My Husband Cut Down My Last Memory for His Mistress
On our seventh wedding anniversary, I found another woman’s lace thong in my bedroom.
My husband, Mark Donovan, stood in front of the closet and said coldly,
“She’s just a kid, Leslie. Don’t make this ugly.”
That “kid” was pregnant with his child.
That “kid” had already moved into my home, worn his shirts, slept in my bed, and made him cut down the magnolia tree my dead parents planted for me.
Everyone in the Donovan family thought I would scream, cry, and beg.
After all, I had loved Mark for nine years.
But this time, I only picked up my suitcase.
Because they didn’t know one thing.
The divorce had already been filed.
The Donovan wife’s emerald brooch had already been returned.
And the evidence against his precious little mistress had already been delivered to the old Don.
Mark thought I was walking out of his mansion.
He didn’t know I was walking out of his life.
Forever.