Departure in Despair

The heavy oak door of my penthouse swung open, and I looked up, my heart hoping Ethan was finally home alone.

He wasn' t. Olivia Chen was clinging to his arm, her smile bright, her eyes sweeping over our home with a look of ownership.

"Chloe," he said, his voice flat, "We need to talk."

For a month, he' d been asking for a divorce, claiming our life was monotonous. He meant someone new.

"I' m not signing the papers," I told him, the words tasting like ash.

Olivia' s sugary sweet voice cut in, "Ethan, darling, maybe she just needs more time to understand."

A cold fury ignited in my chest as he gestured vaguely, tired of "this" -our ten years together.

Then he led her right into our custom-designed master bedroom.

My blood ran cold. He couldn' t. But he did. And her light laughter drifted out, cutting right through me.

A sudden, searing pain shot through my chest, making me gasp. It felt like a wire pulled tight, a strange agony I' d been feeling for weeks, always when his betrayal was deepest.

I stumbled toward the door, pushing it open, and the sight shattered the last piece of my hope. He had her pressed against our bedroom window.

"What are you doing? Get out," he said, his eyes filled with cold irritation, not shame.

"This is my room," I whispered.

"Not for much longer," he said cruelly.

The pain intensified. He didn' t just want a divorce; he wanted to erase, to humiliate me.

With the calm of despair, I walked to the study, and signed the divorce papers.

"Here," I said, my voice empty, holding them out. "It' s what you wanted."

He snatched them, his eyes lighting up with unconcealed joy. "Finally. Let' s go. We can get this filed right now."

He dragged me to his new Aston Martin, personalized with Olivia' s initials. He was so eager to be rid of me, he was blind to his own betrayal.

At the courthouse, ten years dissolved in twenty minutes. As he walked away, I felt something snap inside me.

"The bed," I called out. "The million-dollar bed. It was a gift from my grandfather."

"It' s just a bed, Chloe."

"It' s not just a bed. It was for us!" I cried, the pain in my chest flaring.

"I was bored. Love isn' t some fairy tale," he said, dissecting our love like a failed business deal.

Another sharp pain, more intense than any before, shot through me. I crumbled to the ground, black spots dancing in my vision.

"Stop being so dramatic," he said, pushing me into a cab.

I curled into a ball, the world fading to black.

I woke in the condo he' d sent me to, weakened. A few days later, Olivia showed up, demanding the pearl necklace Ethan had given me.

"He told me it represented the years we had built together, each pearl a precious memory."

"I' m here for the pearls," she said.

"No," I said, my voice firm.

Then Ethan appeared with security guards. "She' s been unwell. She might not be thinking clearly. Retrieve the jewelry box."

One pushed me. I hit my head. Olivia cried, "Oh my god! She fell! Ethan, she tried to attack me!"

He looked at her, not me. "She' s unstable. Take her to the old property with the basement apartment. Make sure she stays there."

They dragged me to a dilapidated building, throwing me into a damp, dark basement. The heavy metal door slammed shut. I was a prisoner.

And I began to remember. Not just in this life, but a past one. He had saved me then, binding his life force to mine with a forbidden ritual. His betrayal now was severing that bond, killing me.

I would not die in this basement. I found a way out, desperate to clear my name. I went to Marcus Green, Ethan' s business partner, our friend.

"Ethan said you' d gone to a wellness retreat," Marcus said, shocked by my appearance.

I told him everything. "He locked me in a basement. Olivia set me up!"

"Ethan is my partner. He wouldn' t do something like that."

"Olivia is pregnant," Marcus said.

The words hit me like a physical blow. A baby would secure her position.

"It' s a lie," I whispered, though I knew it was likely true.

Marcus reached for the phone. "I' m going to call Ethan. He' ll know what to do."

Panic seizing me, I ran, a fugitive on the streets, with no money, no phone, nowhere to go. My body was failing, the cough persistent.

He found me in a doorway. "You' ve caused a lot of trouble," he said, leading me to his car, straight to the penthouse.

