Fonz Nadherny
13 Published Stories
Fonz Nadherny's Books and Stories
Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Mafia I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Bound By The Legacy Pact: My Protector
Modern The crystal chandeliers of the Plaza Hotel screamed money, framing the wedding of Chelsea Grimes and Julian Davidson as the ultimate corporate merger. But as the officiant prepared to unite two of the city's most powerful dynasties, the heavy double doors didn't just open-they exploded inward.
Gideon Combs stood in the wreckage, a man in a frayed trench coat and grime-caked boots, looking like a stain on a pristine canvas. He wasn't there to object; he was there to enforce a "Legacy Pact," coldly informing the bride that her debt to a dead man hadn't been fulfilled and she didn't get to walk away.
In seconds, the ballroom turned into a butchery as Gideon dismantled elite bodyguards with nothing but a broken wine bottle, eventually sending the groom flying into a tower of shattering champagne glass. When the military arrived, the room expected a firing squad, but instead, a four-star General snapped a sharp salute to the "vagrant," calling him a national asset. My family, the Singletons, saw this as a threat rather than a salvation; when I chose to stand by Gideon, my own grandmother stripped me of my keys, my cards, and my inheritance, casting me out into the pouring rain.
I couldn't wrap my head around why the world's most powerful men trembled at the mention of Gideon's mentor, or what secret was etched into the black iron ring on his finger. I had traded my billionaire lifestyle for a man who looked like a drifter but fought like a god, and I had no idea if he was my protector or my ultimate ruin.
As we stood on the sidewalk with nothing but twelve dollars and the clothes on our backs, Gideon's phone buzzed with a half-million-dollar bounty already active on the dark web. He didn't flinch; he just looked at the shadows closing in and whispered.
"Game on." You Lost Me: The Genius Heiress's Comeback
Modern I lay on the freezing bathroom floor, my life slipping away in crimson rivulets as I lost the baby Harrison claimed he wanted more than breath itself.
In the next room, my husband was laughing into his phone, discussing party decorations with his mistress.
When I finally dragged myself to the door to beg for help, he just stepped over me.
"Call a doctor," he sighed, annoyed. "I have to go. Brooke's flight lands in an hour."
Three days later, during a bank robbery, the gunmen held pistols to both our heads and gave Harrison a choice: save me, or save his mistress.
Harrison didn't even blink.
"Let the blonde go," he said, his voice void of emotion. "She's vital. Keep the wife. She's just insurance."
I took a bullet because of him.
But the true kill shot came when I woke up in the hospital.
The family lawyer looked at me with pity and revealed the truth: Harrison never filed our marriage license.
For three years, I wasn't his wife. I was just a prop. A clean face to front his estate while he laundered money.
Harrison thought he had won when he drugged me and put me on a rigged boat to ship me away to an asylum.
He watched from the dock as the vessel exploded into a fireball, believing his problem was incinerated.
He thinks I'm dead. He thinks he's free to rule his empire with the woman who destroyed my life.
But he forgot one thing: you can't kill a ghost.
And I'm coming back to burn his world to ash. His Wife's Betrayal, His Rebirth
Billionaires My adoptive family, the Millers, were titans of industry, and I, Ethan Miller, built their tech empire from the ground up. But when my adoptive brother, Liam Stone, embezzled millions, they didn't hesitate to throw me under the bus.
"Ethan, you're the face of the company. You're the strong one. You can handle this." My adoptive parents, wife, and even my daughter, Mia, pressured me to take the fall.
They made me sign over my company control, publicly shamed me, and watched as my health failed under the crushing stress. When I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, they arrived not with concern, but with a monstrous request: "You have to save him. It's the only way you can make up for what you've done." They wanted my kidney for Liam, who faked terminal cancer, seeing me only as a spare part.
I stared at them, the sheer, monstrous selfishness of it beyond anger, settling into chilling calm. They wanted to harvest my organs after pushing me to the brink of death.
But the Ethan Miller they tried to destroy was gone. With Eleanor Vance's help, I faked my death, reborn as Elias Vance. They celebrated my demise, unaware I was watching.
"Ethan Miller is already dead, Eleanor. They killed him. Now it's time for the vultures to have their feast, only to find the carcass is poisoned." His Annoyance, My Awakening
Horror The last thing I remembered was the grinding sound of machinery, a symphony of six years in our small town, now a city death knell.
