Gretchen Rivas POV:

I stood up, and Donovan's eyes immediately fell on the gift box I'd placed on the coffee table. His face lit up. "What's this? Another surprise?" He walked towards it, a boyish excitement in his voice.

"It's for you," I said, my voice flat. "Your birthday present."

He chuckled, picking it up. "My birthday isn't for another week! You're always so thoughtful, my love." His eyes twinkled. He was so oblivious. He'll find out soon enough, I thought, a cold satisfaction spreading through me.

"Open it on your birthday," I told him, a hint of steel in my voice.

He carefully placed the box on the mantelpiece, next to a framed photo of us from our wedding. "I will," he promised, his eyes full of affection. "You make me the happiest man alive."

He took my hand, pulling me towards the door. "Come on. Dinner awaits."

We went down to the underground garage. There it was. The "Soulmate" car, gleaming in the fluorescent lights, its pink paint almost blinding. His ultimate betrayal, now parked in our home.

"Want to take her for a spin?" he asked, his eyes practically bugging out of his head with pride.

I walked slowly around the car, my breath catching in my throat. The custom license plate: "GRETCHEN." My name. Stamped on the vehicle of his infidelity. My body started to tremble, a cold dread seeping into my bones. I saw Keri's face, her mocking smile, her hand on Donovan's thigh in the video. All inside my car.

Donovan saw my hesitation. "What is it, baby? Don't you like it?" He sounded genuinely worried.

I shook my head. "No, it's beautiful," I lied. "It's just… I'm not used to driving such a big car. I haven't driven in the city in a while." My excuse was weak, but he bought it.

He took the keys from my trembling hand. "No problem! I'll drive. I'll even teach you. Think of all the places we'll go." He opened the passenger door with a flourish.

I pulled out a sanitizing wipe, scrubbing the sumptuous leather of the passenger seat before I sat down. I scrubbed and scrubbed, as if I could erase Keri's presence, her scent, her touch. It was pointless.

Donovan laughed again. "It's a brand new car, honey. Why are you wiping it down?"

"I don't like other people touching my things," I said, my voice clipped. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

His smile faltered. A flicker of something—embarrassment? fear?—crossed his face. He quickly cleared his throat. "Right. Well, let's go. That truffle pasta won't eat itself."

He prattled on about the Michelin-starred restaurant, the exquisite menu, the perfect wine pairing. I barely heard him. My hand brushed against something hard under the seat. A lipstick. Fuchsia.

I picked it up. He saw it. His eyes darted nervously. His face flushed a deep crimson. "Oh, that! It's… a new marketing gimmick. A popular shade. Keri must have left it." He stumbled over his words.

I held it up, a faint, chilling smile on my lips. "Is this also a gift, Donovan?"

He stammered, "No, no! Just a sample. Sales team probably put it there by mistake."

I scoffed internally. I twisted the cap. The lipstick tip was worn down, clearly used. I looked at him, my gaze piercing. "I hate secondhand things, Donovan," I said softly. "Men, too."

He flinched, as if struck. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Gretchen, please! I'm so sorry. I..." His voice was thick with panic.

I didn't respond. I simply raised my hand and tossed the lipstick into the passing trash can on the street corner as we idled.

My phone buzzed. Keri. 'Oops, left my lipstick in the Soulmate again! Didn't want to mess up my new purse, hehe. Tell Donovan I'll pick it up tomorrow morning, will you?'

I looked at Donovan, his face a mask of pleading regret. It was all a performance. It was all so utterly meaningless.

I turned my head, watching the city lights blur past. I just wanted this day to be over. I wanted to celebrate my last birthday with him, then get out.

We pulled up to the restaurant. He opened my door, a charming, devoted husband. Bystanders cooed. "What a gentleman!" "He's so in love!" "She's so lucky!"

Donovan preened, soaking in the admiration. He ushered me inside. A table laden with my favorite dishes awaited us. Cooked by someone else. Paid for by him. The ultimate illusion.

Gretchen Rivas POV:

Donovan raised his wine glass, his eyes misty. "To us, Gretchen," he began, his voice thick with false emotion. "Ten years. We built this empire from nothing. You were there for every struggle, every late night. My rock."

