The Scarf That Broke Us

The Scarf That Broke Us

Gavin

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"Let' s get a divorce, Victoria." It was our fifth wedding anniversary, and for the ninety-ninth time, I heard those flat, bored words from my wife, Victoria, as she dismissed me for real estate analytics on her tablet. But then, she lowered the tablet, her beautiful, cold face mocking me: "Besides, I can' t leave you right now. I' ve been poisoned." She claimed a "love charm" from Thailand made her obsessed with her assistant, Ryan, who was the only one who could "cure" her. She then presented me with an absurdly expensive watch for our anniversary, a symbol of "loyalty," before calmly asking me to move out so Ryan could move in for his "treatment." Then, I saw it: my late mother' s cherished cashmere scarf, a symbol of my last tender memory, wrapped smugly around Ryan' s neck. It was the final cut, twisting the knife in a wound I thought was numb. "No," I said, the word startling even myself. I walked into a gleaming skyscraper, ready to resign, only to be told Victoria' s signature was required. She made me kneel in a crowded, high-end restaurant, forcing me to publicly declare I wasn' t good enough for her, just to sign my resignation. I did it. I walked out feeling nothing but a grim sense of victory, clutching the signed paper. Then, the world shattered when news reports surfaced, not from my new life, but of her erratic behavior, even assaulting someone who spoke ill of me. My phone rang, "Northwood Police Department." Victoria had filed a missing person' s report. She had found me. "She' s on her way to your office now, sir," the officer said, "We' re sending a car over as a precaution, just to keep the peace." My new life, so carefully built, was crumbling before my eyes because Victoria couldn' t stand to lose control. What would I do?

Introduction

"Let' s get a divorce, Victoria."

It was our fifth wedding anniversary, and for the ninety-ninth time, I heard those flat, bored words from my wife, Victoria, as she dismissed me for real estate analytics on her tablet.

But then, she lowered the tablet, her beautiful, cold face mocking me: "Besides, I can' t leave you right now. I' ve been poisoned."

She claimed a "love charm" from Thailand made her obsessed with her assistant, Ryan, who was the only one who could "cure" her.

She then presented me with an absurdly expensive watch for our anniversary, a symbol of "loyalty," before calmly asking me to move out so Ryan could move in for his "treatment."

Then, I saw it: my late mother' s cherished cashmere scarf, a symbol of my last tender memory, wrapped smugly around Ryan' s neck.

It was the final cut, twisting the knife in a wound I thought was numb.

"No," I said, the word startling even myself.

I walked into a gleaming skyscraper, ready to resign, only to be told Victoria' s signature was required.

She made me kneel in a crowded, high-end restaurant, forcing me to publicly declare I wasn' t good enough for her, just to sign my resignation.

I did it.

I walked out feeling nothing but a grim sense of victory, clutching the signed paper.

Then, the world shattered when news reports surfaced, not from my new life, but of her erratic behavior, even assaulting someone who spoke ill of me.

My phone rang, "Northwood Police Department."

Victoria had filed a missing person' s report.

She had found me.

"She' s on her way to your office now, sir," the officer said, "We' re sending a car over as a precaution, just to keep the peace."

My new life, so carefully built, was crumbling before my eyes because Victoria couldn' t stand to lose control.

What would I do?

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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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