The day I found a used, ultra-thin wrapper—a condom—stuffed between the passenger seat and the console of Damon’s custom Range Rover was the tenth anniversary of our wedding. In the ensuing fight, I slammed the door and ran, only to be hit by a runaway semi-truck. Our seven-month-old child was torn from my body, seven months too soon. Crushed. Just... gone. Damon Cole wept outside the operating room, swearing that he would never betray me again. He blocked the mistress, Chelsea Quinn, on every platform and started sending me his itinerary daily. My friends called me a warrior, praising me for winning the battle for my marriage. But I grew quieter with each passing day. Until our tenth wedding anniversary. Damon knelt on one knee, holding a newly customized engagement ring—a replica of the cheap silver band he’d first given me when we were kids. “Anna Rhodes,” he said, his eyes earnest and teary. “If you could turn back time, would you still marry me?” Our eyes met. I just stood there, frozen, unable to give him any reaction. That’s when he snapped. “Anna, what is it going to take? How much longer are you going to punish me? It was a baby, not a limb! We can have another one! I’ve been crawling on my knees for six months, damn it! Is that not enough?” “Do I have to kill myself before you’ll finally forgive me?” I blinked slowly. I looked at him, then smiled faintly. “You went through all the trouble to set this up. You must be starving. Would you like me to make you some grilled cheese? Or maybe just burgers?” … 1 Damon roared and slammed the front door as he left. I sighed. For the last six months, Damon truly seemed to have become the man I married. He’d even pushed a crucial business dinner to be here with me tonight. But the words—the tearful, desperate “I do” I’d said ten years ago—couldn’t be squeezed past my lips now. Before I could process the lingering emptiness, my phone chimed. Chelsea Quinn had posted a new Instagram Reel. In the shaky video, Damon was slumped in a dim corner of a bar, slugging back liquor. He was leaning down and kissing Chelsea fiercely. The caption was a self-satisfied thought of hers: 'To the one who sent him back to me. Love always finds a way.' The old me, even when heavily pregnant, would have charged into that bar and torn both of them apart. Now, I just calmly clicked on her private messages. And sent her a screenshot of the recipe for my famous anti-hangover detox shot. It was a recipe I’d tracked down from an old herbalist for Damon when I was worried about his stomach. Sending it to Chelsea felt like passing on the mantle. I was done with the caretaking. I expected Damon to stay out for days, like he used to. But he came home. He stood in the foyer, smelling of stale liquor, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked broken and pathetic. “Why didn’t you come after me?” “Chelsea’s post—you saw it, didn’t you?” I froze. A sudden pang pierced my chest. He knew. He always knew about Chelsea’s deliberate provocation, about every one of her calculated moves to torment me. I opened my mouth, but the words felt stuck in my throat. My silence quickly transformed Damon’s hurt into white-hot fury. He grabbed my shoulders, his alcohol-laced breath hot on my face. “Anna! Say something, damn it! You had a miscarriage, you didn't lose your voice!” “Look at you! You’re a shell of yourself, moping around all day. In bed, you’re like a dead fish. You have none of Chelsea’s fire, her vivacity—what man is supposed to tolerate that?” He got louder, unleashing every ounce of suppressed resentment. “The fight that day—sure, I was wrong. But are you telling me you had no part in it? The baby was in your stomach, Anna! You were the one stupid enough to get hit by a truck!” “And I came back! I want to make things work! We can have another baby! How much longer do you need to dwell on this?!” I stared at his enraged face, my eyes wide with a strange blankness. It had truly never occurred to me. His affair, my loss—all my fault. Just then, the doorbell rang. The display screen showed Chelsea holding a thermal carafe. She was specifically in a low-cut cashmere sweater, her neck craned just so, displaying a fresh, vivid bruise of a kiss. “Damon, are you home? You left before you could drink your hangover remedy. I was so worried.” Damon saw the screen, too. His grip on my shoulder eased. He looked at me, pleading. “Anna. Just say the word. Tell me to stay, and I will.” He was waiting. Waiting for me to scream, to drive Chelsea away, to lock him in with me—like I always had. But I just gave him a gentle, composed smile. “It’s too late. She shouldn’t be alone tonight. You should go with her.” In an instant, the expression on Damon’s face turned viciously ugly. “Fine! Fine, Anna Rhodes! You’ve finally done it.” He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. He pointed at me, his jaw clenched. “You remember this! Don’t you dare say I was the one who walked away this time!” He spun around, flung the door open, and, taking Chelsea with him, stormed out without a backward glance. 