For five years, I stood beside Chuck through his lowest days, helped his family recover, and believed in the home he had promised we would build together.
Then on Easter, he brought home Flora—pregnant with his child—and expected me to accept them both.
He mistook my silence for surrender. What he didn't know was that the moment he chose her, I had already chosen divorce.
I stopped arguing and quietly prepared for the life I would have after him, waiting until Chuck crossed the final line we had once promised never to cross.
After I left, Flora's staged poisoning was exposed, she lost the baby, and the only thing waiting for Chuck was the end of our marriage.
I moved to Bakercrest and began again, rebuilding both my career and my life.
Three years later, I had a new husband, a daughter, and a home filled with laughter. The cold rain had washed away the past—and leaving the wrong man was how I finally found myself again.