My children, Lily and Tom, were so excited to visit their father Michael' s new, successful factory.
"They've missed Michael so much, Ava. Let them go see him. He's just inside." Sarah, Michael's brother's widow, whispered, her arm around my shoulder, her voice a sweet poison.
I watched them run ahead, their small figures disappearing through the massive doorway, believing their father was building a better life for us.
They didn' t know the truth: Michael had left us for Sarah, taking our factory severance pay to build his new life with her and her children.
Then I saw Sarah' s real smile-sharp, cold. She pushed an unsecured metal cart. A klaxon blared. Two screams, cut short by a sickening crunch, a spray of red. My world ended.
Michael stood over me, his face filled with chilling annoyance, not grief.
"Well, that's that, then," he said, flatly. "Saves me the trouble and expense of a divorce, I guess."
He glanced at the machinery. "They were just baggage anyway, Ava. Holding me back."
His words annihilated my soul, a physical force squeezing the breath from me. The world turned gray, then black. I died on that cold, greasy floor.
And then, I gasped. I was in my cramped bedroom, sunlight filtering through the grimy window. A calendar on the wall marked the day the factory closed. Lily and Tom sat on the rug, whole and alive.
"Mommy?" Lily asked, her big brown eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?"
Tears streamed down my face. I clung to them, inhaling their scent. I was back.
The memory of their deaths, of Michael's monstrous words, was burned into my mind. Grief remained, a hot knot of agony, but something cold, hard, and sharp solidified beside it.
Revenge. Michael. Sarah. You will pay. I will tear down your world, piece by piece, and I will make you feel every ounce of the agony you gave me.
This was not a second chance at happiness. It was a second chance at justice. His Betrayal, Her Billion-Dollar Rise
Billionaires "InnovateHer," my tech company, just hit a billion-dollar valuation.
I built it from nothing, fueled by ramen noodles and 18-hour days, while my husband, David, coasted in a mid-level job.
He watched me struggle, then offered to join; to take the "boring stuff," the finances, the HR.
I, the visionary, the CEO, happily handed him the reins.
"I just want to support you," he' d said, and I believed him.
Then my debit card, linked to my multi-million-dollar earnings, was declined buying my son a birthday Lego set.
"Insufficient funds?" panic clawed at me.
David's voice on the phone was cold, dismissive. "I moved the money… This is what you wanted."
He granted me an allowance-a paltry $5,000 credit limit on a card in his name-for the company I built.
Soon, my own employee, his mousy executive assistant Maya, was openly challenging my authority, claiming "David's orders."
My mother-in-law, Brenda, a woman who never approved of my career, declared it was time for me to "step back," to take a "mommy track" position in my own company.
David, my husband, the man who once whispered he was the proudest husband in the world, nodded in agreement.
"You're too emotional to run a company this big," he sneered.
Then, Brenda brought Maya into my home, to "help" with dinner.
My son, Leo, just six, stared at me with coached resentment.
"I hate you! You' re a bad mommy! I want to live with Daddy and Maya!" he screamed, his words tearing a hole through my soul.
I finally understood: This wasn't just betrayal. This was a calculated coup.
And in the silence of my terror, a new, cold clarity dawned.
They thought they had broken me.
They were wrong.
They had just woken me up. The Unwanted Mother’s Bold Escape
Romance The letter in my hand promised a dream-a master seamstress position at a prestigious fashion house, a chance to reclaim the skill I' d spent a lifetime perfecting.
But when I shared the news with my son, David, and his wife, Sarah, in the house I' d bought for them with my retirement savings, their response wasn't joy, but a chilling demand: "Since you' ll have your own income now, it' s only fair that you start paying rent."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Rent. In my own home, where I' d cooked, cleaned, and cared for their child for years without asking for a dime. They dismissed my sacrifices, claiming they were merely "my duty as a mother," an "investment" that now required repayment.
Their greed escalated, demanding all of Leo' s care, then escalating into vicious accusations and threats of divorce, of taking my grandson away, all to force me into submission. My son, David, sat by silently, a coward, choosing his manipulative wife over his own mother.
