My Revenge to Make The Husband's Regret

cent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of

clearer than memories, of a future where I was dead, my husband Michael ma

ning concern, subtly tried to steal my dream journalism grant and clung possessively to Michael. Michael, my supposed husband, stood by, his

ile Jessica was painted a saint, and my mother c

ng I hadn't woken up at all? This wasn't merely betrayal; it was an active plot to dismantle my life,

ption, and as Michael stood there, oblivious, I knew the accommodating Sarah was gone;