“What if I don’t want to?” 

Chuck didn’t even blink before deciding to get rid of our child. Suddenly, I wondered if maybe being infertile had been a blessing—at least my child wouldn’t be born into this mess. 

“Babe—” 

“Just kidding.” I smiled, pressing into his chest. “The doctor said I still can’t have kids. Thanks for sticking around.” 

And thanks—for everything you did to me. 

*** 

The weekend hit fast. Chuck got up early, kissed my cheek, and whipped up three dishes and a soup like a man on a mission. 

“Yasmine, I’m taking Mom and Dad out. Stay safe, okay? Call if anything happens.” 

I nodded, tears sliding down as I unlocked my phone. 

Sharon was outside. I’d gotten the pic before Chuck even woke up—her, kicked back in a car, smug as hell. 

The messages? 

[Yasmine, so what if you married him? I’m the one having his baby.] 

[You really think they’re headed to the villa to mourn me? Don’t be stupid. I’ve been living there for years. ] 

[Today’s my prenatal checkup. I casually said I wanted the whole fam there—and just like six years ago, they all came running. A few fake tears and boom, they picked me again.] 

[Your life’s a joke.] 

Attached were dozens of photos—Chuck with Sharon on trips, sometimes even with my parents. Sightseeing. Vacationing. Laughing. 

And me? I used to light up over the tiny souvenirs he brought back. 

The despair hit hard. I closed the chat and booked a flight for the next day. 

Knowing Sharon, she wouldn’t let them come home tonight. That gave me just enough time to disappear. 

By noon, I forced down a few bites, then got to work. Sorting evidence. Stacking it all up. 

Honestly? I had to thank her. If she hadn’t gotten cocky, I wouldn’t have this much dirt. 

With this, I could leave Chuck with nothing. 

And before I walked out for good, the world was going to see exactly who they really were. 

*** 

By the time I was done, it was already 10 p.m. 

No surprise—Chuck wasn’t coming home. He called me on video. The camera was blurry, but I could feel her there. Sharon, probably just out of frame. 

I didn’t say anything. Just smiled and promised I’d take care of myself. 

The next morning, I was up early. A crew showed up—contractors I’d hired. Anything I couldn’t pack? I told them to rip it out. 

As for the little trinkets Chuck gave me? I’d seen identical ones on Sharon’s socials. Mine were just duplicates. Leftovers. 

I didn’t want any of it. 

Two hours later, the team rolled out with truckloads of stuff. I sat down with a lighter and pulled out every photo from the past few years—burned them one by one. 

The fire alarm went off, screaming. 

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out. 

This was my goodbye gift to Chuck. By the time he made it back, I was already gone. Out of the house. Out of the city.