He recounted our early days, painting a picture of shared hardship and unwavering love. He made it sound like a fairy tale. A twisted, cruel mockery of what it once was.

"No more struggles, my love," he promised, draining his glass. "Only good days from now on. I swear."

I swirled the wine in my glass, taking a small sip. His words meant nothing. There was no "us" anymore. There was no "future."

"Let's not dwell on the past," I said, my voice flat. "It sounds... sentimental."

He frowned, misinterpreting my coldness as pique. "You're right, you're right." He quickly filled my plate, urging me to eat.

I ate a few bites, then pushed my plate away. My appetite was long gone.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked, concern etched on his face. "Don't like the food?"

I looked at him, a faint, sardonic smile on my lips. "Donovan, do you ever get tired of eating the same food, day after day?"

His brow furrowed. "I suppose? Why? We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "If you get tired, you replace it. Wouldn't that be… disloyal?"

He looked genuinely confused, almost offended. "Gretchen, what's gotten into you? You're acting so strange tonight."

His phone buzzed again, vibrating against the tablecloth. He snatched it, glancing at the screen, and immediately hit decline.

But the messages kept coming. Ping, ping, ping. The screen lit up with Keri's smiling face, a selfie from what looked like a hotel room.

Donovan's face reddened. "Who is that?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft.

He quickly extinguished the screen. "Just... a client. New car specs. Nothing you need to worry about." He looked desperate. "Actually, I just remembered, I need to head to the factory. Urgent data review. I'll call a cab for you. You go on home and rest."

He called the cab, then practically pushed me into it. I watched him through the window as he paid the driver, then spun on his heel and hailed another cab for himself, disappearing into the night.

The driver, a jovial man, whistled. "Man, that husband of yours is really something! Built that amazing pink car, and still so devoted. A real catch."

Devotion? I scoffed internally. It's all market research.

"Follow him," I told the driver, my voice suddenly steely.

The driver blinked, surprised. "Huh? Follow who, ma'am?"

My eyes, cold and dark, met his in the rearview mirror. "My husband. I want to see where his 'urgent data review' takes him."

The driver, sensing the shift in mood, quickly complied. He followed Donovan's cab through the winding city streets.

Donovan's cab pulled up in front of his company's headquarters. He practically leaped out, rushing inside. A single light burned on the top floor – his office. Someone was waiting for him.

I paid my driver and followed him inside, my steps silent on the polished marble floor. The elevator ride felt endless. When it finally dinged open, a wave of sound hit me. Not the hushed tones of a late-night meeting. But something else. A woman's moans. Donovan's low grunts.

I walked closer, my heart turning to ice. The sounds grew louder. Obscene. Unmistakable. Keri's voice, whispering his name, punctuated by the rhythmic creak of a sofa.

My breath hitched. My vision swam. Not from sadness, but from pure, unadulterated disgust. My stomach clenched. He was doing this. Here. In his office. On my birthday. The day he publicly declared his undying love for me.

The decade of our life together, all our memories, flashed before my eyes. A beautiful lie. A fragile bubble, now burst. I had always believed in our love, our future. Now, it was clear. Love, for him, was just another transaction. Another indulgence.

I turned away, the sounds still ringing in my ears. The man I loved. The man I had dedicated my life to. He was a stranger. A monster. He had taken everything from me. My innocence, my trust, my future.

I walked out of that building, leaving behind the man I married, the life I built, and the last shred of my belief in our love.

Gretchen Rivas POV:

I left the corporate tower behind, its gleaming facade mocking the ruin within. I glanced back, a ghost of a graphic designer, helping him sketch his first logo, dreaming of a future that would never include me.

I drifted home, the house feeling colder, emptier than ever. Sleep was a foreign concept. My mind raced, replaying the sounds, the images, the betrayal.

Donovan never came home that night. Not until dawn, when I was sitting by the window, watching the sunrise paint the sky with colors as fake as his promises.

He walked in, smelling of sex and cheap hotel soap. He found me, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and pressed a kiss to my hair. "Morning, sleepyhead," he murmured, his voice husky.

The scent hit me then. The cloying sweetness of Keri's perfume, mixed with the salty tang of his sweat. I remembered the sounds from his office. My stomach rebelled. I pushed him away, stumbling to the bathroom, and vomited until my throat burned.

