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Seven Years of Devotion: He Left Me to Die, I Left Him for Good Novel Cover

Seven Years of Devotion: He Left Me to Die, I Left Him for Good

On the seventh anniversary of my marriage, I, Clara Hart, received two "gifts." One was an urgent alert from the embassy-armed conflict in Arkania was imminent, and all citizens were advised to evacuate immediately. The other was a message from my husband, Adrian Foster, "Pack your things. Wait for me downstairs. Ten minutes." I quickly packed an emergency kit and rushed downstairs. People around me were already evacuating in a panic, yet Adrian was nowhere to be seen. I called him, my voice trembling, only to be met with a cold, clipped response. "The car's packed with confidential company documents. There's no room left. Sophie has a severe fear of war. I need to get her out first." My blood ran cold. "What about me?" I asked, barely believing what I was hearing. Adrian clicked his tongue impatiently. "Clara, stop being so dramatic. Just take the embassy bus. It's the same." Explosions thundered in the distance, shattering everything I had believed in over the past seven years. Whatever love had once existed between us crumbled to dust. I stopped waiting. Slinging the emergency pack over my shoulder, I turned and walked away into the chaos of war.
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Chapter 4

I thought I was dead.

But pain dragged me back.

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was the white ceiling of a tent, the sharp smell of disinfectant filling my nose.

"She's awake! She's awake!" a nurse shouted.

I moved my fingers. Pain shot through my body as if I'd been torn apart.

My left leg was in a cast, suspended in the air.

My head was wrapped in thick bandages.

"This is a temporary medical station in Vespera," a doctor in a white coat said as he stepped closer, shining a light into my eyes.

"You're lucky. The blast knocked you unconscious, but there were no fatal injuries. Just a fracture in your left leg and a mild concussion."

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry for any sound to come out.

The nurse dabbed my lips with a damp swab.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper.

"Where are your companions?"

the doctor asked.

I wanted to shake my head, but the pain stopped me.

"I don't have any," I said. "I'm alone."

The doctor sighed and made a few notes.

"Get some rest. The embassy staff will come later to register your information and arrange your return."

I stayed in the medical station for two days.

During those two days, I saw many people.

Children who had lost their families. Wives searching for their husbands.

But I didn't look at my phone even once.

They had recovered my phone after the explosion. The screen was shattered, but it still powered on.

I turned it off and shoved it under my pillow.

On the third day, embassy staff arrived.

They verified my identity and issued me a temporary travel document.

"Ms. Hart, there's a Mr. Foster looking for you," the staff member said, glancing at the list in his hand.

"He says he's your husband. He's outside the quarantine area right now."

Hearing his name didn't even quicken my heartbeat.

There was nothing but a hollow, lifeless calm.

"I won't see him," I said.

The staff member froze for a moment.

"He's very anxious. He said if you're alive, we have to tell him."

"Then tell him I'm dead," I said, closing my eyes. "Or tell him I don't know who he is."

The staff member coughed awkwardly.

"I… don't think that's possible. He's listed as your next of kin. And he's already forced his way in."

Before he could finish, the tent flap was yanked open.

Adrian rushed in.

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