A Husband's Rage, A Wife's Betrayal

Name: A Husband’s Rage, A Wife’s Betrayal
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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My life with Olivia Hayes was the dream I' d chased since I was a boy. We had it all: a sprawling house I designed, two beautiful children, Lily and Leo, and a brilliant wife. Then, on a Tuesday night during the worst blizzard in fifty years, our perfect world shattered when Olivia, in a fit of rage, locked our three-year-old twins outside in their thin pajamas. I begged, I pleaded, I offered myself in their place, but she only sneered, shoving me back as she dragged my screaming children into the snow, the lock clicking behind them. Trapped in the basement, I heard their cries fade, replaced by a terrifying silence. When the door finally opened in the morning, Olivia stood perfectly dressed, while my children lay huddled outside, two frozen, broken dolls. "She murdered them," ran through my head, but her mother, Mrs. Hayes, urged silence, whispering of shock and family reputation. Then Olivia' s cold, businesslike voice on the phone: "Did you talk to Ethan? Is he going to be reasonable? I have a board meeting in an hour... tell him the family will compensate him generously. He can name his price." And then, casually, asking about Marcus, her COO. The realization hit me: this wasn' t just about old family hatred; it was about him, and her calculating indifference. Days later, at our home, Marcus Green, her lover, stood in what used to be my children' s playroom, ordering workers to trash their toys as he gloated, "Olivia is pregnant, you know. My child, this time. A real heir.\" He called my children' s precious belongings "garbage," announcing their baby would be in Lily and Leo's room. My heart, a dead stone for days, exploded into white-hot rage, and I lunged. As I held a crumpled drawing of our once-perfect family, Olivia returned, unimpressed, dismissing their belongings as "just stuff" and their deaths as "an accident." "It' s bad luck to have things from the dead in the house when you' re expecting," she said, protecting her belly. As I was forcibly restrained, watching them empty my children' s lives into garbage bags, I knew then what I had to do. I signed the divorce papers, disconnected my number, and vanished, leaving her to face the desolate silence of a house where I would never return.

Crime Family Betrayal Revenge Divorce

Chapter 10

07-04 17:33

Introduction

My life with Olivia Hayes was the dream I' d chased since I was a boy.

We had it all: a sprawling house I designed, two beautiful children, Lily and Leo, and a brilliant wife.

Then, on a Tuesday night during the worst blizzard in fifty years, our perfect world shattered when Olivia, in a fit of rage, locked our three-year-old twins outside in their thin pajamas.

I begged, I pleaded, I offered myself in their place, but she only sneered, shoving me back as she dragged my screaming children into the snow, the lock clicking behind them.

Trapped in the basement, I heard their cries fade, replaced by a terrifying silence.

When the door finally opened in the morning, Olivia stood perfectly dressed, while my children lay huddled outside, two frozen, broken dolls.

"She murdered them," ran through my head, but her mother, Mrs. Hayes, urged silence, whispering of shock and family reputation.

Then Olivia' s cold, businesslike voice on the phone: "Did you talk to Ethan? Is he going to be reasonable? I have a board meeting in an hour... tell him the family will compensate him generously. He can name his price."

And then, casually, asking about Marcus, her COO.

The realization hit me: this wasn' t just about old family hatred; it was about him, and her calculating indifference.

Days later, at our home, Marcus Green, her lover, stood in what used to be my children' s playroom, ordering workers to trash their toys as he gloated, "Olivia is pregnant, you know. My child, this time. A real heir.\"

He called my children' s precious belongings "garbage," announcing their baby would be in Lily and Leo's room.

My heart, a dead stone for days, exploded into white-hot rage, and I lunged.

As I held a crumpled drawing of our once-perfect family, Olivia returned, unimpressed, dismissing their belongings as "just stuff" and their deaths as "an accident."

"It' s bad luck to have things from the dead in the house when you' re expecting," she said, protecting her belly.

As I was forcibly restrained, watching them empty my children' s lives into garbage bags, I knew then what I had to do.

I signed the divorce papers, disconnected my number, and vanished, leaving her to face the desolate silence of a house where I would never return.