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After five long years, the prison gates groaned open. My husband, Michael, and our son, Kevin, were waiting, their presence a balm to my battered soul. I stepped into the blinding California sun, believing my nightmare was over, ready to reclaim my life. But within days, searching for old family videos on Michael's tablet, I stumbled upon a subfolder: "Audio Notes – Misc." The latest file contained Kevin's voice, confessing how he'd helped his father frame me – swapping my USB drive, planting evidence before my career-defining presentation. Then, Michael's chilling confirmation: he orchestrated my downfall, all to clear the path for a young actress, Sophia Bell. My meticulously rebuilt hope shattered. My five years in prison weren't a mistake; they were a deliberate sacrifice orchestrated by my own husband and son. I discovered Michael's study was a shrine to Sophia, filled with devotion he never showed me. At Sophia's lavish Hollywood party for the film stolen from my script, I saw my grandmother's cherished necklace – my wedding "something old" – glinting on her neck. My own father publicly disowned me, my son Kevin shoved me to the ground, calling me an embarrassment. Later, I found Michael and Sophia in *my* bed, my heirloom tossed carelessly aside. How could the people I loved most betray me with such cold precision? Was my entire life built on a foundation of lies and manipulation? The pain was suffocating, the injustice searing. With trembling hands, I signed the divorce papers. Minutes later, I was in a black car with David Lee, my loyal friend, leaving behind the wreckage. No suitcase, no goodbyes, just the quiet click of the door marking the start of a new battle and a new dawn.