Neglected Wife's Bitter Sweet Revenge

r Fro

t of antiseptic burned my nostrils. My eyes fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights above searing my

on kind but busy. "Ms. Frost, yo

roat was painfully dry. She

inst the ceramic. The cool

?" I finally man

an urgent meeting. He asked me to tell you he'd be back as soon

standing there, swaying, the world spinning, and his dismissive sigh. He hadn't even bothered to check if I was alright, simply handed off

, not physical, but emotional, cutting deeper than any bruise. I had loved him with every fiber of my being. I had believed in a future wher

like a heavy shackle. I looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time in years. It was just

oping. No more clinging to the ghost of a love that had never truly existed. The exhaustion I

ling around me. "I need to get out of here," I told the

discharged you yet, Ms. Frost. You had a seve

the bed. "I just need to go home." Or somewhe

meager belongings, and called a car. I didn't wait for Braden's "

ll act of defiance, but it felt monumental. I was no longer waiting for his permission, his presence, his crumbs of atte

en I remembered his smirk, Destany's triumphant gaze, the public humiliation. The sound of his voice, loud and angry, boomed through the speaker. "Elinor

t me. He was worried about his image. His reputation. His carefully constructed facade. The anger, s

?" I asked, my voice calm, almost emotionless. "After

ing, Elinor! Just an act for the cameras. You know how the industry i

hand you hold after she 'accidentally' bumps into you in a hallway?" I remembered seeing them once,

e Destany. A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, not from my recent collapse,

do. Now, listen to me, Elinor. Your grandfather is already asking questions. You need to come home, lay lo

esperate to protect the only thing I had left of my father. But something had shifted. The ache in

consequences truly mean." My voice was steady, unwavering. "You think you can still control m

the click of the phone echoing in the silent car.

ification. It wasn't Braden. It was from Destany Aguilar's public Instagram

ir kiss. Her head was nestled against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in a look of possessive contentment. His arm

best producer in the world! So blessed to have y

, a single red heart em

ed her post. He had endorsed her public declaration of their affair, while still wearing my ring, making a mockery o

ing my skin. It felt like a lie. With a decisive tug, I pulled it off, the cold metal sliding easily over

t post was a photo from our anniversary dinner, six months ago. A force

cold fury: "No more waiting for someone who was never coming home. Sometimes, the

and me, every memory, every lie, erasing them from my digital footprint, just as I was trying to er

, free. The metaphorical door had been unlocked. And for the first time in years, the crushing

set an extra place at the table for breakfast. I didn't wait. I simply got into bed, pulled the covers up to

hing was perfect. He would barely glance at it, sometimes pushing the plate away with a dismissive wave. "Not hungry," he'd mumble, or "This isn't quite right." Once, he'd even snee

at all. He never liked anything about me. And the light I left on for him, a beacon of