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After My Husband Cheated, I Took Back My Voice Novel Cover

After My Husband Cheated, I Took Back My Voice

By the second year of my battle with speech aphasia, I had taken on the role of sign language host for rehearsals. The new host was struggling with her lines, stumbling repeatedly, which forced me to gesture countless times. My husband, Fletcher, who managed the station, was livid about my strained wrist. "If you can't even remember your lines, what's the point of being a host? Mess up again, and you're out!" The female host was terrified, muttering apologies while everyone else stayed silent. People knew Fletcher was notorious for being protective, unable to bear seeing me upset. But after the rehearsal, I stumbled upon him comforting that same host in his arms. "Sweetheart, don't cry. Your tears move me," he murmured. "Your voice is so much more pleasant than that mute's.
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Chapter 2

Fletcher and I had been together for six years, and he always put his phone on speaker when taking calls in front of me. He claimed there were no secrets between us and wanted to reassure me.

When the call connected, a melodious female voice filled the room. "Director, there's an issue at tonight's rehearsal. Can you come by?"

Fletcher's expression became stern, his voice cold. "Where's the deputy director? If there's a problem, he should handle it."

The woman responded apologetically, "His wife's gone into labor, and he's at the hospital with her."

Reluctantly, Fletcher agreed, "Alright, I'll be there soon." But after hanging up, he smirked, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. Moments later, he composed himself, turning to me with an apologetic look.

"Gabrielle, I've got to check on things at the station. If it runs late, I might not make it back tonight."

As he spoke, I reached out to stop him, my hand brushing against the scar on his palm, lost in thought. I recalled how, after I left my job at the BBC, a deranged fan had attacked me outside the studio. Fletcher had shielded me with his bare hands, earning that scar while saving me.

Caught in that memory, I hesitated. With my head bowed, I gestured with my hands. "Today is our anniversary. Can you stay and spend it with me?"

If Fletcher chose to stay, it might be one last chance for us.

"Gabrielle, don't be difficult. I'm the director. I need to be responsible for the New Year’s Eve special!"

With that, he hurried out the door, not even realizing he left his phone behind. I picked it up, threw on a coat, and rushed out after him.

At the entrance, I saw him get into a red Ferrari. A few minutes later, the car began to rock back and forth. My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't stop trembling. Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning revealed the alluring face of the woman inside the car.

At the same time, Fletcher's phone lit up with an incoming call. There was no name, but I instantly recognized who it was. With a trembling hand, I answered, and Vanessa's teasing laughter filled my ears.

“Fletcher, go easy. Has Gabrielle not been satisfying you?”

The suggestive noises paused briefly before Fletcher’s mocking laughter came through. “That mute is so dull in bed. How could she compare to you?”

His words cut through me like a knife. I clenched my hand until it hurt, fighting back tears. After recording the call and sending it to my phone, I rushed out into the rain to print the divorce papers.

Back home, I sat at the dining table and poured myself a cup of coffee, a toast to my future. “Gabrielle Ortiz, here's to your new beginning.”

That night, just as I suspected, Fletcher didn't come home.

When I woke up the next day, he had already prepared breakfast, waiting for me to get up. A smug confidence in his demeanor, he tried to wrap his arms around me. The overpowering scent of perfume made me instinctively pull away.

Fletcher looked confused; this was the first time I had ever rejected him. "What's wrong, Gabrielle? Are you upset that I didn't come back last night?"

"Once we finish the photoshoot today, how about I take you to the auction?"

I nodded calmly, and after breakfast, we drove to the station. In the dressing room, though I was just the sign language interpreter, Fletcher had arranged for a custom Victorian-style dress for me, as he always did.

Suddenly, as I was getting my makeup done, Vanessa knocked on the door and entered. Fletcher frowned immediately upon seeing her.

"Gabby, am I...interrupting?" Vanessa asked, apologetically, her outfit barely covering her.

Noticing Fletcher's unwavering gaze, I responded mockingly, "Is there something you need?"

"Gabby, my evening gown is ruined. Could I borrow yours?"

Before she could finish, Fletcher's face hardened. "Absolutely not! This was made especially for Gabrielle. No one else deserves it."

Vanessa bit her lip, remaining silent. Fletcher, impatiently, instructed the stylist to find her another dress. I was then called to rehearse my lines by the director and left with the assistant.

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