2 Taking advantage of the post-anniversary chaos, I went through the house and began to sort things out. When I reached the cardboard box tucked away in a corner of the home office, I paused. There was nothing of monetary value inside. Just a faded, threadbare high school varsity jacket and a few polaroids. The jacket was Damon’s. The winter I was sixteen, my mother finally fled my father’s abuse. My father turned all his drunken rage onto me. I was being beaten bloody in an alley. Damon had rushed in, thrown that jacket over me, and taken several blows himself. He shattered a beer bottle and screamed at my father: “Old man, touch her again and I’ll bury you! You hear me?” He was young, reckless, all raw muscle and fury. He scared my father sober that night. Damon dragged me out of that suffocating darkness. When we were at our lowest, we split a single pack of instant ramen. Even the ring he proposed with was just a plain silver band. His hand shook as he slid it onto my finger, his voice thick with emotion. He said, “One day, when I make it big, I’ll replace this with a diamond bigger than a pigeon’s egg. I’ll buy you the best house, the best life.” “I’ll make you happy, Anna. We’ll have a complete, perfect family.” I sat on the floor, flipping through the photos, my fingertips icy cold. Damon had kept his promise. He gave me the mansion, the security, and now, even the bespoke diamond ring. But how did we end up like this? I think the change began when I got pregnant. The morning sickness was debilitating. Damon, concerned, told me to step back from the company to rest. That’s when Chelsea was hired. She was a top-tier graduate, beautiful, and undeniably capable. Damon mentioned her several times at home, saying he really admired her drive. I didn’t worry at first; I was glad someone was there to lighten his load. But slowly, his shirts smelled of a perfume I didn’t recognize, and his phone calls with me grew shorter and more impatient. Then came that torrential night when I took a taxi to the office to surprise him. I opened his office door. And saw two bodies intertwined. He was driving into her with a savage intensity. My world collapsed in that instant. I lost it. I screamed, I cried, and, seven months pregnant, I lunged at Chelsea, ripping at her hair. I exposed his shame to every mutual friend. I publicly humiliated Chelsea at the company. I thought I could drag him back. But he wasn't the headstrong boy from the alley anymore. A single medical report—a statement about my mental health—sealed my fate. “She’s dealing with severe prenatal anxiety and a touch of delusion. We’re working through it, everyone. Please be patient with her.” But I wouldn't surrender... And so, later… I instinctively clutched my lower abdomen, which was now flat and empty. I couldn’t go down that road again. I scrambled up, heart pounding, and, without another thought, dumped the entire box into the recycling bin. The next morning, I was woken up by the corporate Slack channel. The new personnel announcement showed Chelsea Quinn not only back but promoted to Chief Executive Assistant. The messages rolled in: “I heard the CEO spent the night of his anniversary with Chelsea.” “Ugh, is that pregnant whale going to come in and cause a scene again? I can't deal with the drama.” “Who could? I think Damon’s finally smartened up. High time, too. Choose a capable woman.” “Cheers to Damon and Chelsea! Wedding bells soon, haha.” Seeing the gossip again, I felt calmer than I expected. I didn’t respond. I almost agreed with them; maybe Damon and Chelsea were a better fit. In the days that followed, Damon and Chelsea became openly high-profile. He took her to galas, business dinners, and even on the trip I’d always dreamed of—to see the Northern Lights. I stared at the photo of Damon’s side profile, his smile soft and tender, for a long time. He always said Iceland was too far, that we’d have to wait. But apparently, when it was for the person he loved, the distance didn’t matter. I didn't call him. Instead, I opened Chelsea’s Instagram. For the first time, I Liked the photo. Then, I commented: “Wishing you two a happy ever after.” The phone rang immediately. It was Damon. The background was loud, and his voice was slurred. “Anna Rhodes, if you can find me in the next hour, I’ll give you one wish.” “A chance to ask for anything you want.” I glanced out the window. The rain was torrential. I ran out the door without hesitation. 