Erased No More: My Symphony

lk robe, my robe, swayed with her movements. I felt a cold anger building inside me, but I

tor' s appointment," I stated, my voice cal

keeps trying to tell me what to do. Says I shouldn' t wear my own clothes." She gestur

d me with genuine affection. I remembered her bustling around the kitchen, teaching me her

guely of that soup, a ghost of comf

all. Not my Fender, but an old, battered stand-up bass, a relic from my college days. I remembered th

f admiration. "You' re going to be famous, Carmel," he' d told me, his arm around my waist, pullin

promise, now felt

his deathbed, he' d clasped Jarvis' s hand, his voice weak. "Take care of my girl, Jarvis. She' s too good f

n with the Midas touch. And I? I' d given up the bass, given up the smoky bars and late-night jams. I' d become the perfect surgeon' s wife, man

ever the strong one, had held me. "I' ll take care o

. What

, something had made me click. And there it was. Not Gracie struggling with her homework, but Chrissy, draped across

. I' d stormed into his study, the laptop still

voice had been a raw, guttu

ixture of guilt and annoyance. "Ca

f calm shattering. "This is my home! My

hadow behind him, cowered. "Don' t be hyst

mage from my mind. He' d caught my wrists, his grip like iron. Then, he' d slapped

seen directed at me. He' d pushed me away, towards the door. Chrissy, whimpering, nes

sed. The other staff, the housekeepers, the cooks, they must have known. Their averte

liation. Tears froze on my cheeks. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. "He never loved y

wanted to expose them, to tear down his carefully constructed facade. But my

his connections, was always one step ahead. He' d threatened to cut off my access to Mrs. Oneill, to figh

s infidelity. But he' d warned me. "You' ll ruin both o

ting. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was too cold, too unfeeling. I' d sunk into a deep depression, neglecting mysel

backup drive from Jarvis's study. I'd found it while looking for Gracie's old photo albums. Inside, not pictures, but a hidden folder. Financial document

plotting my destruction. That moment, seeing the cold, calculated betrayal laid out in black and whi