ManyWriters

I was driving when a tragic accident took my unborn child. Preston happened to pass by with his female colleague in the car. He noticed my blood-stained white dress, blocked his assistant's view, and coldly remarked, "Tough luck. Don't look." Then he drove away quickly.
That evening, while in our bedroom, I discovered an unfamiliar lace bra tucked away in our wardrobe—certainly not mine. I shut the closet and calmly phoned someone. "Mr. Miller, I've decided. I can relocate and start at your firm next week."

Betrayed and Bleeding, From Devoted Wife to Determined Escapee

As Preston attempted to explain himself earnestly, I casually checked the time on my phone and replied coolly, "Honestly, I don't care about your relationship with Penelope anymore. Even if she wasn't in the picture, I'd still end things with you."


I rose from my seat and had barely taken a few paces when Preston seized my wrist.


"Olivia, we've been a couple for seven years... Can you recall the night we got together? You whispered in my ear, expressing how much you cared for me. You promised your affection would grow stronger with each passing day we held hands."


I met his frantic, pleading eyes and slowly detached his fingers from my wrist.


"Preston, even if we'd been together for decades, I'd still walk away from you without hesitation, just like I'm doing now. Here's a piece of advice: don't take a woman's sweet words too seriously."


8#08