My Freedom Started With His Death

The pain in my abdomen was a white-hot blade, rhythmic and unforgiving. It was the exact moment the world splinteredthe moment Xander called to tell me he was going to Lydias wedding.

I tried to tell him. I tried to gasp out the words through the haze of shock, telling him Id been rear-ended, that my car was a crumpled heap of metal, that I needed him to get me to the ER.

He cut me off with a sigh so sharp I could practically feel his irritation through the line. "Izzy, stop it," he snapped. "I know what youre doing. Youre trying to bait me into staying. I told you, Im committed to our marriage now, but I owe her this. One last look, one final goodbye, and then shes out of our lives for good. Dont make this uglier than it has to be."

The line went dead before I could tell him I was bleeding.

By the time the paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, the red stain had already soaked through my jeans, blooming like a dark, macabre flower. The ER doctors face was grim; he used words like "emergency D&C" and "fetal distress."

I called Xander seventeen times while they prepped the OR. He didnt pick up once.

Between the bouts of agony, I swiped through my phone with trembling fingers and saw it. Xander, a man who treated social media like a plague, had posted an update. It was a photo of Lydia in a froth of white lace, leaning into him with a smile that reached her eyes. His caption read: Not being with you will always be the great regret of my life, but your happiness is the only thing that matters now.

When I finally drifted into the cold embrace of the anesthesia, my last conscious thought wasn't about the baby I was losing. It was about the divorce papers Id signed four years ago and tucked into a floorboard in the attic.

As soon as I could sit up, I sent for them.

I spent a week in the hospital. Xander never showed.

Instead, he sent me a daily itinerary of his penance.

Day one: At the ceremony. Its hard, but Im here.

Day two: Helping Lydia move her familys luggage into the hotel. Almost done.

I didnt reply. I was too hollowed out to care.

Eventually, he interpreted my silence as a tantrum. He called me on the sixth day, his voice thick with a performative sort of grief.

"Drop the act, Izzy. This was the last time, I swear. Shes married now." He let out a shaky breath, a sound that was supposed to be a sob but felt more like a confession. "I just... I had to see for myself. I had to know if the guy deserved her."

"Im coming home tomorrow," he continued, not waiting for a response. "My assistant said youve been in the hospital for some 'minor exhaustion.' Ill pick you up in the morning. Well start over."

He hung up before I could say a word.

The next day, I waited until sunset. He never came.

Clutching my stomach to dull the ache of the stitches, I signed my own discharge papers and took an Uber home.

When I walked through the door, the house smelled like rosemary and garlic. Xander was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, meticulously stirring a pot. He froze when he saw me, his expression flickering between guilt and a practiced sort of warmth.

"I was just about to head out to get you," he said, his voice smooth. "Why didn't you wait?"

"I just got in," I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

My eyes drifted to the counter. There was a thermal container packed with creamy lobster bisquethick, rich, and heavy with cream. My stomach turned. Ive had a severe shellfish allergy since I was a child. Xander knew this. But Lydia? Lydia lived for it.

To make a bisque that smooth, he would have had to start at noon. Hed been home for hours.

I stared at him for two long seconds, watching the way he wouldn't meet my eyes. The bitterness in my throat tasted like copper. "Its fine," I whispered.

He looked visibly relieved. He grabbed his keys and the thermal bag, his pace quickening as he headed for the door. "One of my biggest clients is under the weather. Im just going to drop this off and finalize the merger contract. Its a huge deal, Izzy. Ill be back late."

The door clicked shut.

Three minutes later, I followed him.

He didnt take the car. He walked to the boutique hotel just a few blocks from our estate.

Standing under the gold-leafed awning was Lydia.

Four years ago, she had been the girl who ruined us. The "one who got away" that he had crawled back to, begging me for a divorce so he could marry her, throwing away his reputation and mine in the process.

There was a man standing next to herthe new husband, I assumed.

Xander handed over the bisque, keeping a respectful distance, but the look in his eyes was one of pure, unadulterated longing. It was the look of a man watching his soul walk away. Lydia laughed, a bright, melodic sound, and tucked her arm into her husbands as they went inside.

When Xander finally stumbled home that night, he was wasted.

He collapsed onto the sofa, eyes squeezed shut, mumbling her name like a prayer. "Lydia... Lydia, please..."

I stood in the shadows, watching the man who used to swear hed never touch a drop of whiskey because I hated the smell of it. For the past few years, hed spent half his nights in high-end lounges, drowning his sorrows because she wasnt mine.

My heart had been broken so many times it was mostly scar tissue, but watching him now, I felt a fresh, sharp pang of humiliation.

I quietly began to pack. Two more weeks until the papers were processed. Two more weeks until I could stop breathing his air.

By then, it wouldn't matter who he chose to drown with.

Our downfall had started four years ago. It was a clich, really.

Lydia had been a waitress at a bistro Xander frequented. Shed spilled a drink on him, looked up with those wide, doe eyes, and hed hired her as his personal assistant the next day.

She was a disasterconstantly tripping, losing files, making "adorable" mistakes that Xander spent every waking hour fixing. By the time I realized it wasn't incompetence but an invitation, it was too late.

I found them in his office on his birthday. Id brought a cake and a vintage watch. I opened the door to find them tangled together on the mahogany desk. My heart didn't just break; it stopped.

He didn't even try to hide it. He told me he wanted a divorce. He told me hed give up the house, the stocks, everythingjust to be with her.

My world collapsed. Wed been together since college. Hed written me hundreds of letters, stood under my window in the rain, promised me a lifetime of safety. That boy was dead.

I went nuclear. I printed the photos Id taken that day and sent them to his board of directors. I made sure everyone knew.

