The Woman Who Loved a Heart

Five years ago, after my firefighter fiancé Michael died a hero, I married Ethan Vance, the man who received his heart. My secret vow was to protect Michael' s heart, to keep a part of him alive, even if it meant living a lie. Our fifth anniversary, I made his favorite lasagna, only to get a text with a photo: Ethan, my husband, intimately laughing with his ex-girlfriend, Chloe Carter, at an expensive rooftop bar. Later that night, Ethan came home reeking of another woman' s cloying perfume, calling me a "martyr" and complaining I "always smell like antiseptic." Then Chloe, his ex, orchestrated a public spectacle, faking a medical emergency to humiliate me, still in my scrubs, in front of a snickering crowd. The ultimate blow came when Ethan, fueled by Chloe' s lies, forced me to undergo a dangerous blood donation, ignoring my pleas, leading to a devastating miscarriage. How could the man I' d dedicated five years of my life to, the man who carried my beloved Michael' s heart, be so cruel, so arrogant, so utterly blind and dismissive? It wasn' t just about an affair; it was a brazen, calculated attack on my dignity, my entire being. But when I miraculously found myself pregnant again and told Ethan, he brutally denied it, tore up my medical report, and scoffed, "You' re pathetic." That was it. My final hope shattered, I knew I had to fight back, tear down his façade, and reclaim my life, no matter the cost.