My heart shattered, but a cold resolve settled over me. There was no family left to save. I gathered the few things that mattered and walked out, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a love that had become a cage. A Debt of Life, Repaid in Blood
Modern The ER waiting room hummed with a familiar, sickly glow.
But tonight, I wasn't the paramedic on call.
I was just Andrew, a guy in a hoodie, staring at my phone.
My fiancée, Jennifer, lay supposedly critical after a hit-and-run.
They said she needed emergency brain surgery.
The nurse demanded payment upfront.
With a cold, practiced mask, I showed them my banking app.
"$17.42."
That's all I had left, I claimed.
It was after a "sophisticated online scam" wiped me out.
Jennifer' s "parents" - two actors she' d hired - wailed.
They begged me to save her.
They even proposed a monstrous deal.
Their son' s heart for my sick mother' s life.
The world watched as a good Samaritan nurse started a GoFundMe.
She was painting me as a heartless monster who' d let his fiancée die.
The video went viral.
Donations poured in, "saving" Jennifer.
Meanwhile, my career and reputation crumbled.
Every phone call from my chief was a stab.
Every hateful comment online was a stab.
But I didn't care.
They called me a sociopath, a villain.
How could I let them believe such a lie?
How could I be so callous, so indifferent to the woman I was supposed to marry?
My mother's fragile heart.
My ruined career.
It all felt like a twisted nightmare.
But this wasn't my first time living this nightmare.
In another life, I was the fool who fell for it all.
I watched my mother die because of Jennifer' s cruel "loyalty test."
This time, I knew the game.
This time, I was ready to play my own hand. His Blame, Her Liberation
Romance The stench of stale beer and sweat hung heavy at the post-game party, a ghost from a life I thought was behind me.
I stood in a quiet corner, trying to disappear as the music vibrated through the floor.
My ex-boyfriend Liam' s best friend, Kevin, suddenly plowed through the crowd, his face stark with raw panic.
"Ava! You have to help. They took him!" he screamed, his words a horrifying echo of a past I' d desperately tried to escape.
He begged me to rescue Liam from the black van, reminding me of all the "stuff" my dad taught me.
But in my first life, answering that call plunged me into a thirty-year nightmare: a soul-crushing marriage to a man who resented me, a daughter who mirrored his coldness, and ultimately, a lonely death while they escaped.
This time, I just told him to call the police.
Liam' s heroic football career ended that night with a shattered leg and a lost scholarship, and I became the town's despised "ice queen."
When he, also reborn, confronted me, his fury was absolute – blaming me for every consequence of my choice to save myself.
And his toxic girlfriend, Jess, ensured his family's utter ruin, leading to his mother's heart attack.
How could I be the villain for choosing to live, for refusing to be dragged back into a miserable existence by the very man who once condemned me to a lonely death?
The sheer entitlement of his blame, even after he remembered our shared, horrible future, made my blood run cold.
Was I truly bound to others' expectations, forever a cage to myself?
But when a broken, desperate Liam finally appeared on my doorstep, not asking for himself, but tearfully begging me to save his innocent parents from Jess' s destructive spiral, I knew my past wouldn't fully release me until I severed the deepest, most toxic ties – even if it meant one last, dangerous confrontation to finally claim my own peace and freedom. Genuine Love Found
Romance My whole life had been a meticulous climb.
Every blueprint, every award, every late night was for one person.
Isabelle Vance, the golden daughter of a political dynasty, my childhood sweetheart I swore to marry.
Winning the prestigious Thornton Prize was supposed to be our moment, the culmination of years, the validation I needed to finally propose.
But at the gala celebrating my success, she arrived on her cousin Spence' s arm.
Her eyes barely met mine, and when I confronted her, she delivered a chilling public dismissal.
"That was just a silly, youthful understanding, Ethan," she declared, her voice cold and clear, echoing through the hushed ballroom.
My world shattered publicly.
Confused and heartbroken, I tried to cling to hope, but she pulled further away, always with Spence.
Then, her engagement party-not to me, but to him.
When I begged for an explanation, she slapped me, hissing, "Leave and never contact me again."
Her powerful father orchestrated my exile to a remote, struggling region, burying me professionally.
There, fighting pneumonia and despair after a life-threatening accident, Spence sent me a cruel wedding album of him and Izzy, beaming, meant as a final taunt.
