“Satisfied, you scoundrel?” My husband drills me with his gaze. Beside him, his lover presses a sniffling bundle to her chest—his son. “Damn you.”
“Done already,” I stretch my lips into a smile. “But didn’t you cheat on me?”
“Seriously? What a bitch you are,” papers are thrown at me. I catch one sheet and quickly read it. This can’t be. Someone has carefully done everything to trample me into the dirt: to set me up, to slander me, to break me.
“And you believed it?”
A year of betrayal, lies, and trying to figure out how to live on. For an entire year I kept replaying the moment when I could rise and win. Now I’m free. And I no longer feel pain.