No Longer Yours, Ex Husband

Anthony Harris had spent six years proving that I was his everything. His love consumed him, and for a time, I believed I was his entire world. He cherished me in ways I thought would last forever.

But forever did not last long. Four years into our marriage, Anthony betrayed me. He cheated, and the cruelest part was that everyone around us knew, everyone except me.

That was the moment I decided to erase every last trace of who I was.

“Miss, are you absolutely sure you want to cancel your ID, passport, everything?” The clerk’s voice wavered with concern.

“If you ever need them back, it’ll be almost impossible. It’ll be like you don’t even exist anymore.”

Her words carried weight, but I did not flinch. I slid the form across the counter with steady hands.

“That’s the point,” I said softly. “I need to disappear so I can start over.”

I knew Anthony too well. The man who had once loved me obsessively would never stop looking for me, unless I ensured there was nothing left for him to find.

So, I would take everything he thought he knew about me, every trace of the life we had built together, and erase it completely.

I would make sure he could never pursue me again, leaving him to face the chaos he created.

For my final act, I left him a farewell gift.

It was a neatly wrapped box containing our divorce agreement, delivered on what would have been our fourth wedding anniversary. Inside was a simple note, [I wish you happiness with your new woman.]

By the time Anthony opened it, I was already gone. I was not Daisy Paul anymore, and he was chasing a ghost he could never find.

***

Since my request to erase my identity required a week to process, I returned home with a sigh.

But as I reached the front door, I noticed Anthony was already home. He walked over with that dazzling smile and pressed a kiss to my forehead before hugging me tightly.

The scent of his body odor hit me first, it was warm, familiar, almost comforting like always. But then another fragrance lingered, faint and floral, sharp like a thorn, definitely not mine.

Something inside me cracked, and my heart felt as if it sank a little lower.

“Where have you been? Why are you home after me?” His question, casual on the surface, made tears well up in my eyes unexpectedly.

Four years of marriage and I had never given him a reason to ask that, since I had always been the obedient wife, staying home, ensuring his world was steady and perfect.

A far cry from the girl I once was, one who loved spending time outside to escape the suffocating pain of my broken home. The reason why marriage and divorce were two things I had always wanted to avoid.

But Anthony never seemed to understand that. He did not realize why I made him wait for two long years before I finally accepted him.

It was not because I did not care for him, but because I was terrified of giving someone my heart only to have it broken.

And yet, after I spent four years loving him, trusting him, and building a life together, he cheated on me so easily, so carelessly. As if the years I gave him meant nothing.

I also suddenly started to be aware that Anthony had been coming home late, claiming to be swamped with work. The classic excuse of a husband with a mistress.

And Julie Osborn, his secretary, was more than just his mistress.

That afternoon, I had wanted to surprise him. I spent hours preparing his favorite dish, imagining the warm smile he would give me.

Instead, I was the one surprised, by the sight of them locked in a passionate kiss when the lift I wanted to take opened its door.

He had her pressed against the elevator wall, his back to the door.

They did not even stop their activity, even when I stepped into the elevator or the other employees, as if they had done that a hundred times before.

I could see Julie glanced at me, a triumphant gleam in her eyes, as though daring me to react.

Some employees who started to notice me too, shifted their expressions from calm to surprise.

It hit me then. Everyone knew. Everyone except me.

By the time the elevator reached the top floor, I had left. I threw the lunchbox into the nearest trash can and headed straight to town hall to begin erasing my existence.

So, when I was standing before Anthony, wrapped in a hug that once felt like home but then carried the shadow of another woman, I could not stop the flood of emotions.

The heartache and disappointment cut so deep that my tears betrayed me before I could even find the words.

Since I stayed silent, he loosened his embrace, his brow furrowing in concern when he noticed my tears.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost panicked. “Did someone hurt you before?”

I swallowed hard, pushing the truth deep down where it would not surface. “No, I… I’m fine. I lost track of time reading at the café. The novel was sad, and I guess I got caught up in it.”

Relief softened his features. He leaned in, pressing his cheek against mine, his warmth a mockery of the cold reality I then lived in.

“How about you stop reading sad stories, hmm?” he murmured, his tone tender. “Didn’t I promise to make you the happiest woman in the world?”

His words, once sweet, that time felt hollow.

Since in the eyes of others, my life in London seemed the epitome of perfection.

Married into a billionaire family with generational wealth, my only responsibilities were to take care of myself, oversee the sprawling Manor, and bask in the adoration of my husband.

But perfection was fragile. Especially when a third person wedged themselves into a world meant for two.

So, I would step aside. I would let Anthony find happiness with his new woman, even if it meant erasing my place in his life.

After all, saying goodbye to the luxury I had enjoyed for four years was not the hard part.

The hard part was staying under the same roof with a man who no longer loved me, a man who was already building a future with someone else.

“All those heartbreaks in those stories aren’t real,” he continued. “But our happiness is.”

But Anthony, if only you knew. The heartbreak I felt was not fiction. It was real, so real until it suffocated me more than any sad story ever could.