For ten years, Olivia Hayes was my universe. As an astrophysicist, I understood the vastness of space, but she was my sun, the center of my gravity, for whom I even gave up career opportunities. Our wedding day was meant to be the culmination of our decade-long love. But the day before our wedding, searching for a photo album, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with letters and recent photos confirming her ongoing affair with Liam, her high school ex. My meticulously built life crumbled, revealing I was nothing more than a "safety net," a "formality." The next day, a ghost at my own wedding, I watched as Liam crashed the ceremony, publicly declared his "love" for Olivia, and then shoved me, breaking my leg. Olivia, instead of rushing to my aid, accused me of making a scene and left with Liam, prioritizing his fake panic attack over my real injury. In the hospital, she ignored my calls, then chastised me for needing her, demanding I give her my grandmother's ring for Liam's "peace of mind." She stole it while I was recovering. She then audaciously invited me to a "getting back on track" family BBQ, a cruel public spectacle where Liam played the happy host. There, she threatened to ruin my reputation if I didn't play along. She chased me to my hotel, attempting a desperate seduction, but when Liam called, her true priority became clear. She rushed to his side again, leaving me heartbroken and alone. Olivia, in a twisted display, held a "makeup wedding" where Liam, not me, was the groom. He shoved me again, breaking my leg a second time, and Olivia, with icy fury, had me thrown out. The security guard, though sympathetic, delivered the final blow: a note from me, leaving her with the words: "I loved you. Goodbye." She eventually found me in Chile, begging, but faced with my calm finality and another woman by my side, her illusion shattered. She spiraled into abandonment, ultimately consumed by her own web of deceit, while I found peace under the clear Chilean stars.
For ten years, Olivia Hayes was my universe. As an astrophysicist, I understood the vastness of space, but she was my sun, the center of my gravity, for whom I even gave up career opportunities. Our wedding day was meant to be the culmination of our decade-long love.
But the day before our wedding, searching for a photo album, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with letters and recent photos confirming her ongoing affair with Liam, her high school ex. My meticulously built life crumbled, revealing I was nothing more than a "safety net," a "formality."
The next day, a ghost at my own wedding, I watched as Liam crashed the ceremony, publicly declared his "love" for Olivia, and then shoved me, breaking my leg. Olivia, instead of rushing to my aid, accused me of making a scene and left with Liam, prioritizing his fake panic attack over my real injury. In the hospital, she ignored my calls, then chastised me for needing her, demanding I give her my grandmother's ring for Liam's "peace of mind." She stole it while I was recovering.
She then audaciously invited me to a "getting back on track" family BBQ, a cruel public spectacle where Liam played the happy host. There, she threatened to ruin my reputation if I didn't play along. She chased me to my hotel, attempting a desperate seduction, but when Liam called, her true priority became clear. She rushed to his side again, leaving me heartbroken and alone.
Olivia, in a twisted display, held a "makeup wedding" where Liam, not me, was the groom. He shoved me again, breaking my leg a second time, and Olivia, with icy fury, had me thrown out. The security guard, though sympathetic, delivered the final blow: a note from me, leaving her with the words: "I loved you. Goodbye." She eventually found me in Chile, begging, but faced with my calm finality and another woman by my side, her illusion shattered. She spiraled into abandonment, ultimately consumed by her own web of deceit, while I found peace under the clear Chilean stars.
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