Chapter 3

From the sterile quiet of the Hamptons house, I sent Ethan a single text.

"I want a divorce."

My finger hovered over the send button for a long moment, then pressed down. Done.

He was there within hours, his face a mask of fury and disbelief.

"A divorce? Now? Are you insane, Ava?"

"I'm perfectly sane, Ethan. I just don't want to be married to you anymore."

He paced the sun-drenched living room, agitated. "We can work through this. We have to. Think of my parents, the company..."

His phone rang. He glanced at it, his expression shifting.

"It's Skyler," he said, his voice softening. "One of the twins has a fever. She's frantic."

He looked at me, then at his phone. The choice was clear. It always was.

"I have to go," he said, already moving towards the door. "We'll talk about this later."

And just like that, he abandoned me again, rushing back to his new family, his new life. The divorce text, my declaration of independence, was already secondary.

Despair settled over me, heavy and suffocating.

Later, I saw Skyler's Instagram stories. Ethan, looking like a doting father, at the hospital with the baby. Skyler's hand on his arm, a picture of familial bliss. A knife twisting in my gut.

I called a high-profile divorce lawyer, one known for handling messy, high-stakes splits. Then I resigned from the board of Ethan's family foundation, an institution I'd poured years of my life into.

One rainy afternoon, sorting through old boxes, I found a letter Ethan had written me early in our marriage. Full of love, promises, dreams for our future. The words mocked me.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain ripped through my abdomen. I gasped, doubling over, the letter fluttering to the floor. I collapsed, the world going dark.

A local doctor later diagnosed a severe stress-induced ulcer. "You need to take care of yourself, Mrs. Thorne," she'd said gently. "Your body is under immense strain."

When Ethan finally called, days later, it wasn't with concern.

"Skyler's been getting threatening texts, Ava," he accused, his voice cold. "Anonymous. Saying horrible things. She's terrified."

"And you think I sent them?" I was too weary to even be angry.

"Who else would? You're the only one acting irrationally."

Skyler, of course. Playing the victim, manipulating him further. He couldn't see it. Or didn't want to. My emotional exhaustion was complete, a dull ache in my soul. My stomach clenched again, a physical warning of the toll this was taking.