😍Read the next chapters👉
My husband’s mistress and their twins live in our home. He says I should be "grateful" he still calls me his wife. After my latest suicide attempt, a miracle happened. My husband's 18-year-old self started communicating with me through his old love letters. "I'll never hurt you!" the boy insists. I send proof. "Then leave her," I beg. "Save her from you." Now, the furious ghost of his past is on my side. He sees everything—the other woman, the cruel children, my pain. His words burn across the page for his older self to see: "You're a monster. I will end you!" My husband is about to face judgment from the one person he can't ignore: His own conscience. Again. I paid the bl00dsuc//kers their fee, burying the latest evidence of my husband’s infidelity in his own car. When the transaction cleared, a bitter laugh escaped me. I reached not for a drink, but for that childish plea for forgiveness he’d penned in detention a lifetime ago. Our homeroom teacher had caught us holding hands. On the yellowed page, in that careful, deliberate script of his, Joseph Carter had written. [Okay, so maybe we got in trouble. But this isn’t just some stupid high school thing. This is real. I love you, and that’s all that matters.] [Just wait. By the time I’m thirty, I swear you’ll have everything. A house, a kid, even that grumpy cat you keep talking about.] I’m twenty-nine now. No b@by. No cat. Instead, he’s built a complete family for another woman and their twins. I pressed my pen down hard and scrawled a new line on the old page, then drove the point of a pair of scissors into my own neck. [You were wrong. You didn’t make her happy. You’ll be the death of her.] *** Bl00d flowed thicker from my neck, my body growing colder. It didn’t hurt much. All I felt was relief. Just as my consciousness began to drift away, the bathroom door crashed open. Joseph Carter charged in. The sight of the bl00d in the bathtub made his pupils contract violently. He stumbled forward, snat
