The days blurred together after that. Harry never came home. Occasionally, he sent brief, detached messages about business trips and work emergencies.
But I wasn’t naive. Evelyn’s social media painted a different picture. There he was, standing just out of frame as she smiled like a flower in photos of their dates. They visited luxury boutiques, food spots and maternity clinics.
Each post was a dagger, yet my heart felt cold, detached. This wasn’t new pain—it was a persistent ache, dulled by the weight of my resolve.
***
Night after night, I packed. I sorted through the remnants of my life with Harry—the gifts, the love letters, the photographs. Every item carried the weight of a memory, each one suffocating me like a noose tightening around my neck.
By dawn, I had collected everything into a pile in the backyard. Lighting a match, I watched the flames consume it all. The wedding photos crumbled into ash. The letters curled and blackened, their words vanishing into smoke.
Even my own belongings, clothes and personal treasures—anything that connected me to this house—were sold or given away. I left no trace of myself behind.
Tomorrow would mark seven years since our wedding day. But instead of celebrating, I would leave this chapter of my life behind. Forever.
I spent that final night at my desk, editing two videos.
The first was a montage of our love story, chronicling the moments that once felt sacred: our wedding, vacations, silly moments captured in the spontaneity of joy.
The second video was a stark contrast: the evidence Evelyn had sent me. Her and Harry, their naked bodies tangled in passionate betrayal. The images that once destroyed me now fueled my purpose.
By sunrise, the videos were complete. I sent them to the general manager of Carf Mansion—the city-center building that Harry had built as a testament to our love.
“Tomorrow,” I instructed him, “play these videos on the building’s big screens. The first, then the second, on a continuous loop. Let the whole city see.”
With a deep breath, I whispered to myself, “Harry, you wanted the world to know about our love. Now, they will.”
***
That evening, Harry’s assistant arrived to escort me to a grand banquet in honor of our wedding anniversary. I allowed myself to be dressed in the exquisite gown he had chosen for me, its elegance masking the storm within.