I was a fool. I was never his. I was merely a placeholder, a convenient balm for his wounded ego until his true love, Annis, decided to grace him with her presence again. The realization hit me years later, not like a sudden shock, but a slow, agonizing bleed. He had been using me, and I had been too blind, too desperate for his love, to see it.
The first time I tried to leave, the argument was explosive. Words were hurled like stones, each one leaving a bruise. I packed a bag, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and despair. "I can't do this anymore, Coleton," I'd screamed, tears streaming down my face. "I can't be second best."
He chased me. Down the stairs, into the street. He dropped to one knee, a diamond ring glinting in the harsh streetlights. "Marry me, Clarissa," he pleaded, his voice thick with tears. "Don't leave me. I promise, it'll be different this time. You're the only one."
I stared at him, my heart a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Part of me, the part that still desperately loved him, wanted to believe. But another part, a small, quiet voice, whispered, liar.
"How can I believe you?" I asked, my voice raw.
He pulled a document from his pocket. A pre-nuptial agreement. "I'll sign anything you want. We'll add a clause. You can have half of everything if I ever betray you again. Just stay. Give me a chance to prove it." His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice cracking. "I can't live without you, Clarissa. You're my home. My anchor."
His tears, his desperate words, his promise of freedom, of true commitment… they chipped away at my resolve. I wanted to believe him so badly. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be chosen.
So I stayed. Again.
For a while, he was the perfect fiancé. Attentive, loving, showering me with affection. We were the envy of our friends, a power couple in the making. I blossomed under his attention, believing the past was truly behind us. I poured all my energy into making us work, into being the woman he deserved, the woman he chose. I curbed my fiery independence, softened my edges, became more accommodating, more agreeable. I wanted to be his perfect partner.
I spent years trying to conceive, enduring endless doctor appointments, countless treatments, all for a child with Coleton. I yearned for a family, a tangible symbol of our unbreakable bond. The emotional toll was immense, the physical pain a constant companion.
I thought I had finally found my peace, my true calling.
But it was all a lie. A beautiful, meticulously crafted lie. And the truth, when it finally revealed itself, shattered me into a million pieces. All those years, all that effort, all that sacrifice… it had led me to this. A hospital bed, a throbbing head, and an empty womb.
I had given up myself for him. I had given up my dreams, my passions, my very identity. I had molded myself into his ideal woman, only to find that his ideal woman was still Annis. My body, ravaged by treatments and the recent D&C, was a landscape of my failed devotion.
But this time, it was different. This time, there was no more love left to give. No more hope to cling to. Only a cold, hard resolve. I was done.
My lawyer, Beatrix, called later that day. "Clarissa," she said, her voice firm, "the divorce papers are already processed. Everything is in order."
A wave of relief, so profound it almost made me dizzy, washed over me. It was done. It was truly done. I booked a flight to my hometown. A one-way ticket. It was time to go home.
That night, alone in the hospital room, a strange sense of peace settled over me for the first time in years. I closed my eyes, drifting into the deepest sleep I'd had in weeks.
A cold drip on my forehead jolted me awake. My eyes flew open.
Coleton. He was standing over me, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, the harsh fluorescent light glinting off the tears tracking down his face. He looked like a ghost.
My heart didn't clench. It didn't ache. It just… lay there. A stone in my chest.
