Rebuilding A Life, Not A Home

Name: Rebuilding A Life, Not A Home
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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For twenty years, Liam Davis was my world. From juice boxes in kindergarten to our first kiss under the bleachers, he was my constant. I put my architecture career on hold, working a quiet desk job so his tech startup could thrive, believing his dream was our dream. Then, one warm evening, as I sorted our old college textbooks, he walked in, a wide, charming smile on his face. "I need the spare set of apartment keys," he said casually. My heart sank when he clarified: "Not for us, Ava. For me. For Chloe. To decorate our wedding home." Chloe. The social media influencer whose perfect life filled the internet. My mind went blank. Wedding home? My fiancé? He was getting married next month. He scoffed at my devastation. "It was convenient. You were always there. It was easy. Like marrying your right hand. You don' t put a ring on it." His words, meant to shatter, ignited a cold fury. My sacrifices, my career, my love - reduced to a crude, dismissive metaphor. I handed him the keys to our apartment, and watched him change the door' s passcode to my birthday-only to instantly change it again. "Password successfully changed," a female voice announced from the smart lock, sounding the death knell of my life as I knew it. He walked out, leaving me alone in what was no longer our home. The tears came then, hot paths through the dust on my cheeks. At my parents' house, still reeling, the doorbell rang. It was Liam, snow melting in his hair. He sneered, "What the hell did you tell your parents? Did you send them to beg for a wedding? My mother's furious your low-class family tried to trap me." He called me pathetic, unclean. He gloated about changing the apartment code, implying I' d trash the place out of spite. Something snapped inside me. "Get out," I said, my voice rising to a raw scream. "GET OUT!" He snatched a cherished architectural sketch, my childhood dream of a treehouse. "It was our dream house, wasn' t it, Ava? But it was never exciting. Like left hand holding right hand. Familiar, but ultimately, you' re just holding yourself." He cooed into his phone, "Hey, baby... just wrapping up an old loose end. She's nothing. I love you too, Chloe." My mother raged, detailing all I' d given up, how I built his company. "A spoiled kid with a half-baked idea! This is how you repay her?" He countered, "If you' re going to come begging, at least bring a respectable dowry, not just the sob story of a plumber." He tore a hand-carved necklace, his ten-year anniversary gift, from my neck. "Chloe would like it." In that moment, the love I' d felt for twenty years curdled into pure void. I raised my right hand, the one he' d mocked, and slapped him across the face. "My right hand is my own, Liam," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And from now on, it will be busy building my own life. A life you are no longer a part of." I turned my back, walking towards the kitchen, leaving him stunned. There would be no regret.

Modern Betrayal Revenge Office romance Personal growth

Chapter 10

07-04 16:13

Introduction

For twenty years, Liam Davis was my world.

From juice boxes in kindergarten to our first kiss under the bleachers, he was my constant.

I put my architecture career on hold, working a quiet desk job so his tech startup could thrive, believing his dream was our dream.

Then, one warm evening, as I sorted our old college textbooks, he walked in, a wide, charming smile on his face.

"I need the spare set of apartment keys," he said casually.

My heart sank when he clarified: "Not for us, Ava. For me. For Chloe. To decorate our wedding home."

Chloe. The social media influencer whose perfect life filled the internet.

My mind went blank. Wedding home? My fiancé? He was getting married next month.

He scoffed at my devastation. "It was convenient. You were always there. It was easy. Like marrying your right hand. You don' t put a ring on it."

His words, meant to shatter, ignited a cold fury. My sacrifices, my career, my love - reduced to a crude, dismissive metaphor.

I handed him the keys to our apartment, and watched him change the door' s passcode to my birthday-only to instantly change it again.

"Password successfully changed," a female voice announced from the smart lock, sounding the death knell of my life as I knew it.

He walked out, leaving me alone in what was no longer our home.

The tears came then, hot paths through the dust on my cheeks.

At my parents' house, still reeling, the doorbell rang. It was Liam, snow melting in his hair.

He sneered, "What the hell did you tell your parents? Did you send them to beg for a wedding? My mother's furious your low-class family tried to trap me."

He called me pathetic, unclean. He gloated about changing the apartment code, implying I' d trash the place out of spite.

Something snapped inside me.

"Get out," I said, my voice rising to a raw scream. "GET OUT!"

He snatched a cherished architectural sketch, my childhood dream of a treehouse. "It was our dream house, wasn' t it, Ava? But it was never exciting. Like left hand holding right hand. Familiar, but ultimately, you' re just holding yourself."

He cooed into his phone, "Hey, baby... just wrapping up an old loose end. She's nothing. I love you too, Chloe."

My mother raged, detailing all I' d given up, how I built his company. "A spoiled kid with a half-baked idea! This is how you repay her?"

He countered, "If you' re going to come begging, at least bring a respectable dowry, not just the sob story of a plumber."

He tore a hand-carved necklace, his ten-year anniversary gift, from my neck. "Chloe would like it."

In that moment, the love I' d felt for twenty years curdled into pure void.

I raised my right hand, the one he' d mocked, and slapped him across the face.

"My right hand is my own, Liam," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And from now on, it will be busy building my own life. A life you are no longer a part of."

I turned my back, walking towards the kitchen, leaving him stunned. There would be no regret.