Designing Her Own Life

Designing Her Own Life

Kao La

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For ten years, I was Gabrielle Fuller, successful graphic designer turned dedicated wife, my life orbiting Andrew Scott, my charismatic lawyer husband. Then my father, a well-respected judge and Andrew' s mentor, made a dying wish: "Gabby... promise me... you and Andrew... work it out." Hours later, clutching my phone in the sterile waiting room, I tried to reach Andrew, who was at a crucial legal conference in London. Dozens of calls, countless texts – all went unanswered. Finally, on the twentieth try, an unfamiliar female voice answered Andrew' s phone: Jennifer Chavez, his ex-girlfriend and current colleague. Her clipped tone dismissed my emergency, saying he was "busy." The world tilted as I realized the unspoken truth: he was with her, and she was answering his calls while my father lay dying. My father' s funeral unfolded without Andrew; his absence a glaring wound in the front row, a whisper among the city's legal elite. I clung to flimsy excuses until I saw it: Andrew' s beaming photo celebrating a "big win" in London, posted the day my father died, with a photo of him and Jennifer captioned by Andrew: "Couldn't have done it without you." Every excuse shattered. He had time for social media but not for my desperate calls. The man I built my life around wasn't unreachable; he was simply unavailable to me. I called my best friend, Molly: "It' s over. I need a divorce lawyer." Now, I reclaim my life, piece by painful piece, starting with a new job and finding my own purpose. But when Andrew returns, pleading ignorance and begging for another chance, can I truly move on when the past refuses to let go?

Introduction

For ten years, I was Gabrielle Fuller, successful graphic designer turned dedicated wife, my life orbiting Andrew Scott, my charismatic lawyer husband.

Then my father, a well-respected judge and Andrew' s mentor, made a dying wish: "Gabby... promise me... you and Andrew... work it out."

Hours later, clutching my phone in the sterile waiting room, I tried to reach Andrew, who was at a crucial legal conference in London.

Dozens of calls, countless texts – all went unanswered.

Finally, on the twentieth try, an unfamiliar female voice answered Andrew' s phone: Jennifer Chavez, his ex-girlfriend and current colleague.

Her clipped tone dismissed my emergency, saying he was "busy."

The world tilted as I realized the unspoken truth: he was with her, and she was answering his calls while my father lay dying.

My father' s funeral unfolded without Andrew; his absence a glaring wound in the front row, a whisper among the city's legal elite.

I clung to flimsy excuses until I saw it: Andrew' s beaming photo celebrating a "big win" in London, posted the day my father died, with a photo of him and Jennifer captioned by Andrew: "Couldn't have done it without you."

Every excuse shattered.

He had time for social media but not for my desperate calls.

The man I built my life around wasn't unreachable; he was simply unavailable to me.

I called my best friend, Molly: "It' s over. I need a divorce lawyer."

Now, I reclaim my life, piece by painful piece, starting with a new job and finding my own purpose.

But when Andrew returns, pleading ignorance and begging for another chance, can I truly move on when the past refuses to let go?

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My engagement party was supposed to be the start of my fairy tale with Liam, the handsome CEO, my everything for three years. His arm was tight around my waist, his whispered "I love you, Liv" filling my heart. Everything was perfect. Then his phone rang. His face changed, his easy smile replaced by a tension that radiated from him. He took the call in a quiet corner, and when he returned, he looked wild, frantic. "Liv, I have to go. It's an emergency. A family emergency." He said it was about "Chloe," a childhood friend who had just woken up from a ten-year coma. He practically ran out, abandoning me at our party, telling me to wait at home. The humiliation burned. My perfect world shattered. I was devastated, but I followed him to the hospital, only to overhear him confessing passionate devotion to Chloe. When I confronted him, he hid me from her, telling her I was just "a friend from work." He then asked me to move out of our shared apartment, claiming it was a "family tradition" before the wedding, so Chloe could move in. Day after day, I watched him choose her, lie for her, put her first, while I became a secret, a temporary inconvenience. I was heartbroken, but a cold realization began to dawn. I found an old photo album, hidden away, showing a teenage Liam with Chloe, intertwined and deeply in love. Her face, eerily similar to mine. Then, a newspaper article: Chloe Hayes, the sole survivor of a tragic car crash that killed her parents ten years ago, a crash Liam was in. He wasn't just her childhood friend; he was her first love, the man who was with her when her world shattered, and his family adopted her. I wasn' t the love of his life. I was just a substitute, a temporary replacement for the girl he lost. I was seeing red. How could he have used me like this? How could he have built our entire relationship on such a cruel, agonizing lie? I looked at the wedding dress I was supposed to be wearing for our photoshoot, then at the man who had seen through Liam's deception from the start. Ethan, Liam's rival, had been a quiet, steady presence. When Liam abandoned me at the photoshoot, claiming Chloe had tried to kill herself, and then told her in the hospital, "I'm here to marry you," I knew. I had to end this. "Are you free in ten days?" I asked Ethan. He blinked. "Marry me."

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The monotonous beeping was the first thing. Not the familiar sounds of my life-architectural blueprints or classical music. Then came the blinding glare and the crushing impact. I was on my way to Lily' s school play. When I opened my eyes, a nurse told me I was Mr. Johnson, that I' d been in a coma. My wife, Sarah, and daughter, Lily, were safe, she said, with a pity that chilled me. Ten years. A decade gone. My heart shattered as I searched a tablet for Sarah. She wasn' t the warm woman I knew, but CEO Sarah Miller, a tech titan, always pictured with Alex Chen, her "constant companion." I frantically searched for Lily, finding nothing. It was as if she' d vanished from her mother' s glossy new world. Ignoring hospital staff, I ripped out my IV. Weak and desperate, I fled. I found Lily on a street corner, a ghost of my seven-year-old girl, selling charcoal sketches. Thugs harassed her, a city official threatened to confiscate her work, and then Sarah' s sleek car pulled up. My wife looked at our daughter, not with warmth, but cold annoyance. "Lily, just stop. You' re hopeless." The word echoed, hitting Lily harder than any physical blow. Something inside me snapped. Ten years of helplessness erupted. I attacked the thugs, the official, protecting my daughter. Then, Lily collapsed. Back in a drab hospital, I called Sarah. Her assistant dismissed me: "Ms. Miller is in a very important board meeting." Later, a kind nurse revealed Lily paid for my care, sacrificing everything. My daughter, starving, while her CEO mother was too busy. When Lily visited, gaunt and tired, she tried to lie about an art class, but I knew. She was going back to work the streets for me. My wife was in a board meeting while our daughter gave up her life for mine. Raw guilt and rage consumed me. I vowed to get stronger, to save my daughter.

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