I lay there, convinced I was dying, wondering: how could the woman I dedicated my life to betray me so utterly?
Why was I tossed aside like trash, my achievements meaningless, my love a joke?
Was I just a "project" to them, unworthy of their world?
The injustice burned deeper than any fever.
But from the brink of death, a park ranger named Clara found me.
She didn't care about my past, my ambition, or the Vances.
She taught me what genuine love was, healing my body and soul.
Now, years later, I'm back in Boston, not as a broken man, but with a family forged in resilience.
And it's time to finally put the past, and Isabelle, to rest. Comeback of the Silenced Heiress
Romance Two years. Two years of agony, grueling surgeries, and relentless recovery after I shielded my fiancé, Chad, from a fiery explosion.
My back, once a roadmap of searing pain, was finally flawless, perfectly healed – a precious secret and a symbol of our new beginning.
I was finally home in our penthouse, overflowing with joyful anticipation to surprise Chad before our engagement party next week.
But the excitement curdled into an icy dread the moment I stepped inside.
Peels of a woman' s unfamiliar laughter echoed from our master suite, followed by Chad' s low, impossibly intimate voice.
"The doctor said it' s fine, the baby will be okay."
Then, Izzy, my own assistant, giggled, "You haven't used this king-sized bed with her, right? You said seeing her scars made you sick."
Sick. My scars. The ones I got saving his life, the constant reminder of my sacrifice.
In that instant, his whispers of eternal love, his tender care during my recovery – every single lie – shattered as unmistakable sounds of intimacy spilled from our bed.
The man I loved, the man I had nearly died for, a man who saw my selflessness as something repulsive, mocking my "snake-skin" behind my back.
He had drugged me for months, not for my true recovery, but to keep me docile while he continued his sordid affair, all while plotting to exploit my family' s immense influence to usurp his own brother's corporate empire.
How could the supposed angel I saved transform into such a monstrous, calculating deceiver?
From the depths of devastation, a chilling, diamond-hard clarity emerged, sharpening my resolve.
I clutched my phone, my shaking fingers composing a message that wasn't just a threat, but a meticulously planned declaration of war.
Chad Baxter Jr. was poised to lose absolutely everything.
He was about to discover that the "fragile" girl he thought he could break was meticulously preparing to demolish his entire world, piece by agonizing piece. When Love Kills, And Then Reborns
Billionaires I was a successful Silicon Valley mogul, a man of immense wealth and, as it turned out, even greater naivety, deeply in love with my beautiful fiancée, Ava.
Our meticulously planned future seemed perfect until tragedy allegedly struck: Ava "died" in a devastating rock-climbing accident, leaving my world utterly shattered and adrift.
For years, in my grief, I poured millions of dollars into commemorative foundations and generously supported her "grieving sisters," Chloe and Zoe, genuinely mourning a love I believed was tragically lost.
Then came the crushing blow: I stumbled upon her in Monaco – radiant, laughing, and shockingly alive on Liam Knight’s arm, their children by their side, oblivious to my existence.
They were living a lavish life, funded entirely by the immense fortune I had unknowingly gifted them through her fabricated death, a calculated deception that bled me dry for years.
The sheer shock of this colossal betrayal, the agonizing realization of decades of meticulously planned deceit perpetrated by those I trusted most, was so profound it literally stopped my heart.
My previous life, built on a foundation of love and trust, crumbled to ash as I felt the ultimate sting of idiocy and a crushing, all-consuming fury that burned hotter than any pain.
But death wasn't the end for me; it was merely a reset.
I snapped awake in the familiar luxury of my sprawling Silicon Valley mansion, the annoying beep of my alarm no longer a nuisance, but a powerful clarion call.
It was the precise morning Ava was supposed to 'die,' the very day that had marked the agonizing origin of all my past life's misery and betrayal.
This time, however, I wasn't the heartbroken, unsuspecting fiancé anymore.
I was reborn, armed with every single painful memory and a cold, unyielding resolve, and my objective was terrifyingly clear: meticulously reclaim everything they stole, and ruthlessly expose every single viper who dared to prey on my trust. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts
Landslide On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies. Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Tangye Wanzi I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." 
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