The Surgeon's Betrayal: A Wife's Revenge

couldn' t. I read the inscription again, hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me, that three year

ely recognized. I turned to the groundskeeper, my hands

we were told to prepare for... for this." He gestured vaguely at the dog's memoria

outh. "A special request?" I heard my own laugh, brittle an

shes. Into the ocean. Said she loved the sea." He mumbled, desperate to escape my gaze. "Please, ma'am, don't

o block out the roaring in my head

I'd meticulously curated in the facility, desperate to erase every trace of my past torm

g for s

rpent's hiss, a familiar poison. I froze. Arthur. I hadn't heard him approach.

of lilies in his hand. His eyes, usually so calculating, held a practiced sadness. "Alex

hur?" My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, a del

s eyes. He must have expected tears, hysterics. He expected the

as a shard of glass in my throat. "Where

s. It was what she would have wanted. A quiet farewell, by the sea." He offered a weak, placating smile. "Blaire' s little Princess Fluffykin

escaped me. "You think it's 'fitting' to replace the woman who gave you her kidney, who sa

ugh. Your mother loved animals. She alway

y cracking. "Don't you dare pretend to know what she wanted.

through the silent cemetery. He didn't flinch, didn't move to block it. He just

ce low, a tremor of an unfamiliar emotion beneath it. "She said

the grave, my mother is still a threat to her precious image." I pointed at the dog's he

if to touch me. "Alexandra, please. Let's just

anding softly on the cold stone. A sudden, violent impulse seized me. I kicked at the base of the headstone. The marb

are you doing? Stop it!

eve of my coat pulled up, exposing the faint, purple lines on my wrist where the rest

ething akin to shock. "What... what are these?" he whispered, his voi

you forgot to check the daily reports?" I shoved my hands back into the dirt, tearing at the grass, ignoring the pain as my fi

slowly, he released my arm. "Do what you want, Alexandra," he said, his voice flat. "Just...

I had no shovel, just my fingers, but I wouldn't stop. He was gone. He thought I was beyond saving, beyond reason. He was ri

as I pulled it from the ground. I ripped open the lid, scattering the fine, white dust into the brisk autumn wind. It swirled, a

d pieces. I pulled out my phone, took a quick, blurry photo of the desecrated grave, and