Brendan Cook and Violette Martinez eventually wrapped up what they were doing about twenty minutes later. During this time, I had been watching them, gripping the seat so tightly that my fingers started to bleed. Violette leaned against Brendan, catching her breath.

Suddenly, she picked up a leather-bound journal from the center console. "What's this?"

I recognized it immediately—it was the journal where I recorded all the important details. Our seventh wedding anniversary was approaching, and Brendan had promised to take me on a trip to the Alps that day. I'd been carefully planning the itinerary, noting every detail in that journal.

"This belongs to Mackenzie," Brendan said quietly.

"Aren't we supposed to go to the Alps?" she asked, flipping through the pages. "She's got all the itineraries here, free of charge. Saves us the trouble."

I froze. So that was the plan—using my journal to plan a trip with someone else. I stared at Brendan, searching for any hint of regret in his eyes. But there was nothing. Not a single trace.

Violette laughed, "Imagine if Mackenzie finds out you're doing this behind her back; she'd blow a gasket."

Brendan pinched her waist playfully and chuckled, "She'll never find out."

But I have. Brendan, I heard everything.

As the car started moving, I had no choice but to lie down to keep steady. All I could hear was their flirty banter. Brendan and I have been together for seven years. In all that time, he's been distant and closed off, the type who rarely speaks. At home, his words to me rarely exceed ten sentences. Only now do I realize that his silence was reserved just for me.

I clutched my stomach, shaking with sobs. The amethyst pressed painfully into the palm of my hand. I had loved him quietly for three years, been married for seven. A whole decade.

How do I break free?

I don't know how long I sat there, feeling the minutes stretch out endlessly, until I noticed Violette had dozed off in the passenger seat. Brendan gently nudged her awake to let her know we had arrived.

I quickly glanced out the window and realized we were in a small town.

"Violette, I'm exhausted from driving all day. Let's take the flight tomorrow," Brendan suggested.

Violette pouted playfully. "Okay, but you owe me a relaxing evening."

"Absolutely, absolutely," he replied, his handsome face filled with adoration.

Watching this scene felt like a punch to the gut. Every part of me wanted to jump out and confront them, to expose their betrayal. But what would that accomplish?

I was in unfamiliar territory, and Brendan had already shown he could be ruthless. I didn't dare imagine what he might do if he discovered me here, hiding in the shadows.

All I could do was bide my time, waiting for the right moment to come back and reveal the truth.

As Brendan and Violette checked into the hotel, I took the chance to quietly exit the car and booked a room directly across from theirs. If they left, I'd hear it.

Alone in my room, I couldn't stop replaying the day's events in my mind. After seven years, a part of me foolishly wished Brendan might still have some feelings for me. But I was sadly mistaken.

Just then, I heard voices in the hallway.

"Brendan, the starlit sky is beautiful tonight. Let's go enjoy it."

It was Violette. Through the peephole, I watched Brendan intertwine his fingers with hers.

"Sounds great," he agreed.

Once they left, I followed them to a nearby stream. There I watched as the man who was once my husband snapped pictures of another woman, entranced by her.

Under the glow of the stars and moonlight, Violette was undeniably stunning. Brendan's camera seemed to capture her every graceful move.

"Violette, you look amazing," he murmured, his voice full of enchantment.

In seven years of marriage, I had never heard him speak to me this way. Even on our wedding day, dressed in an elaborate gown, he hadn't offered me a simple compliment.

"Ha-ha," Violette laughed, playfully adjusting her dress to reveal her legs.

"Tell me, Brendan, who is more beautiful—me or Mackenzie?" she teased.

He paused, caught in her charm, then drew her close.

"You, of course," he whispered, his hands roaming freely over her.

I covered my mouth, overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and deep hurt.

This was the man I'd loved for ten years. The irony of it all was almost too much to bear.

"Let's make a documentary," Brendan suddenly suggested to Violette, his eyes alight with excitement about the future. "We can capture our entire trip with the camera. When we're old, we can look back and see it from a new perspective."

His words hit me like a cold wave, leaving me momentarily stunned. I had written in my journal about making a documentary with Brendan during a trip to the Alps. I remember bringing it up when he came home one day, but he dismissed it with a casual "We'll see."

And now, there they were, planning it together. The camera they were using was bought with the money from my savings, in anticipation of this trip I had been eagerly looking forward to.

Everything felt ruined. I took several steps back, tightly clutching my Victorian-style dress, watching them embrace lovingly. I gently touched my belly and made a firm decision.

Once back at the hotel, I called Mom. I told her I wanted to have an abortion. As an obstetrician, she had overseen my entire pregnancy.

"Mackenzie, why the sudden decision to have an abortion?" she asked, her voice a mix of shock and concern.

I was silent for a long time before explaining everything I had overheard.

Mom cried, her voice trembling, "Alright, when you return, I'll arrange the procedure for you."

I had worn the purple crystal for a month—although I had removed it now, I wasn't sure if it had affected the baby. And my marriage with Brendan was over. There was no future for us.

After the abortion, I'll write a report and file for divorce.