I' d never seen directed at myself. The fight left me, all hope draining away as I realized the man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger who saw me with annoyance and disdain. Then Chloe, with a smirk, told me I was just a placeholder, sending a photo of Ethan asleep in a hotel room, a kiss mark on his neck, sealing my fate. My world went silent, the brutal truth hitting me: I had never stood a chance against her, the great love of his life. I found the hidden divorce papers, a secret escape hatch he'd prepared, and signed my name. When he finally stumbled in, smelling of whiskey and her perfume, I showed him the photo, and then he left again, for her, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my life. I was done being the quiet, steady one, the convenient wife. I called my best friend, Sarah, determined to leave, ready to protect the tiny, secret life growing inside me from this poison.

Introduction

It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone at a dinner table set for two, a positive pregnancy test clutched in my hand.

I' d imagined telling Ethan a thousand times, picturing his joy, the final piece of our life together clicking into place.

But then headlights swept across the living room window, and relief turned to ice as I watched him help Chloe, his college sweetheart and the ghost of our marriage, out of the passenger door.

I knew, in that single, shattering moment, that it was over.

Chloe had waltzed back into our lives months ago, claiming heartbreak, and Ethan had swallowed it whole, canceling our plans to "cheer her up."

Now, she was in our living room, draped on our couch, with Ethan stroking her hair, a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months.

He accused me of being selfish for pointing out it was our anniversary, twisting our wedding vows into a weapon against me, defending Chloe with a venom I' d never seen directed at myself.

The fight left me, all hope draining away as I realized the man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger who saw me with annoyance and disdain.

Then Chloe, with a smirk, told me I was just a placeholder, sending a photo of Ethan asleep in a hotel room, a kiss mark on his neck, sealing my fate.

My world went silent, the brutal truth hitting me: I had never stood a chance against her, the great love of his life.

I found the hidden divorce papers, a secret escape hatch he'd prepared, and signed my name.

When he finally stumbled in, smelling of whiskey and her perfume, I showed him the photo, and then he left again, for her, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my life.

I was done being the quiet, steady one, the convenient wife.

I called my best friend, Sarah, determined to leave, ready to protect the tiny, secret life growing inside me from this poison.

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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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