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

Technically, HR should've handled it. But since it was me, the HR manager had sent the letter back to me directly.


The lighting in the room was dim, casting shadows across Preston's face. He didn't even glance at the letter as he scribbled his signature, his attention focused entirely on the birthday celebrant.


Just as I was about to take the letter back, Preston's hand shot out, grabbing mine. His expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he stared at my hand.


"You... You came here just for this?" he asked, his tone low and unreadable.


His face darkened again, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something. But then he flinched, pulling his hand back like he'd been burned.


I realized his fingers had brushed the burn marks on my palm, the ones from making the cake.


4#04