He betrayed me, so I left him

The washing machine hummed, the foam slowly swallowing the red lace fabric.

I stood in front of it, watching my five-year marriage being churned into pieces.

That seductive red lace underwear wasn’t mine.

I recognized it instantly.

It was Lyra’s.

Her scent, her favorite brand, even the perfume she always used I knew them too well, almost nauseatingly so.

Five years ago, I had naively believed marriage could tame Dante’s wild heart.

Now I understood it was nothing more than a redemption show under the disguise of vows.

He married me to divert the public’s attention from his affair with his secretary.

The woman he truly loved had always been her.

I sat beside the washing machine, my fingers curling tighter and tighter.

On top of it lay the shirt I had washed last night his shirt.

There was still a faint lipstick stain on the collar, not my color.

I used to cover up all his stains, all his scandals.

Now, every trace felt like mockery.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed Orion, my lawyer.

He answered almost immediately. “Miss Giselle?”

“Nico,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, “I want to divorce Dante and resign from his company. Please prepare two agreements.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a quiet sigh.

“Miss Giselle, a marriage is not something to end lightly. You should be certain before signing those papers.”

I laughed softly a cold, fragile sound.

“I’ve been certain for five years.”

Five years of being neglected, used, and loved into ash.

From the day he met Lyra, to every lie I helped him conceal.

Each year, he found a new way to remind me love can be a one-person grave.

Sunlight filtered through the gray curtains, slicing into fragments across my face.

I picked up the wedding photo from the table. In it, Dante smiled tenderly, his arm around me.

For a fleeting second, I almost believed he might have loved me once.

But on the back of the frame, the engraving read: To Lyra, My Light.

That single line shattered the last illusion I had left.

I set the frame down gently. My heart felt hollow.

For five years, Dante had proved one thing with his every action he only loved Lyra.

I was nothing more than the facade of their love story.

In public, he praised me as the “virtuous wife,” while behind the scenes, he donated billions to charities under Lyra’s name, building schools and foundations around the world.

The media called him the golden gentleman of philanthropy.

In reality, I was just the puppet in his gilded cage.

Three days from now would be our sixth wedding anniversary.

I had prepared my final gift for him.

The divorce papers.

And his freedom.

I walked into the dressing room and took out the sapphire ring he had given me.

It was set with three main stones, symbolizing loyalty, trust, and eternity.

All three had died today.

I placed the ring in its box beside two printed documents the divorce agreement and my resignation letter.

On the last page, I signed my name: Giselle Moreau.

For the first time, I felt an unfamiliar calm.

It wasn’t relief.

It was awakening.