The Wife You Throw Away Novels & Stories

She questioned, one brow raised. “I'm getting married the right way. Were you ever married? You're just in a man's house, living here as his pretend wife and when is done with you when he recovers fully he will dump you like the piece of s*** that you are and look for another woman not someone who has been soiled”, Whitney said

Divorced. She had been a wife for nine years. She had been a separated woman for six weeks. She had been in courtrooms and lawyers’ offices and on pavements and in storage rooms and in her own kitchen fighting for the thing that should never have had to be fought for. And now at two in the morning on a Sunday it was done. Executed documents. A stamp. A formality. “Are you okay,” Ruth said. “Yes,” Cloe said. “I’m better than okay. I just need a moment to let it land.”

Mark had erased her from their life bit by bit, so slowly she hadn't even noticed until it was too late. But now she saw it. She saw everything. Elena Sterling had been the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect doormat for twelve years. Starting today, that was going to change. She opened her laptop and began typing her resignation from this life. Because if Mark wanted her gone, he was about to get his wish. But not the way he expected.

"Yours? You said she was a charity case. You said she was boring in bed. You PUSHED her to me so you could run off with your mistress. So tell me, who's the real son of a bitch here?" Mason went very still. "Should we wash our dirty laundry out here?" Aiden wiped blood from his lip. "Or do you want to keep pretending you care about Grace when we both know you don't?" "Shut up—" "You threw her away. Like garbage. And now you're mad because someone else sees her value?" Aiden laughed. Bitter. "You're pathetic." Mason's face was red. "She's still my wife. Legally. And you had no right—"

“Packing.” His jaw tightened. “We’re not going anywhere.” “I am,” she replied quietly. The room seemed to shrink. “You can’t just leave,” Lucas said. She finally turned to him. “I’m not disappearing. I’m choosing space.” “For what?” he demanded. “So I don’t forget who I was before I became someone you tolerate,” she said. The words hit harder than accusation. “You’re my wife,” Lucas said sharply. “You don’t get to make decisions like this alone.”

"Much better to have a diaper on than a different man inside you every day, isn't it?" "This level of projection is crazy. Like you're not inside a different woman every day. You must be a walking STD at this point." "Says the woman who couldn’t even stay faithful to the man she married," I said, feeling anger bubbling in me once again. "Coming from the man who paraded his mistress around a gala while his wife was there. You didn't even have the decency to hide your affair," she bit back. "So you're so much better just because you kept yours hidden?" I moved the gun from her forehead to her neck.

The water hissed loudly as it hit the aluminum pot. "Yes, me. Didn't I tell you earlier that I would do my part and handle my responsibilities as your husband?" Liam countered over the sound of running water, his tone dripping with mockery. "It would be embarrassing to make you do it, seniorita. Your expensive skin might get ruined by a dish soap that costs mere pennies. And why on earth would I throw these away? You can clearly see how hard life is, and you think I would just throw away perfectly good plates? Not everyone here can afford to waste things like you used to in your mansion."

As I was rummaging through the trash for leftovers, my wife, who had died three years ago, suddenly showed up. She stepped out of the Voyce and looked down at me from above. “Honey, you really did pass my test.” I was holding some moldy stale bread. I stared at her in bewilderment. It turned out that three years ago, at a class reunion, the school heartthrob she had once dated had suggested it. “I wanted to see if your love is real.”

I sat on a three-legged stool near the furnace. "You look terrible," she said with a smile on her face, showing her brown, cigar-coloured teeth. "People keep telling me that. I don't know why." She rolled her eyes. "People are right." She placed a cup in front of me slowly. "Your wife has been very busy." "Which one?" "The first. The one you threw away." Her thin lips curved. "Don't look so surprised. I hear things. Whispers." I gripped my knees. "I need your help."

Their car had contained so much stuff, as if they were being forced by their girlfriend to make their home into a place worth living in for when she was going to move in, her having some standards unlike her apparent boyfriend, who had just been piling up his old stuff in overflowing rooms, which had then led to crates and boxes beginning to leak out into the hallways and covering almost all the countertops in the house. It wasn’t Lila’s fault that they were airing out all of their dirty laundry at the recycling centre as well. The man was lean and lanky, picking up the old, boxy television and VHS player combo with a little trouble as he accused of his wife being too picky, complaining that