The sound of Evelyn’s saccharine giggles greeted me as I descended the stairs. The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, bathing the room in a glow far too warm and cheerful for the coldness within me.
“You need your brother to feed you breakfast?” she teased, her voice playful yet laced with something sharper.
Harry chuckled helplessly, his smile indulgent as he picked up a doughnut and held it to her lips. “Here, eat,” he said, his tone affectionate.
But instead of taking a simple bite, Evelyn leaned forward and sucked his fingers, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Mmm,” she purred, her eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Evelyn!” Harry exclaimed, flustered. He reached out to tickle her and the kitchen was soon filled with their laughter, a sound that grated against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
But when he looked up and met my eyes, the laughter died. The air shifted, heavy with unease. Harry quickly pushed Evelyn aside and walked toward me, his expression suddenly full of concern.
“Honey,” he began, his voice soft. “Are you feeling better today? Look—I bought you your favorite breakfast: doughnuts.”
Before I could respond, Evelyn inserted herself between us, her smile bright but her eyes sharp. “Sister, look how thoughtful Harry is! He went out early this morning just for you.” She gestured to the table, where an assortment of breakfast items lay neatly arranged. “Doughnuts, tofu pudding, peanut milk—all your favorites! No wonder you’re so full of life and… curves.”
She grinned, her words dripping with mockery disguised as sweetness. “Who wouldn’t be envious of being spoiled like this every day?”
I ignored her jabs and turned my focus to Harry, my voice calm but edged with steel. “Hubby, have you forgotten? I’m allergic to peanut milk.”
The color drained from his face and he stammered, “I—I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.”
I brushed past them both and sat down at the dining table, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Breakfast, which should have been an intimate moment between two people, became a noisy circus of three.
***
After breakfast, Evelyn handed me a small, ornately wrapped box. “Sister,” she said, her tone falsely sweet, “thank you for letting me stay over last night. This is a gift I prepared just for you. I know you’ll love it.”
Her smile widened, but there was something sinister in her gaze, as if she were savoring a private joke.
Before I could respond, Harry chimed in. “Honey, I’ll drive Evelyn home. You stay here and rest, okay?”
I watched silently as the two of them left. Once the car disappeared down the street, I turned my attention to the gift box. I hesitated, my heart pounding as a sense of dread crept over me. Slowly, I lifted the lid.
A pungent scent hit me immediately—heather flowers, their sweetness cloying and oppressive. Beneath them, my stomach churned at the sight of what was inside: used condoms, neatly piled, an obscene testament to their infidelity.
My hands shook as I sifted through the box, only to find something worse—a USB drive. I plugged it into my laptop and the screen was flooded with video clips. One by one, they played, each more damning than the last.
There they were: Evelyn and Harry. In cars. In pools. On my bed. Their naked bodies tangled in passion, their moans echoing in my ears like a cruel mockery of everything I thought was real.
My chest constricted and I fell to the floor, clutching my stomach as sobs wracked my body.
***
Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave.
Harry, I thought bitterly, you were the one who pulled me from the darkness. You made me believe in love after my father’s betrayal drove my mother to despair. You promised me a life of happiness, a life free of lies. And now this?
My nails dug into my palms as I tried to contain the agony tearing through me. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel something—anything—that could match the pain inside.
I bolted upright and ran upstairs. Like a woman possessed, I began destroying every trace of him. The gifts he’d given me? Smashed. The wedding photos on the wall? Shattered. The love letters he wrote? Torn to shreds.
My rampage continued until I stumbled upon his pregnancy preparation diary. It sat innocently on his desk, its pages filled with meticulous notes.
I flipped through it, my hands trembling. There were detailed records of every stage of my IVF treatments—my hormone levels, my diet, even my mental state. His careful handwriting filled every page, his concern seemingly genuine.
The sight of it only deepened the gaping hole in my chest. Was any of this real? I wondered. How could a man act so convincingly? To promise me the world, only to shatter it while holding someone else in his arms?
The diary slipped from my hands as I sank to the floor, curling into myself. My tears fell freely, soaking the fabric of my clothes. I had nothing left—no strength, no hope. Just a hollow shell of the woman I used to be.
As I sat there, drowning in despair, a single thought emerged from the chaos in my mind: Five more days. Just five more days and I’ll be gone forever.
The countdown had begun.
The hum of my phone broke the silence. It was a text from Harry.
“Honey, I’m sorry. The company has an emergency and I have to work overtime. I can’t accompany you today, but wait for me. I’ll come back soon.”
Lies. The words were as hollow as the promises that had once made me believe in forever.
Almost immediately, another message arrived—this one from Evelyn. Her words were sharp, dripping with malice.
“Big sister, stop flattering yourself. Do you really think he’ll come back for you? He doesn’t love you anymore.” She continued, “You’re thirty-five. Old. Fat. Barren. Why don’t you just pack up and leave? He’s mine now. All I have to do is crook my finger and he’s at my feet.”
