6. It's Time To Say Goodbye

Ella’s Point of View

Sleep was a distant dream after that night with our friends, with those thoughts haunting my mind like ghosts that refused to leave. The image of that photo—my husband, Marcus, celebrating with my friends and his mistress—tore through my heart without mercy. How could I live like this? All of a sudden, I realized I was surrounded by traitors, and that feeling was, by far, the worst I’d ever known.

I watched Marcus sleeping, wrapped in the blankets, peaceful as always, and all I could do was cry silently, the pain choking me. “Why did you do this, Marcus? Why did you destroy us?”

We had seen so much life ahead of us, so many dreams to chase, so many happy moments planned, but now it was all crumbling in this cruel indifference, as if none of it meant anything.

I stayed quiet, my tears falling in the dark, my chest tight with grief. I wanted to scream at him, to throw it in his face that I knew everything, that he didn’t need to pretend he loved me or cared about me anymore. I wanted to shove his betrayal in his face, make him bitterly regret everything he threw away because of his mistakes. But I was afraid—afraid he’d convince me to forgive him, to stay, to believe in his words again. So I said nothing, just cried.

The next morning, Marcus woke up early, as usual, getting ready for work. He leaned over the bed, kissing my forehead softly. “Morning, love,” he said, his voice warm, like nothing in the world was wrong. “You feeling better after last night?”

I forced a smile, my heart twisting. “Yeah, just needed some rest,” I lied, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. I was good at this by now—pretending, keeping the mask in place. “Busy day at work?”

“Same old,” he said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “But I’ll be thinking of you. Maybe we can grab dinner tonight, just the two of us? Something special.” He flashed that smile, the one that used to make my heart race. Now, it just made my stomach churn.

“Sounds nice,” I replied, my tone light, practiced. “Have a good day, okay?”

“You too, my love.” He kissed me again, lingering just long enough to make me feel sick with the weight of his lies. Then he grabbed his keys and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence in the house was deafening. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the space where he’d been, my hands trembling. This was it. My last day in this house, in this life. My last day pretending to be the happy wife of Marcus Carter. I let out a shaky breath, tears burning my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. I had to move.

I got up and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower. As the hot water cascaded over me, I ran my hand along the edge of the tub, memories flooding back—intimate moments with Marcus, unique and fleeting. The times we’d shared baths, laughing, brushing our teeth side by side, him drying my hair, me helping him trim his beard. Those simple moments that made everything feel so special, so ours.

And now, I was saying goodbye. Leaving it all behind, never to return. Marcus had signed his own sentence when he toyed with our marriage without a thought for the consequences. Did he really think I’d forgive him? That I’d pretend nothing happened? He was dead wrong. My name was Ella Harper, and what my mother went through at my father’s hands had made me strong enough to know my worth.

This was a lost cause for him.

After the shower, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My eyes were red, my face pale, but I needed to find the courage to do what had to be done. Leaving wasn’t easy. Walking out that door like I was made of steel wasn’t easy.

I wasn’t.

I let myself cry a little more in front of the mirror, the tears falling as I tried to pull myself together. Then I managed to put on some makeup—not my best work, but enough to hide the wreckage. I grabbed my suitcase, packing only what I needed: a few clothes, some personal items, nothing that tied me too tightly to this life. I moved quietly, deliberately, avoiding the sight of Marcus’s things—his clothes in the closet, his watch on the nightstand. Every piece of him felt like a stab to the chest.

Before I left the bedroom, my eyes betrayed me, drifting to the bed where he’d slept so peacefully just hours ago. A single tear rolled down my cheek. Would he miss me? Deep down, I believed he wouldn’t. That photo of him celebrating so shamelessly with his mistress and our mutual friends, as if I barely existed in their lives, was proof he didn’t care as much as he claimed.

He might even feel relieved when he noticed I was gone. “Oh, now I can give all my attention to Vanessa,” I imagined him saying. He’d probably love not having to sneak off to hotels or hook up in the car anymore. A choked sob caught in my throat, but I swallowed it, grabbing my suitcase and heading for the living room before I could lose my nerve.

The anger burned in my chest. How could I have been so stupid to believe in that man? How? “I hate you so much, Marcus Carter!” I growled through gritted teeth as I scribbled a quick goodbye on a piece of paper. I wanted to tell him to go to hell for playing with me, to punish him, to destroy him. How dare he?

I placed a box containing the divorce papers on the table, setting the note on top. Then, with trembling hands, I slipped off my wedding ring, the memory of the day he put it on my finger flashing through my mind—standing at the altar, our friends and family as witnesses, the day he promised to love and honor me until the end of our days. But to him, promises meant nothing. That ring was just a meaningless piece of metal.

“The day you regret this, it’ll be too late, but I’ll love watching you suffer,” I whispered to the empty house, feeling the weight of my words.

My face was resolute, though tears still streamed down my cheeks. I placed the ring next to the note, grabbed my things, and walked out the door for the last time, my head held high. I wasn’t coming back.