The Ninth Goodbye: My Husband's Cruel Bet

ie

warned me the limp might b

. It was a reminder that

eks after the divorce. A mechanical failure. A three-story freefall. A

n't called

, I had to

eason's biggest event, and my parents had insisted I

hat bared the new scar on my should

lightly on a cane I had design

n the moment the

s the room. They wer

rper than a blade. Izzy clung to

urt, laughing, drink

llege friends interc

ting instantly to my cane. "We heard

," I said, my voice

nged uneas

d, rewriting history in real-time. "Remember

icnic Izzy organized and he si

ed on her

eight of a g

the cane. His brow was furrowed-not with concern, but with confusio

e whispered something in hi

host took

of the night!" he boo

. With sinking dread, I knew

tled o

and flying to her mouth,

ted the m

voice amplified across the hushed h

Ell

went dead

now Marcus so well... tell us. What does he love

blic humiliation d

g. He expected tears. He expected me to flee.

't ask for the microphone. I simpl

ve no

the silence stretc

nger my concern. I don't study hist

h the crowd. I had called him

p crimson. His ego, fragile as

the micropho

tead, he seized her

ggressive-a performance mean

reathless, and gl

, his voice shaking with suppre

ed. It was too

ok away. I

toast, drained the rest of my w