The Pink Car of Betrayal

pink car on live TV, callin

ailed him as t

new the

t place he cheated on

ain on the passenge

home, waiting to c

, signing a waiver to surg

child he despe

ocket he claimed bou

license, and every photo

ing but an empty house and a gift box co

nt party in Charleston, falling to h

eping billionaire and f

, sir," I

o I kn

pte

en Riv

doctor's voice was calm, almost too calm. It echoed in

My knuckles were white. "Yes," I said. My voice

eversible. The targeted memories, once suppressed, cannot be

quickly vanished. What was there to lose? I thought. My

e I now hated, flickered behind my eyelids. His laughter. My tears. Hi

ablet on the table. The consent form glowed. My finger hover

pressed down, signing the screen with a flourish

"We'll schedule your treatment to commence in three days. Ple

ocating weight I'd carried for weeks seemed to lift, just a fraction. I stood up, fe

he screen buzzing with notifications. A text from Don

rch. Of course he did.

nd stage. Donovan Whitney, my husband, stood under a spotlight, charismatic

ehind Whitney Motors, is about to unveil his latest master

is isn't just a car," he announced, his voice filled with emotion. "This

ing a sleek, futuristic electric vehicle. It was entir

e livestream chat exploded with heart emojis and

. Whitney, the design is absolutely

iful wife, sometimes gets a little lost. I wanted to design a car that would always keep her safe, always

buzzed with a thousand adoring comments.

ely, closed it. My stomach churned. A wave of nause

s marketing VP. It was explicit. Donovan, my husband of ten years, in that very prototype pink c

o love." It was the sam

t, left there deliberately. Keri's triumphant text: 'He says you're too boring for

y. Our love

going to br