The Phone Call That Unraveled My Life

The Phone Call That Unraveled My Life

Elizabeth

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I was stuck. Ten years. Ten years married to Ethan, and now he looked at me like inconvenient furniture. My sister, Jessica, stood there, a smirk on her face, demanding my grandmother's antique necklace for her "career-making audition." Ethan, my husband, the man I loved, told me she needed it. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. He was sleeping with her, with Jessica, my own sister. And he didn't even bother to hide it anymore. When I finally whispered "No," his eyes narrowed. "Don't be difficult, Sarah. It's just a necklace," he sneered. He dismissed my pain, ridiculed my anger. I tried to divorce him, but he just laughed, "You're mine, Sarah. Don't forget that." I was trapped, defeated, retreated to the dusty attic, my sanctuary of forgotten things. How could the man I married, the boy who wrote clumsy love poems, become this monster? This cold, controlling stranger who openly cheated with my sister and wouldn't let me go. Was there any escape from this personal hell? Any way to reclaim the life he had stolen? Then, my old college phone, a relic I hadn't touched in years, flickered to life. A desperate, wild thought struck me as I saw his old number. What if? I dialed. A young, hesitant voice answered, "Hello?" It was him. Ethan. Nineteen. My Ethan.

Introduction

I was stuck.

Ten years.

Ten years married to Ethan, and now he looked at me like inconvenient furniture.

My sister, Jessica, stood there, a smirk on her face, demanding my grandmother's antique necklace for her "career-making audition."

Ethan, my husband, the man I loved, told me she needed it.

His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.

He was sleeping with her, with Jessica, my own sister.

And he didn't even bother to hide it anymore.

When I finally whispered "No," his eyes narrowed.

"Don't be difficult, Sarah. It's just a necklace," he sneered.

He dismissed my pain, ridiculed my anger.

I tried to divorce him, but he just laughed, "You're mine, Sarah. Don't forget that."

I was trapped, defeated, retreated to the dusty attic, my sanctuary of forgotten things.

How could the man I married, the boy who wrote clumsy love poems, become this monster?

This cold, controlling stranger who openly cheated with my sister and wouldn't let me go.

Was there any escape from this personal hell?

Any way to reclaim the life he had stolen?

Then, my old college phone, a relic I hadn't touched in years, flickered to life.

A desperate, wild thought struck me as I saw his old number.

What if?

I dialed.

A young, hesitant voice answered, "Hello?"

It was him.

Ethan. Nineteen.

My Ethan.

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My fiancé, the ruthless Mafia Underboss, tore my dead mother's necklace from my throat and fastened it around another woman's neck. "Diana needs it," Arthur said, his eyes cold. "My blood remembers loving her. It calms her anxiety." He was referring to the bone marrow transplant that saved his life. Diana was connected to the donor, and Arthur believed his new blood made him belong to her. I became a ghost in my own home, forced to watch him crown a usurper. When Diana faked a fall at a gala, accusing me of pushing her, Arthur didn't hesitate. He decided to "discipline" me publicly to teach me respect. He raised the whip. "Arthur, please, I'm pregnant!" I screamed, shielding my stomach. "Don't lie to me," he spat, and the lash came down. I lost our baby on that cold marble floor in a pool of blood. He didn't believe me. He stepped over my body to take Diana to dinner. He didn't stop there. He let my grandmother die in the ER to tend to Diana's bruised nose. He even dug up my grandmother's grave because Diana wanted the view for a garden. I finally fled, vanishing into the night. It wasn't until months later, when he found the autopsy report of our unborn child and the toxicology results proving Diana had been drugging him, that the fog lifted. He tracked me down to a small town, where I was finally healing with a good man. The feared Underboss fell to his knees in the pouring rain, holding the whip he had used on me, shaking violently. "Beat me, Ella," he begged, tears mixing with the mud. "Hurt me. Make us even." I looked at the monster I used to love and dropped his ring into the dirt. "You can't bring back the dead, Arthur," I whispered. "And you are dead to me."

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