His Unwanted Presence

His Unwanted Presence

Gavin

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The smell of grilled meat and Olivia' s expensive perfume filled the backyard. We were hosting a perfect summer barbecue, or so it seemed. I was the guy flipping burgers, the stay-at-home dad, while my wife, Olivia, laughed a bright, theatrical laugh, her hand resting on my cousin Liam' s arm-the one who got away in college. My twins, Max and Chloe, looked up at Liam with wide, adoring eyes, asking him to do magic tricks and cut their food, preferring their "Uncle Liam" over me, their own father. Olivia, too, openly favored Liam, remembering his steak preference while dismissing me with cold precision: "Ethan, the trash is overflowing. And did you forget to buy more ketchup?" Each laugh, each dismissal, felt like a confirmation: I wasn' t their father or husband. I was just a convenience, my expiration date rapidly approaching. A week later, while fixing the AC-because calling a professional was too expensive on my non-existent income-I fell off a ladder, breaking my arm. Olivia' s first reaction? Not concern, but irritation. "Are you serious? Today? I' m about to close a seven-figure deal, Ethan. Is it really that bad?" At the hospital, my kids barely noticed my bright white cast. Max' s only question was, "Is Uncle Liam coming over for dinner?" That was it. The clarity cut through the pain. My wife, my children-they didn' t care. My pain was an annoyance; my presence, a service. I looked at my angry wife, at the backs of my children' s heads. I was completely alone, a disposable tool. That night, I looked at our wedding photo, two smiling strangers. I made a decision. Quiet, solid, absolute. I was done. "I want a divorce," I told Olivia. She closed her laptop, her face shifting from annoyance to clinical curiosity. "Don' t be ridiculous. We don' t have time for a divorce." Then Max and Chloe walked in. "A divorce?" Max said, his eyes calculating. "Does that mean we can go live with Uncle Liam?" Chloe brightened. "Yeah! Can Uncle Liam be our new dad? He' s more fun." Their words, fueled by Olivia' s cultivation, hit harder than any fall. My children, my own flesh and blood, wanted my replacement. Olivia, seeing my pain, delivered the final cut. "This is your own fault, Ethan. You let yourself go. The kids want a father they can look up to." A cold rage burned through me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already signed, that I' d secretly prepared. Olivia snatched and shredded them. "No one is divorcing me. You work for me, Ethan. You don' t get to quit." The children watched, not scared, but as if it were a power play, knowing whose side they were on. A chilling emptiness settled over me. I walked away, locked myself in the guest room, the click of the lock the first taste of freedom in a decade.

Introduction

The smell of grilled meat and Olivia' s expensive perfume filled the backyard. We were hosting a perfect summer barbecue, or so it seemed.

I was the guy flipping burgers, the stay-at-home dad, while my wife, Olivia, laughed a bright, theatrical laugh, her hand resting on my cousin Liam' s arm-the one who got away in college.

My twins, Max and Chloe, looked up at Liam with wide, adoring eyes, asking him to do magic tricks and cut their food, preferring their "Uncle Liam" over me, their own father.

Olivia, too, openly favored Liam, remembering his steak preference while dismissing me with cold precision: "Ethan, the trash is overflowing. And did you forget to buy more ketchup?"

Each laugh, each dismissal, felt like a confirmation: I wasn' t their father or husband. I was just a convenience, my expiration date rapidly approaching.

A week later, while fixing the AC-because calling a professional was too expensive on my non-existent income-I fell off a ladder, breaking my arm.

Olivia' s first reaction? Not concern, but irritation. "Are you serious? Today? I' m about to close a seven-figure deal, Ethan. Is it really that bad?"

At the hospital, my kids barely noticed my bright white cast. Max' s only question was, "Is Uncle Liam coming over for dinner?"

That was it. The clarity cut through the pain. My wife, my children-they didn' t care. My pain was an annoyance; my presence, a service.

I looked at my angry wife, at the backs of my children' s heads. I was completely alone, a disposable tool.

That night, I looked at our wedding photo, two smiling strangers. I made a decision. Quiet, solid, absolute. I was done.

"I want a divorce," I told Olivia.

She closed her laptop, her face shifting from annoyance to clinical curiosity. "Don' t be ridiculous. We don' t have time for a divorce."

Then Max and Chloe walked in. "A divorce?" Max said, his eyes calculating. "Does that mean we can go live with Uncle Liam?"

Chloe brightened. "Yeah! Can Uncle Liam be our new dad? He' s more fun."

Their words, fueled by Olivia' s cultivation, hit harder than any fall. My children, my own flesh and blood, wanted my replacement.

Olivia, seeing my pain, delivered the final cut. "This is your own fault, Ethan. You let yourself go. The kids want a father they can look up to."

A cold rage burned through me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already signed, that I' d secretly prepared.

Olivia snatched and shredded them. "No one is divorcing me. You work for me, Ethan. You don' t get to quit."

The children watched, not scared, but as if it were a power play, knowing whose side they were on.

A chilling emptiness settled over me. I walked away, locked myself in the guest room, the click of the lock the first taste of freedom in a decade.

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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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