The Betrayal That Broke Me

The Betrayal That Broke Me

Gavin

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The sterile hum of the hospital room grated on my nerves, a grim backdrop to my mother' s shallow breaths. I clung to her frail hand, praying each rise and fall of her chest wouldn't be her last. But then my phone buzzed, pulling me into a different kind of nightmare: a photo of my wife, Sarah, draped provocatively over a junk car, sent by Jake, her "creative director." My blood ran cold. Sarah, my Sarah, looking cheap and available, with Jake' s smug caption about "pushing boundaries." Then came his direct message-another photo, Sarah' s eyes closed, her lipstick smeared, and Jake' s hand on her bare shoulder, possessive. Below it, a single line that ripped through me: "Wish you were here? Don't worry, I'm taking good care of her." Rage flooded my chest, hot and acidic. I called Sarah, my voice shaking, begging her to come, to say goodbye to my dying mother. "I can't just leave, Alex," she snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. "This is Jake's big break. Everything is riding on this. I can't let him down." "Your mother-in-law is dying," I whispered, disbelief choking me. "My mother is dying." "And what do you want me to do about it?" she sneered. "Hold her hand? It's not like she ever liked me anyway. I' ll be there when it' s over. Just... handle it. I have to go." The line went dead, her cruel words echoing in the suffocating quiet of the hospital corridor. Moments later, the doctor delivered the news: she was gone. My world went silent. Then, my phone buzzed again, an Instagram notification: "Sarah.Evans and Jake.Creates are now live." I clicked it, a hollowed-out shell of a man, watching my wife celebrate with her lover while my mother's body grew cold in the room behind me. They celebrated their "win" with champagne, Sarah screaming, "To us! To the win!" as Jake leaned in for a long, deep kiss, for the whole world to see. Why? Why did she choose him? Why did she treat my mother with such contempt in her final hours? The answer lay buried in years of betrayal, starting even before our wedding day. And now, I would unearth every dirty secret, even if it meant tearing my own life apart.

Introduction

The sterile hum of the hospital room grated on my nerves, a grim backdrop to my mother' s shallow breaths. I clung to her frail hand, praying each rise and fall of her chest wouldn't be her last.

But then my phone buzzed, pulling me into a different kind of nightmare: a photo of my wife, Sarah, draped provocatively over a junk car, sent by Jake, her "creative director."

My blood ran cold. Sarah, my Sarah, looking cheap and available, with Jake' s smug caption about "pushing boundaries."

Then came his direct message-another photo, Sarah' s eyes closed, her lipstick smeared, and Jake' s hand on her bare shoulder, possessive.

Below it, a single line that ripped through me: "Wish you were here? Don't worry, I'm taking good care of her."

Rage flooded my chest, hot and acidic. I called Sarah, my voice shaking, begging her to come, to say goodbye to my dying mother.

"I can't just leave, Alex," she snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. "This is Jake's big break. Everything is riding on this. I can't let him down."

"Your mother-in-law is dying," I whispered, disbelief choking me. "My mother is dying."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" she sneered. "Hold her hand? It's not like she ever liked me anyway. I' ll be there when it' s over. Just... handle it. I have to go."

The line went dead, her cruel words echoing in the suffocating quiet of the hospital corridor.

Moments later, the doctor delivered the news: she was gone. My world went silent.

Then, my phone buzzed again, an Instagram notification: "Sarah.Evans and Jake.Creates are now live."

I clicked it, a hollowed-out shell of a man, watching my wife celebrate with her lover while my mother's body grew cold in the room behind me.

They celebrated their "win" with champagne, Sarah screaming, "To us! To the win!" as Jake leaned in for a long, deep kiss, for the whole world to see.

Why? Why did she choose him? Why did she treat my mother with such contempt in her final hours?

The answer lay buried in years of betrayal, starting even before our wedding day. And now, I would unearth every dirty secret, even if it meant tearing my own life apart.

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