Scorned Wife, Sudden Fortune

Scorned Wife, Sudden Fortune

Gavin

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The world came back to me in fragments of pain, the profound exhaustion of thirty-six hours of labor. They saved me, saved my daughter, and I expected relief. Instead, I heard my husband, Ethan, from the hall, his voice light, conversational, almost cheerful. "She' s completely torn apart down there... it' s disgusting. Like a war zone." My breath caught. "And her stomach," he whispered, "It' s all loose and flabby, covered in these weird purple lines. She looks like a deflated balloon. I swear, I don' t think I can ever touch her again." My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a painful thud of realization. This was the man who had held my hand, told me I was brave. Then the other voice, "What about the kid?" A flicker of desperate hope ignited. He wanted a daughter so badly. "It' s a girl," Ethan said, his voice flat. "Lily. Cries all the time. Just another thing to deal with." The hope died. Then his tone shifted, charming, for a phone call. "I know, I wish you were here instead. I can' t wait to see you." A mistress. The late nights, the secretive calls, the growing distance I' d blamed on pregnancy stress-it all clicked into place. Tears, hot and silent, streamed from my eyes. Not sadness, but rage and a grief so profound it felt like a physical wound. He wasn' t just shallow, he was cruel. Not just a bad husband, but a monster. In that sterile, blood-scented room, I mourned my marriage, the man I thought I knew. A cold, hard decision settled in my soul, listening to him coo at his lover. My daughter would not have a father like him. I would raise her alone. This wasn' t the end of my pain, but it was the beginning of my fight.

Introduction

The world came back to me in fragments of pain, the profound exhaustion of thirty-six hours of labor.

They saved me, saved my daughter, and I expected relief.

Instead, I heard my husband, Ethan, from the hall, his voice light, conversational, almost cheerful.

"She' s completely torn apart down there... it' s disgusting. Like a war zone."

My breath caught.

"And her stomach," he whispered, "It' s all loose and flabby, covered in these weird purple lines. She looks like a deflated balloon. I swear, I don' t think I can ever touch her again."

My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a painful thud of realization. This was the man who had held my hand, told me I was brave.

Then the other voice, "What about the kid?"

A flicker of desperate hope ignited. He wanted a daughter so badly.

"It' s a girl," Ethan said, his voice flat. "Lily. Cries all the time. Just another thing to deal with."

The hope died.

Then his tone shifted, charming, for a phone call. "I know, I wish you were here instead. I can' t wait to see you."

A mistress.

The late nights, the secretive calls, the growing distance I' d blamed on pregnancy stress-it all clicked into place.

Tears, hot and silent, streamed from my eyes. Not sadness, but rage and a grief so profound it felt like a physical wound.

He wasn' t just shallow, he was cruel. Not just a bad husband, but a monster.

In that sterile, blood-scented room, I mourned my marriage, the man I thought I knew.

A cold, hard decision settled in my soul, listening to him coo at his lover.

My daughter would not have a father like him.

I would raise her alone.

This wasn' t the end of my pain, but it was the beginning of my fight.

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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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