I didn’t know how long I stood there, frozen in place, my entire body numb. The cold night air bit at my skin, but I couldn’t feel anything past the searing pain in my chest.
Othello was inside. With her. With Melanie.
My vision blurred as the last of my strength crumbled. I stumbled back, gripping the car door for support, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I wanted to scream. To break something. To tear apart everything in my path. But what would that change? Othello had already made his choice.
A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but it sounded more like a broken sob. I wiped at my face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I had spent five years believing in him. Loving him. Devoting everything to him. And now, here I was. Standing in the shadows. Watching the man I called my husband betray me like I was nothing. Like I had been the mistake all along.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, my fingers barely steady enough to dial the number. It rang once. Twice. Then a deep voice answered. “Amelia?”
The moment I heard my father’s voice, the last of my composure snapped. My throat tightened, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the suffocating pain.
“Dad…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
There was a pause on the other end. Then, his tone sharpened. “What happened?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I had always been strong in front of him. Always been the daughter who never broke. But not tonight.
“I’m done.” My voice trembled, but there was no hesitation in my words. “I’m severing the bond. I’m rejecting Othello.”
Silence. Then, a slow exhale. “Are you sure?”
I let out a shaky breath, my grip tightening around the phone. I thought of all the nights Othello held me in his arms, whispering promises I now knew were nothing but lies. I thought of the way he looked at Melanie tonight—like she was his and he had never stopped loving her. I thought of the message on his phone.
Melanie’s husband is dead. She’s coming back. She’s looking for you.
A fresh wave of pain clawed at my chest, but beneath it, something else burned. Anger. Resolve. I would not be the woman who stayed. I would not be the fool who waited for a man who never truly belonged to me.
I lifted my chin, my voice steady this time. “I’m sure.”
My father didn’t question me again. Instead, his voice turned cold. “Then come home.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I will.” Then, without another word, I ended the call.
I stared at the phone in my hand, my chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. This was it. This was the moment I finally chose myself.
I cast one last glance at Melanie’s house. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away.
I drove home in silence, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My heart felt hollow, my chest aching with every breath. The moment I stepped inside the house—the home I had built with him—the weight of everything crashed down on me. My knees almost buckled, but I caught myself.
No. I wouldn’t break now.
I stormed upstairs, shoving open the closet doors. My hands shook as I yanked out clothes, tossing them into my suitcase without care. The tears had stopped somewhere along the drive, but now they returned, hot and relentless, blurring my vision. I wiped at my face angrily, forcing myself to move faster.
Every dress he bought me, every piece of jewelry he gifted with sweet words—I ripped them away. The bracelet he clasped around my wrist on our anniversary? Gone. The perfume he loved on me? Thrown into the bin. Useless. Meaningless. Just like our marriage.
My fingers grazed over a silk scarf he once wrapped around my neck as he kissed me breathless. I clenched my jaw and shoved it deep into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold it.
Then, my eyes landed on it.
The wedding ring. His token of our bond as mates. The symbol of the love I once believed in.
Then, my eyes landed on the wedding ring. His token of our bond. Our so-called mate connection.
I stared at it, my breath uneven. This ring had once meant everything. It symbolized love, devotion—forever. But forever had been a lie.
With a shaky breath, I gripped the ring and yanked it off my finger. My chest ached as I held it between my fingers, a part of me hesitating. But then I remembered. Melanie’s husband is dead. She’s coming back. She’s looking for you.
The pain in my chest sharpened. My vision blurred. And then—without another thought—I threw it into the trash bin.
A strangled sob tore from my throat, but I forced it down, wiping my face with trembling hands. No more tears. No more begging. No more waiting.
Two suitcases sat at the door, packed and ready. My entire life with Othello—five years of love, devotion, and blind faith—reduced to nothing but luggage. I glanced at the clock. 3:47 AM. I hadn't slept. I couldn’t sleep. Not when my mind kept replaying the way he held her. The way he kissed her.
I sat on the couch, staring at the front door, waiting. The house was eerily quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound filling the empty space. My fingers dug into my palms as the hours passed, the darkness outside slowly giving way to dawn.
And then, the door opened.
Othello walked in like a perfect, faithful husband coming home to his loving wife. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, but he looked normal. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just spent the night with her.
"Amelia," he said with a small smile, stepping forward. "I was going to wake you up with breakfast. But you're already up."
