His Love, My Hell, Her Justice

an named Isolde, who claimed my husband,

kiel faked amnesia, siding with

forced me to face my deepest f

and brutal. He kidnapped me and, in a final act of cruelty, sn

e, that he had destroyed e

e had just unle

empire, ruin his life, and make him pay for

pte

, shattered the moment Isolde Buck screamed my name from the back of the chapel. The soun

priest stopped, a confused frown marring his face. All eyes, which

ike mud and ripped clothing. She pushed past the rows of stunned gues

ieked, her voice hoarse and raw. "We belon

n't just a scene; it was a violation. My pe

tened with fury. His gaze, cold and hard,

r eyes locked onto Ezekiel. She lunged, not at me, b

let out a furious roar and elbowed him hard in the face. He stumble

ung it, not at Ezekiel, but at the delicate floral arch behind us. Roses, lilies, and ferns rained down, along

ed and clutched her chest in the front row. My vision n

sity, promised pain. She raised the heavy brass, ready to strike. My breat

tion. He didn't speak, didn't hesitate. He grabbed Isolde' s arm,

he altar. Hard. The sound echo

in and surprise. Ezekiel didn't let go. He

led, his voice low and dangerous,

struggled, kicking and scratching, but he was relentlessly str

them off with a curt gesture. "Leave her," he comm

de, the rain already plastering her hair to her face. Her cries of "Ezekiel! My l

d my mother's ragged breathing. My beautiful white gown felt heavy,

ice softer now, but still

he air was thick with une

rowing rocks at the windows, leaving bizarre, handwritten notes about "past lives" and "undying lo

he shouts, sometimes even the sounds of struggle, from outside our house. He would drag her a

d say, his jaw tight. "She ne

our doorstep, sobbing. She choked, sputtering, looking up at him with a mi

is face a mask of pure fury. I watched from the window as he shoved her headfirst into the muddy flowerbed, h

uised and disheveled at social events, whispering stories to sympathetic ears about how I was keeping

, leaving her there for hours in plain sight, with a sign that read: "Obsession is not love." The public h

broken," he said, his voice flat.

would disappear for a few days, only to resurface with more intensity, mo

ame th

kiel's car had gone off the road. A single-v

sion, the dark cloud Isolde had cast over our lives, Eze

I arrived at the hospital, the scene was chaotic. Doctors and nurses rushed

he rhythmic beeping of machines filled the sterile room. I sat by

, slowly, painfully. Then, one

tears blurring my visi

stare. His brow furrowe

mbered nothing of the accident, nothing of the last few years. He didn't rem

demure, dressed in simple clothes. She spoke softly, her voice laced with what sounded like

ng to her words. He looked at her wit

one afternoon, his voice weak but firm

m, not to cause stress. So I watched, helpless, as Isolde wove her web around

only a few months,

l corridor. Her eyes, usually wild, were now shr

er voice dripping with venom. "And he's go

settle in my stomach

d to speak with me alone. Isolde conveniently

lde has told me everything. How you tried

king about? She's the one who crashed our

ered because of you. Because of your selfish

zekiel, you don't remember. Sh

rstand with your perfect family and easy life." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a

't the Ezekiel I knew. This

asn't the physical violence he'd inflicted on Isolde, but a psychological torture that was far more insidious. He cut me off from my frien

omparing my reactions to Isolde's supposed unwavering devotion. He accused me of bein

ated rapidly under the stress. She saw what w

n orchestrated by Isolde, I overheard voic

d, didn't you?" Isolde's

entirely genuine. "Of course. She'

ped. My blood

saw the real love, the real devotion, didn't you? Something she, with

warmth. "But it's a weak love, Brielle's love. Predictable. Your love...

de, but to embrace her dangerous obsession, to use it as a weapon against me. He had orchestrated my su

attacks. Worse than the car crash. This was a deliberate, calculated c

e's unhinged obsession as "ultimate devotion," something he felt my genuine, stable love could never match. My strong family ties, th

d, a cold, hard resolve crystallized within me. The pain was unbeara

he mantelpiece, my smiling face ne

whispered to the empty room, the words tasting like ash.

broken dreams. I would file for divorce. And then, I would vanish. I would become a ghost, impossible to find, impossibl

uld make