Libro Esposa Olvidada Novels & Stories

I was rushing home to celebrate with my family. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized the truth. Leo, the man who claimed to be my husband, was not the man I remembered. The real Leo, her Leo, was lost to the darkness, a stranger that loved having Garry around, he was nice and fun of Garry. A sob escaped my lips as I clutched my head. The memories were overwhelming, a torrent of emotions that threatened to consume me. I saw her face, she was my husband's lost lover, she was going to do anything to have him, olive;that was her name.

The waves whispered encouragement, and as I awaited Selena's response, the promise of possibilities lingered in the air. As the weight of my words hung in the air, Selena's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—surprise, vulnerability, and a hint of sadness. The revelation seemed to echo through the quiet expanse of the beach, and the waves, once a comforting backdrop, now carried an undertone of uncertainty. "I need you to know, Angel," Selena began, her voice steady but carrying the weight of years gone by, "that before your memory loss, we were more than just business partners. We were husband and wife before we got a divorce."

All this time, while I was five hours away learning how to be a person with no last name, he had apparently been walking into this room, sitting where I was sitting now, bringing her flowers and letting her believe whatever story helped her hold onto hope. I killed the small, traitorous flutter that tried to rise in my chest before it could fully form. He was still the same man who had let an entire marriage go quiet around me while I waited for him to notice. A few visits to my mother didn’t rewrite three years of feeling invisible in my own home. Or the years of empty seats across from me at dinner, or the miscarriage he’d disappeared further into instead of grieving beside me. I was still

The heavy silence of the bedroom was broken only by the hum of the television screen. Julia stared at the small leather book in Sophia's hand. It was worn, its edges scuffed from being crammed into pockets and hidden in drawers. That tiny book held the key to the betrayal that had shattered Julia’s life, written in the handwriting of the husband who had lied to her until his final breath. "Give it to me," Julia said, her voice dropping to a low command. Sophia hesitated, her fingers tightening around the leather. She looked at Luca, then back at Julia.

Somehow, we ended up a trio instead of a couple. Whether we went out to eat or shopped, he never left our side. Even the monthly trips I planned as a couple had to include Elliot. After graduation, I proposed to Clover countless times. Every single time, she turned me down. She always said she wasn't ready. It wasn't until the events in my previous life that I finally understood the truth. Elliot never wanted her to get married, but he also refused to be with her himself. The thought made me sneer. "How could I forget you?" I said. "Clover, we're done."

Gabriel slept on the couch. On Friday morning, Celina woke with a heavy heart. The day was overcast, mirroring her mood. It was the eve of Thor and Isabela’s wedding, and anxiety was eating away at her. Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, questioning Thor’s choices—why he had erased memories of his late wife and child to be with her, only to now be marrying someone else. Trying to shake the thoughts away, she grabbed her phone and checked her emails. Her breath caught when she opened one from the publishing house. She read it once. Twice. A third time—until it finally sank in: her manuscript had been accepted.

Realizing that she'd spent too long skimming through books and had gotten very distracted from her main goal, which was finding the tunnel and finding her way home, she decided to call it quits with the Library for the meantime. A little light-headed from all the new information, Marisol stumbles out of the library, her mind swirling with the weight of the revelations she'd unearthed. The ominous prophecy and the mysteries of the concealed library had left her in a state of utter bewilderment.

A sound that made my blood run cold. A woman's laugh. Breathy. Intimate. Then Adrian's voice: "Shh. She's probably still asleep." No. No, he wouldn't. Not here. Not in our apartment. But I already knew he would. Because I'd seen this before. In my first life, in a different place, but the same scene. The same betrayal. I stood slowly, silently. Crept to the balcony door, which I'd left cracked open. And looked inside. They were in the living room. Maribel was bent over the arm of the couch, her leggings pulled down to her thighs. Adrian was behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other squeezing her breast, his face twisted in pleasure.

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her mind kept slipping away from the pages, drifting back to memories she desperately wished she could forget. Friday night. That messy Friday night. The club. The lights. The music. And the sight that had shattered something deep inside her. Elena closed the book slowly, pressing it against her chest as she leaned her head back against the couch. Her gaze fixed on the ceiling, but all she could see was Marcus— her husband of eight years, standing there without shame, without remorse, with Tiara. And Tiara? The cousin she had trusted like a sister.

He is devouring her, taking every single inch of her, and she loves it. "Fuck," a ragged, guttural growl rips violently from my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut, violently shaking my head to shatter the image, but the poison is already deep in my marrow. I suddenly picture them on the thick living room carpet. I picture them tangled together on the sofa. I even picture them on the goddamn glass coffee table. Everywhere I look, my cousin's ghost is touching my wife… I mean ex-wife.