Olivia' s things were everywhere. "Olivia is having a difficult pregnancy," he said. "She needs someone to look after her."

"You' re going to take care of her." He wanted me, his ex-wife whom he had imprisoned, to nursemaid his pregnant mistress.

"No!" I cried, a spark of defiance.

"You don' t have a choice. Or I will have you committed." He had me trapped.

The next weeks were hell. I cooked for her, cleaned for her, treated like an invisible servant. My health declined rapidly.

One afternoon, carrying a heavy tray, an unbearable agony struck. I collapsed, gasping for breath.

I woke in a hospital bed. Dr. Hayes was grave. "Your body is shutting down."

From the other side of the curtain, I heard Ethan and Olivia. He cooed, "Don' t be scared, I' m right here." Then, kissing.

The pain in my chest exploded. "How can you be so cruel?" I gasped, tears streaming.

"Honestly?" he said, his voice flat. "I' d be relieved. It would make things a lot simpler."

His words were the final blow. He wanted me dead.

A few days later, I was back in the penthouse, facing a grim prognosis. The only comfort was Whiskers, my rescue cat. I found him huddled in the bathroom, a bloody gash on his fur.

"You did this!" I screamed at Olivia.

She lied. "He scratched me."

Ethan walked in. She burst into tears, showing him her scratch. "Chloe' s cat attacked me! And now she' s accusing me of hurting it. She' s crazy!"

"You did this?" he snarled at me, blindness in his eyes.

"No! Ethan, she' s lying! Look at him!"

He slapped me, sending me stumbling. Whiskers fell, crying. "You' re a monster. Get out, and take that disgusting animal with you."

I carried Whiskers' dying body out, buried him in a quiet park, and returned, hollow.

Ethan arrived later, searching. "Where is it? The herb. The life-saving herb I gave you."

He wanted the miraculous herb that could save my life, to give to Olivia and his child.

"It' s for the baby, isn' t it?" I asked.

"It' s for both of them. Tell me where it is. Olivia' s life is on the line."

"It' s mine. You gave it to me. I think I might need it." I placed a hand over my aching chest.

"Don' t be dramatic, Chloe. Olivia is the one who is really sick." He twisted the past, claiming his life-binding sacrifice was a debt I owed him.

"That bond is the reason I' m dying," I whispered. "Your betrayal is killing me, Ethan. Literally."

He dismissed it as insanity, tearing the condo apart. My pain flared. I knew I didn' t have much time.

I remembered the herb, hidden in my jewelry box. I could let him fail. But suddenly, what was I fighting for? A life without love?

I pulled out the box, then the powerful herb.

"Give it to me," he demanded, his eyes gleaming.

"You can have it. But you have to do one thing for me. I want the divorce finalized. Now. Every last tie. I want to be free of you."

He quickly agreed. An hour later, the papers were signed.

The pain ripped through me as I finished. I cried out.

He snatched the papers. "The herb, Chloe."

With my last strength, I placed it in his hand. He didn' t notice me dying.

"Thank you," he said, already turning.

"Ethan," I gasped, "Help me."

"You' ll be fine. You just need to rest." And he was gone.

I lay dying, unseen. My life flashed before my eyes. I saw him racing to the hospital, giving Olivia the herb, her "miraculous" recovery. Then, their lavish wedding.

As they kissed, a final, passionate sealing of their union, I took my last breath.

My death was quiet, unnoticed. He was blissfully unaware he was dancing on my grave. A few days later, nightmares began for Ethan. He' d wake in a cold sweat, a profound sense of loss.

He' d hum a lullaby, my mother' s song, and a sharp pang would hit. He looked for me in crowds, picked up the phone to call me.

He tried to contact my lawyer, but my lawyer had vanished. A frustrating, low-grade anger grew.

A cold dread then seeped into his bones. What if I had been telling the truth?

He doubled down on his new life, but the nightmares came back. I was always there, just… gone. The emptiness was a gaping wound.

My friend, Sarah Jenkins, called my lawyer, Liam Rodriguez. He told her everything. My death. The cause: heart failure from severe emotional and physical distress.