Attached were photos—her and Harry on a shopping spree. They stood at the counter, his hand brushing hers as he purchased an evening gown. The same gown I had admired months ago but deemed too extravagant. For her, he threw down ten million without hesitation.
I stared at the images, numb, my heart a fortress of scar tissue. Ignoring her provocations, I turned away, bandaging my hands from the wounds I had inflicted on myself in my grief.
The days blurred together after that. Harry never came home. Occasionally, he sent brief, detached messages about business trips and work emergencies.
But I wasn’t naive. Evelyn’s social media painted a different picture. There he was, standing just out of frame as she smiled like a flower in photos of their dates. They visited luxury boutiques, food spots and maternity clinics.
Each post was a dagger, yet my heart felt cold, detached. This wasn’t new pain—it was a persistent ache, dulled by the weight of my resolve.
***
Night after night, I packed. I sorted through the remnants of my life with Harry—the gifts, the love letters, the photographs. Every item carried the weight of a memory, each one suffocating me like a noose tightening around my neck.
By dawn, I had collected everything into a pile in the backyard. Lighting a match, I watched the flames consume it all. The wedding photos crumbled into ash. The letters curled and blackened, their words vanishing into smoke.
Even my own belongings, clothes and personal treasures—anything that connected me to this house—were sold or given away. I left no trace of myself behind.
Tomorrow would mark seven years since our wedding day. But instead of celebrating, I would leave this chapter of my life behind. Forever.
I spent that final night at my desk, editing two videos.
The first was a montage of our love story, chronicling the moments that once felt sacred: our wedding, vacations, silly moments captured in the spontaneity of joy.
The second video was a stark contrast: the evidence Evelyn had sent me. Her and Harry, their naked bodies tangled in passionate betrayal. The images that once destroyed me now fueled my purpose.
By sunrise, the videos were complete. I sent them to the general manager of Carf Mansion—the city-center building that Harry had built as a testament to our love.
“Tomorrow,” I instructed him, “play these videos on the building’s big screens. The first, then the second, on a continuous loop. Let the whole city see.”
With a deep breath, I whispered to myself, “Harry, you wanted the world to know about our love. Now, they will.”
***
That evening, Harry’s assistant arrived to escort me to a grand banquet in honor of our wedding anniversary. I allowed myself to be dressed in the exquisite gown he had chosen for me, its elegance masking the storm within.
At the banquet, Harry’s eyes lit up when he saw me. He rushed forward, his voice tender. “Dear, I’ve missed you so much.”
His arms wrapped around me in front of the crowd, the picture of a devoted husband. The room erupted in applause and I played along, nodding politely as he guided me through the night.
To the onlookers, we were the perfect couple. But I knew better. Each step, each smile, felt like an act, a final bow before the curtain fell.
Hours into the evening, I slipped away, seeking solitude by the pool. The moonlight reflected off the water, serene and indifferent to the chaos in my heart.
Evelyn approached, her gown shimmering as she swayed confidently. She twirled the hem of her dress, her lips curving into a mocking smile.
“Doesn’t it look stunning?” she purred. “Your husband bought it for me, along with every high-fashion gown in the city.”
She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “He told me himself—you’re nothing but an old, fat woman now. Someone like you could never be worthy of such luxury.”
Her words sliced through the air, but I stood firm, my expression unchanging.
The countdown had begun. Ten hours remained. And then, I would vanish. Forever.
Evelyn’s voice was a steady drip of venom, each word designed to wound.
“Hehehe, you don’t know yet, do you? The dress you’re wearing—it was actually left by my nanny. She didn’t want it, so now it's yours. A leftover, inferior remnant.”
Her words were sharp, mocking. But I wasn’t interested in the petty games she played. I turned away, my heart pounding with a growing sense of frustration.
But she wouldn’t stop. She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin.
“I know you despise me,” she sneered. “In your heart, you probably think I’m nothing but a broken shoe, don’t you? But guess what? In your husband’s heart, you’re not even worth as much as a broken shoe.”
She leaned in, her breath hot on my ear. “Do you really think he and I are just having a fling? That you’re the ‘true love’? Pfft. Let me tell you something. Your husband would rather pretend to be impotent than have a child with you.”
Her eyes glinted with malice.
“Because you’re psychotic.”
The words hit like a slap to the face. I recoiled, my body stiff with shock, but she wasn’t finished.
“Just like your mother. Your crazy murderer mother.”
I froze. The world around me seemed to fade.
“Didn’t you know?” she hissed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I heard Harry say that your mother—when she was pregnant with you—went insane and killed your father. Mental illness runs in the family, doesn’t it? Your mom was an old lunatic and you? You’re just a little lunatic.”
The words spun around me, crashing into my mind like waves in a storm. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
“Harry’s afraid. Afraid that if you get pregnant, you’ll snap just like your mother did—and kill someone... maybe even him.”
That final jab cut through me like a blade. My chest tightened. My breath became shallow, erratic. The world blurred.
All I could see was red. A rage so fierce, so consuming, flooded my veins. Without thinking, I lunged at her. My hands wrapped around her neck, desperate to silence the poison she was spewing.