"Gretchen? What's wrong, baby?" He followed me, his face etched with concern. He rubbed my back, his touch making my skin crawl. "Did you eat something bad? Are you sick?"

I wiped my mouth, my body shaking. "Just a chill," I managed, my voice hoarse. "I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," he said, already heading to the kitchen. "I'll make you a hot toddy. With extra lemon. You'll feel better."

A Hot Toddy. He remembered that too. He remembered to use the good bourbon and the exact amount of honey I liked. He used to make it for me every time I felt unwell, for ten years.

He's still got the stamina for some things, I thought, a bitter laugh bubbling in my chest. Just not for me. We hadn't been intimate in months. He always claimed he was "too tired" from work. Now I knew where his energy truly went.

I used to research bio-hacking, buying him expensive supplements and vitamins to boost his "vitality." I was such a fool. He didn't need vitamins. He just needed another woman.

He came back with the steaming mug, the aroma of lemon and whiskey filling the air. It smelled exactly the same. But the man holding it was a stranger.

I took a sip. It burned, then warmed. But it couldn't thaw the ice in my heart. Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over, splashing into the tea.

"Oh, Gretchen, don't cry," he said, pulling me into his arms. "My heart breaks when you cry." He smoothed my hair.

I quickly wiped my eyes, forcing a watery smile. "It's just the whiskey fumes," I lied, my voice still trembling. "It stung my eyes."

He chuckled, relieved. "You're so sweet, my love. Always so sensitive."

The coldness returned, chasing away the last vestiges of pain. It would all be over soon. Just a few more days.

My phone buzzed. Keri. Again. A series of photos. Her in my husband's office, wearing nothing but a flimsy silk robe. Her on his desk. Her legs wrapped around him.

Then, a text: He says you're barren, Gretchen. But my baby is proof of his virility. Our baby will inherit everything. You'll be nothing.

Another text: He wore me out last night, baby. Said he hasn't had real passion in years. While you were sleeping peacefully, I was making his heir. Jealous?

I deleted the texts, my finger steady. No emotion. Nothing. I called a cab. It was time.

The hospital was cold, sterile. I lay on the operating table, my body trembling, not from fear, but from the immense weight of what I was doing. I gently placed a hand on my belly, a silent farewell.

I'm so sorry, my sweet baby. I whispered, tears silently streaming down my face. You deserve so much more than this broken world. More than this broken family.

Just a few minutes. That's all it took. The little life, so desperately wanted, so carelessly conceived, was gone. Reduced to medical waste.

"Can I... can I see it?" My voice was barely a whisper.

The nurse, her face hard, scoffed. "You weren't so squeamish when you were having fun, were you? Now you want to see it?"

I ignored her, scrambling off the table. I saw the bin. I rummaged through the bloody gauze, the medical tubing, until I found it. A tiny, barely formed speck of flesh. My baby.

I wrapped it carefully in a tissue, holding it gently in my trembling hands. I walked out of the hospital, the bright afternoon sun blinding me. But I felt only a bone-deep cold.

My phone buzzed again. Keri. Another photo. A glossy brochure for a luxury maternity ward. Donovan says only the best for our baby. You wouldn't understand, would you?

It doesn't matter who carries his child, I thought, a chilling emptiness in my chest. It will always be tainted.

I went straight to a lawyer's office. "I want a divorce," I told her, my voice devoid of emotion.

"Are you sure, Ms. Rivas? And you don't want any assets? No alimony?" she asked, surprised.

"I want nothing from him," I said. "Just my freedom."

The divorce papers were drafted quickly. I signed them, my hand steady. When I got home, I placed the papers and the tiny, tissue-wrapped bundle into the gift box. Donovan's birthday surprise.

I smiled, a cold, hard smile that didn't reach my eyes. Happy birthday, Donovan. I hope you enjoy your gift.

Keri's texts continued to pour in. Now, photos of a luxury villa. Donovan says this is where our baby will grow up. So much better than your old, dusty house, right?

I looked around the house. The home I had poured my heart into. The one we bought with his first big paycheck. Our memories. Our dreams. All shattered.

It's old, I thought. He's old. And so am I. It's time to leave.