3 The rain soaked me through. I couldn’t get a cab, so I ran. Searching one place after another. With ten minutes left, I finally burst through the door of a private party room. The laughter and noise stopped instantly. Every single face turned to look at me. I was dripping wet, my skirt stained with mud, my hair plastered to my face. I stood in the doorway, breathless and unable to speak. “Anna! You showed up just in time! I was just telling Damon that I’m pregnant!” Chelsea looked genuinely surprised and delighted, clutching a hospital ultrasound printout. I’d prepared myself for everything, yet I still stumbled back. Chelsea bit her lip, then stepped forward, grabbing my hand with faux-chastity. “Damon and I decided. He wants this baby. You and I can both be this baby’s mothers, in a way.” “It’s our apology gift to you. Can we just move past this now, please?” I was rigid. I took a deep, shuddering breath, just barely managing to suppress the urge to strike her. I wasn’t here to start a fight. “Wow, Damon. A wife and a mistress, both under your roof. Having it all, huh?” The crowd burst into mocking laughter. Damon slowly rose from the corner, walking over to me. He looked down at my miserable, drowned appearance, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You ran here? That’s how badly you want that wish?” I didn’t answer. I wiped the rain from my face with my sleeve. I just stared at him. I looked at his eyes, his mouth, his jawline. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find the face of the Damon I’d loved. It seemed that I was finally able to say goodbye to the ghost of my past. “You said you’d grant any request.” “Absolutely.” Damon crossed his arms, leaning back, patiently waiting for me to ask for what he thought I wanted. I stood there, the wet clothes clinging to my body. I didn’t run to him, as they all expected. Instead, I slowly pulled a folded document from my soaked dress. “Damon, I’ve made up my mind.” “I want a divorce.” I calmly held the signed divorce papers out to him. The silence that followed was deathly. “What did you say?” He stared at the papers, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Ten years! I never asked for a divorce, and you want to end it?” I gave a cold, detached nod. “Fine! Fine! Anna Rhodes, you’ll regret this. You will crawl back to me, begging, before I ever take you back!” In a fit of pique, Damon snatched the pen, signed his name with a flourish, and tossed the papers on the floor. I silently bent down, picked them up, and tucked them away. I turned to leave, just as a bottle shattered behind me. 4 I wanted to clear out fast, to make room for Damon and Chelsea. But I still ran into them. Damon had apparently spent the interim entangled with Chelsea on the living room sofa. The air in the house reeked of sex and expensive cologne. I held my nose, walking past them. Damon got up, without shame, and grabbed my wrist, his voice a malicious sneer. “Anna, you better think carefully. Divorce me, and what do you have left?” “Your mother, who cut you off years ago and wishes you were never born? Or your father, who just drinks and screams?” I turned back, my eyes cold. He smirked. “Look, for ten years of marriage, if you’re really that desperate, beg me. I might hire you back as a nursemaid for pregnant Chelsea—at least you’d have a roof over your head.” Only a childhood sweetheart could know exactly where to land the cruelest blow. Despite my total detachment, a dull ache still flared inside my chest. I pulled my arm free. My voice was quiet, yet steady. “Don’t worry about me. My life is no longer your concern.” Chelsea, watching me tape up my packed boxes, let out a sneering laugh. “Anna, I never thought you’d give up now.” “I have to admit, you almost won. For those six months, I actually thought you might keep him.” I ignored her and kept sealing the box. My dismissal clearly infuriated her. She stepped forward and deliberately crushed the utility knife under her heel. “The thing I hate most is the attitude of you wives. Someone who couldn't even keep her own husband has no right to look down on me.” I looked up, my brow furrowing. She suddenly leaned in close, a flash of pure venom in her eyes. She lowered her voice to a chilling whisper. “You still don’t know why Damon didn't answer your calls the day you were hit by the truck, do you?” My expression froze. Chelsea was pleased by my reaction. She got closer, her lips almost brushing my ear. “It wasn't bad signal. Not the phone left at home…” “He was with me, in the tiny studio apartment where you two lost your virginity.” “Your phone kept ringing—over and over, the screen lighting up.” “He glanced at the screen, hit Silent, and then… he pushed harder!” My face drained of blood. She was still reveling in the memory. “The rush was incredible. You have no idea how stimulating that was, knowing your desperate calls were chiming in the background. God, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.” Boom. My mind went blank. My vision blurred red. I lunged at Chelsea, throwing her to the ground and straddling her, hitting her in a frantic, uncoordinated frenzy. In the confusion, the cigarette lighter she held slipped, igniting the curtains. Flames shot up, and smoke began to billow. “Anna! Are you insane?!” Damon shouted, rushing in to pull us apart. But I clung to Chelsea like a demon, wrapping myself around her again and again. The fire grew. Damon gritted his teeth, kicked me away, and dragged Chelsea out first. When he looked back, the thick smoke had already obscured everything. I was gone.
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