Semua Bab THE DYING WIFE'S REVENGE: Bab 1 - Bab 10

I woke up the next morning with my hand still closed around the diagnosis paper.I had fallen asleep in the kitchen chair. My back ached. The clock said six fifteen. Nathan was already gone. His coffee mug sat in the sink. He had not washed it. He never did.I stood up slowly. I folded the paper and put it back in my pocket. Then I walked to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.I looked the same. That was the strange part. I had six months to live and I looked exactly like I did yesterday. Same tired eyes. Same flat mouth. Same woman who had spent eight years being invisible.But something had shifted. Not in my face. In my chest. A small, cold thing had settled there. It had been growing for years. Last night, it finally finished forming.I got dressed. I made breakfast. I did the things I always did, because I did not know what else to do yet. Chloe came downstairs at seven. She did not look at me. She grabbed a banana and her backpack and walked out the door without a w

The night I left, it rained.Not hard. Not soft. Just steady. The kind of rain that soaks through your shoes and makes the whole world look grey. I stood at the window of my bedroom and watched it fall. Nathan was in his study. Chloe was asleep. Margaret had gone home hours ago. The house was quiet. For the first time in eight years, the quiet did not feel like a weight. It felt like permission.I had spent three days planning.Three days. That was all. I did not need more. I had been planning this without knowing it for years. The Exit folder had grown from forty-eight items to sixty-two. Bank statements. Photographs. Screenshots. Copies of Nathan's emails. Everything I had been collecting, everything I had been saving, every small piece of evidence that would one day bring him down.But tonight was not about revenge.Tonight was about leaving.I sat on the bed and opened my laptop one last time. I had spent the last three nights moving money. Two of Nathan's hidden accounts, the one

Zara. The first thing I heard was a beeping sound. Steady. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat that was not mine.The second thing I heard was a voice. Low. Calm. A man's voice. He was saying something I could not understand. Something about blood pressure. Something about surgery. Something about seven minutes.Seven minutes. That number stuck in my head. I did not know why. I did not know what it meant.I opened my eyes.The room was white. Everything was white. The walls. The ceiling. The sheets. The light. It was so bright it hurt. I blinked. I blinked again. I tried to move my hand. It felt heavy. Like it was made of stone."You are awake."The voice was close. I turned my head. It hurt. Everything hurt. But I turned my head anyway.A man was sitting beside my bed.He was tall. Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall. He had dark hair, cut short. Grey eyes. A sharp jaw. He was wearing a black suit with no tie. His sleeves were rolled up. On his left arm, just above the wrist, there w

They moved me out of the hospital on the fourth day.Not through the front door. Through a service entrance. Josh pushed the wheelchair. Emmanuel walked ahead, scanning every corner, every shadow. Hector followed behind, carrying a small bag that held everything I owned in the world. A photograph. A diagnosis paper. My mother's jewelry. Nothing else.No one spoke. Not in the hallway. Not in the elevator. Not in the parking garage. The black car was waiting. The windows were tinted. The engine was already running.I did not ask where we were going. I did not need to know. For the first time in eight years, I was not the one making the decisions. I was the one being carried. It felt strange. It felt almost like being a child again. Except I had never been a child. Not really. Not since I was three years old and someone took me from a train station and handed me to strangers.The car pulled into a private estate forty minutes outside the city. The gates opened before we reached them. The

Josh came for me two days later.He did not knock either. He just walked into the room with a black medical bag and set it on the desk. He was wearing a white coat over a grey suit. His glasses were pushed up on his nose. He looked at me the way he had looked at me in the hospital. Clinical. Detached. Like I was a problem to be solved."Sit down," he said. "I need to run more tests."I sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around my arm. He checked my pulse. He looked at my eyes. He listened to my heart. He did all of it without speaking. Without smiling. Without asking how I felt."You are healing well," he said. "The surgery was successful. The internal bleeding has stopped. The fractures are setting. You will make a full physical recovery.""Physical?"He paused. He looked at me for the first time."The toxin is still in your system," he said. "It has been there for years. It has damaged your organs. It has weakened your immune system. It wi