40
Without sparing Zara another glance, Tristan turned and strode back toward the hospital. Behind him, her face twisted into a mask of resentment, her gaze dark and venomous. I stood by the window, watching the scene unfold below a pathetic force played out in broad daylight. He was the one who chose betrayal.
flow that I’d graciously stepped aside for him and Zara, why was he suddenly pretending to be noble? I sighed, returning to bed and closing my eyes just as the door creaked open. Feigning sleep was easier than facing him. I had nothing left to say
For the next week, Tristan behaved as if nothing had happened. He hovered around me with relentless concern, peeling fruit, fetching water and doting on me like the perfect husband. But I saw through it all. This wasn’t love–it was guilt, wrapped in hollow gestures Our story was over. There was no going back.
The day of my discharge finally arrived. Tristan left early for the office, promising to return and handle the paperwork with me.
“Wait for me,” he’d said.
But I was done waiting I had waited five long years years filled with hope, disappointment and betrayal wouldn’t waste another second. He still hadn’t signed the divorce papers, but I had already filed a lawsuit Carrying my luggage, I walked out of the hospital alone.
Marco, one of Tristan’s closest friends, sensed something was off Yet he didn’t try to stop me.
‘Take care of yourself,” he said quietly, his expression filled with sympathy
Even an outsider could see how much Hind given to this marringe But Tristan? He had been bind to it all Swallowing the butterness rising in my throat. I managed a polite farewell before getting into the waiting car
8:55 AM
After Years, We Forget Each Other
Swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat, I managed a polite farewell before getting into the waiting car,
On the way to the airport, my phone buzzed relentlessly. A series of desperate messages from Tristan lit up the
screen:
[Honey, wait for me. I’m almost there–just caught in traffic.]
[I bought your favorite cupcakes to celebrate your discharge.]
[Trust me, everything will be fine.]
I stared at the screen, my chest hollow. Yes, everything would be fine. But only because I was leaving him behind. Without hesitation, I deleted every message, wiped his contact information from my phone and boarded the flight overseas.
Meanwhile, Tristan burst into the hospital, panting and frantic. But I was already gone. All that remained was a signed discharge form on the counter. Marco refused to tell him anything. Desperation twisted Tristan’s face as he stormed out, heading straight to the police station. Before he could even file a missing person report, chaos erupted online.
Zara had gone public with damning accusations. She exposed their five–year affair, detailing his deceit and, worst of all, the secret abortions he’d forced upon me. The internet exploded with outrage. Tristan became the poster child for scum–a symbol of betrayal and cruelty.
The scandal dragged his company down with him. Investors withdrew, partners demanded refunds and contracts were severed overnight. But none of that mattered to him. His only focus was finding me.
Message after message went unanswered. Each one returned with a cold red exclamation point. The endless beeping of unanswered calls drove him to madness.
Two days later, in a final act of desperation, he went back to the police. Legally, I was still his wife. The police had no choice but to assist him. After extensive searches and inquiries, they tracked me down to a residence abroad.
When Tristan arrived, breathless and wild–eyed, he slammed his fist against the door. No one answered. Pushing it open, he found nothing but silence–and a stack of cold, merciless papers. Surgical slips for four abortions lay neatly on the table.
The weight of the truth hit him like a freight train. Rage and despair consumed him as he tore the papers to shreds, scattering them like ashes across the room.
The police, fearing for his sanity, escorted him back to the country.
Two days later, a large sum of money appeared in my bank account. Alongside it came an official divorce agreement bearing his signature. The news broke soon after–Tristan had declared his company bankrupt. It was his way of making amends, a final act of penance. But no amount of money could bring back what I had lost. My youth My children. Those wounds would never heal. And I would never forgive.
(The End)
