Left For Dead, I Rise Again

Name: Left For Dead, I Rise Again
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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My husband left me to die in a car wreck. When I survived and confronted his mistress, he fractured my skull. But that wasn't the worst thing he did. After his mistress framed me for an injury, he cornered me in a hospital hallway. He took my right hand-the one I used to be a brilliant architect-and deliberately broke it, ending my career. He thought he had destroyed my future. He had no idea he had just declared war.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce Scheming Kickass Heroine

Chapter 10

09-30 15:41

Chapter 1

My husband left me to die in a car wreck. When I survived and confronted his mistress, he fractured my skull. But that wasn't the worst thing he did.

After his mistress framed me for an injury, he cornered me in a hospital hallway.

He took my right hand-the one I used to be a brilliant architect-and deliberately broke it, ending my career.

He thought he had destroyed my future.

He had no idea he had just declared war.

Chapter 1

Aspen Newman POV:

My husband left me to die in the twisted metal of my car, but the universe, in its cruel sense of humor, gave me a second chance.

The first call I made from the hospital bed, my voice a raw whisper, wasn't to my mother. It wasn't to my best friend. It was to the most ruthless divorce attorney in the city.

The papers were filed before my discharge papers were even signed.

Now, a week later, I find myself standing in the gilded ballroom of The St. Regis, a place I once helped design the lighting for, feeling like a ghost at my own funeral. Or perhaps, a ghost at his coronation.

I found Hope Green exactly where I knew she' d be: at the center of a fawning circle of the city' s elite, accepting praise for a charity luncheon she hadn' t lifted a finger to organize. That had been my job, as always.

She was radiant, dressed in a blush-pink Chanel dress that made her look like a delicate rose. Her hair was a cascade of perfect blonde waves, and her smile, practiced and gentle, was a weapon.

She was beautiful. I could admit that. There was a fragile, porcelain quality to her that made men want to protect her, to slay dragons for her. Garland certainly wanted to.

As I approached, the circle parted for me. They knew who I was, of course. Mrs. Garland Madden. The quiet, unassuming wife of the city' s most charismatic and ambitious councilman.

Hope' s eyes, the color of a summer sky, widened slightly when she saw me. A flicker of something-not fear, but calculation-danced in their depths before being replaced by a look of sweet concern.

"Aspen," she said, her voice like honey. "I didn' t expect to see you here. Are you feeling better?"

I ignored the question. I didn't stop until I was standing directly in front of her, close enough to see the tiny, almost invisible stress lines around her eyes.

"I' m divorcing him," I said, my voice steady and clear, cutting through the pleasant chatter around us.

A collective gasp rippled through the group. Hope' s perfect smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She recovered beautifully, her hand fluttering to her chest in a gesture of pure, theatrical shock.

"Aspen, what are you talking about?" she whispered, her eyes darting around, gauging the audience. "You' re not well. You should be at home resting."

"I' ve never felt better," I replied, my gaze locked on hers. "I' m divorcing Garland."

I let the words hang in the air, heavy and irreversible.

"My lawyer sent the papers to his office this morning. He should have them by now."

The shock on her face was real this time. It was a brief, ugly crack in her perfect porcelain mask. She had expected tears, screaming matches, desperate pleas. She had not expected this. Not a calm, public execution of their affair.

"Why?" she breathed, the word laced with a disbelief that was almost insulting. As if I had no right to make such a decision. As if my entire existence was predicated on being his wife.

Why?

The question echoed in the silent, screaming cavern of my memory.

Because for ten years, I had poured every ounce of my being into the foundation of Garland Madden' s life. I shelved my own brilliant architectural career, the one that had professors calling me a prodigy, to become the perfect political wife. I organized fundraisers like this one, wrote his speeches, charmed his donors, and turned our house into a flawless backdrop for his ambition.

I kept our home pristine, managed our finances with a hawk' s precision, and remembered the names of every key political player' s spouse and children. I was the silent partner, the invisible architect of his public image.

And what did I get in return?

An empty half of the bed. A distracted kiss on the cheek. And the discovery, tucked away in his office safe, of a medical document. A vasectomy. Performed three years ago, just after the miscarriage that had shattered my world. He had held me while I sobbed, whispering empty promises of 'next time,' all while knowing there would never be a next time.

The final 'why' was the screech of tires, the smell of gasoline, and the sound of his voice on the phone as I lay bleeding and trapped in the driver's seat.

"She' s crashed. I don' t know how bad it is," he' d said, his voice cold and distant. A pause. "No, Hope, stay where you are. I' ll handle this. Don' t worry."

And then, the sound of his footsteps walking away, leaving me for dead.

That was why.

A small, bitter smile touched my lips. It probably looked grotesque on my bruised face.

"I' m just... tired of being in love with him," I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. The truth was, the love had been dead for a long time. The crash just provided the tombstone.

I looked directly into Hope Green' s startled blue eyes.

"He' s all yours now."

Her mouth opened, a perfect little 'o' of disbelief.