Just as He Abandoned Me

After I hung up, the tears I’d held back for so long finally came.

I still remembered how Ryker had defied all of New York's high society when he’d insisted on marrying me. His family looked down on my humble origins; his business partners applied so much pressure he was nearly an outcast.

But he had weathered it all and given me a wedding that was the envy of the city. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman in Manhattan.

Unfortunately, I was far from the only woman drawn to this magnetic, almost god-like man.

On our wedding night, he took a call and left in a hurry. I waited alone in our bed until the sun came up.

He returned in the early hours, reeking of liquor, and patted my head with a detached fondness. "Do you know what I love most about you? You're sensible. You don't make waves. The Blackwoods need a matriarch like you."

In that moment, a bucket of ice water doused any fire in my chest. I learned to be docile. To never fight, never compete. I learned to be a beautiful ornament.

But now, he was parading around with Chloe—the one person I despised above all others.

I would never forget the day my father brought Chloe home, demanding my mother accept his illegitimate daughter. My proud mother said nothing, only held me tighter. She gave my father an ultimatum: send Chloe away, or she would leave with me.

My father stood on the terrace all night without a word. When he finally returned to their bedroom, he found my mother on the pavement below.

It was pouring that night, washing the blood away from beneath her body. Ryker had rushed to my side, holding me tight as I beat against his chest, murmuring, "It's okay, it's all going to be okay…"

But now, he had chosen Chloe. As Mrs. Blackwood, what dignity did I have left?

Ryker didn't come home. The "scandal" I had orchestrated was scrubbed from the internet, completely suppressed. He openly attended events with Chloe, letting her play the part that should have been mine. He also announced, with great fanfare, a solo art exhibition for Chloe—scheduled for tomorrow, the anniversary of my mother's death. It was his way of declaring I was officially irrelevant.

When the private doctor came to dress the gash on my collarbone—so deep the bone was visible—he noted, "Mr. Blackwood is very concerned. He knows you scar easily and requested I use the very best medicine."

I gave a hollow laugh and said nothing.

A few seconds later, an anonymous audio file arrived on my phone.

On the recording, Chloe's hysterical sobs filled the air. "That night, I just wanted to beg Mary to let me stay... but she hit me! She said someone like me would never be worthy of this family. We argued, and I... I just pushed her. A little. And she fell. It was self-defense! Dad, Ryker, what do I do?"

Chloe’s frantic slaps against her own face were audible, her apologies a desperate mutter.

The world tilted on its axis.

In the recording, my father clutched his chest, roaring, "How did I raise a monster?! That was my wife!"

The slapping stopped. Welts were likely rising on her cheeks as she stared stubbornly at Ryker’s back. "Ryker, you'll help me, right? You still care about me… don't you?"

A dead, heavy silence followed.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Then, Ryker's voice, devoid of all emotion, each word a shard of ice. "Find a place to lay low. I'll handle the police."