All it got me was Xanders hatred.

He looked at me with a disgust so cold it made my skin crawl. "Youre a psycho, Isabel," hed said, shielding Lydia from the fallout. "Im filing."

He moved her into a penthouse. He took her to see the Northern Lights, the Amalfi Coast, while I sat in our empty house, rotting with resentment. I posted their story on every local forum, tagged their old college classmates, branded them as the "Mistress" and the "Traitor."

I wanted blood. I didn't realize that Xander was willing to draw more of it than I was.

To force my hand on the settlement, he leaked my private photosintimate, vulnerable moments from our early marriageto a "collector" site. He let it be known that for a small price, anyone could see what he used to own. He put a bounty on my dignity, whispering to his circle that hed pay a million to the man who finally "tamed" me.

Suddenly, I couldn't leave the house without seeing men leering at me.

"Hey, Isabel. Why play hard to get? Weve all seen the goods. Im better than Xander, trust me."

Then came the rainy night in the alleyway.

Hands tearing at my clothes, the cold pavement against my skin. It wasn't random. Lydia was there, filming with her phone, her face twisted into a mask of triumph. She hated me for "ruining" her reputation.

"Still want to call me a slut, Isabel?" shed hissed. "Look at you now."

I was a broken doll. I couldn't even feel the pain, only the emptiness.

When Xander finally arrived to "save" me, he didn't even look at me. He kept his eyes on Lydia, making sure she wasn't too traumatized by what shed seen.

"You brought this on yourself," hed whispered to me as I lay in the mud. "If youd just signed the papers, none of this would have happened."

I was ready to give in then. I was ready to let go. But Lydia wasn't finished. She took the video of my assault and sent it to my Nana.

Nana was the only person who had ever truly loved me. She had a weak heart, and she was the one who had raised me after my parents died.

The hospital called an hour after she saw the video.

"It was a massive cardiac arrest," the doctor said. "She was gone before she hit the floor."

The world went silent. My heart felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Looking at the white sheet pulled over Nanas face, I saw my own reflection in the glass of the morguegrey, haggard, a ghost.

I went to the police. I wanted Lydia in a cage.

But Xander intervened. He used his connections, his money, his lawyers. He found a fall guy to take the blame for the harassment. He knew what Nana meant to me, and he did it anyway.

On the night of Nanas wake, Xander and Lydia were in a car parked just outside the funeral home. I could see the vehicle rocking, the windows fogged with their heat while I stood over a casket.

Something snapped. I got into my car and rammed into them.

Xander emerged with blood streaming down his face, looking at my frenzied, bloodshot eyes. He stayed silent for a long time.

"What will it take for you to leave us alone?" he finally asked.

I laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "My death."

That was the turning point. He realized I would never stop. So, he made a deal. He sent Lydia awayto protect her from me. For four years, he played the role of the repentant husband. He tried to mimic the man he used to be.

But I knew. I knew he was just keeping his heart in a jar, waiting for the day she came back.

Now, I was just tired. I was done with the war.

The next morning, Xander woke up and tried to be sweet. "Im sorry about last night. Too much scotch with the client. Lets go to that French place you like tonight."

I agreed. It was time to tell him.

As soon as we walked into the restaurant, Xanders body went rigid.

I followed his gaze. Lydia and her husband were by the window.

Xanders voice was a jagged rasp. "What a coincidence. Theyre here for their honeymoon." He didn't even wait for me to speak. "We should join them. It would be... civil."

He didn't wait. He stepped forward so fast he nearly jerked me off my feet. My knee slammed into a chair, a sickening pop echoing in my ears, but he didn't notice. He was already at her table.

I limped to the restroom to compose myself. When I came out, I ran straight into Lydias husband.

He didn't look like a groom. He looked like a predator. He grabbed me by the throat, shoving me into the ladies' room, and slammed my head against the tile.

"Youre the bitch my sister told me about, aren't you?"

Dax. That was his name. Lydias brother.

"If it weren't for you, shed have been a billionaires wife years ago. Youre blocking the familys payday, lady."

He slammed my head again. Blood trickled into my eyes, turning the world crimson. He held his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream.

"You think Xander actually gave her up?" he whispered, his breath smelling of stale cigarettes. "This was all her idea. The fake wedding, the honeymoon... she knew as soon as she said she was getting married, Xander would come crawling. Theyve been together every night this week. He didn't even use a condom, Isabel. He wants a piece of her to keep forever."

I shook with a mix of rage and vertigo.

Suddenly, a familiar moan drifted from the stall next to us.

"Xander... stop... I have a husband now..." Lydias voice was a mock-whimper.

"Dont do that," Xander groaned, his voice thick with lust. "You know Im the only one who matters. I dont care about the husband. Ill be your secret. Ill be your mistake. God, Ive missed you so much..."

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Callumno, Xanderthe man who claimed he was "trying," was willing to be a side-piece just to taste her again.

Dax backhanded me across the face. "Hear that? Thats the sound of you losing."

He rained punches down on me until I was a heap on the floor. The sounds from the next stall grew louder, Lydias high-pitched cries puncturing the air like a curse.

When it was over, Dax smirked. He grabbed the front of my dress, tearing it open, and dragged me out into the hallway just as Xander and Lydia were emerging.

"Xander! Your wife is a piece of work," Dax yelled, throwing me toward them. "She followed me into the bathroom, tried to tell me that because my sister stole her man, I owed her a 'service.' Shes pathetic."

I looked up, my vision blurry. "Xander... hes her brother... its a lie..."

Xander didn't even look at my injuries. He looked at my torn dress with pure, unmitigated loathing. "Isabel, enough! Lydia finally finds happiness and you try to seduce her husband to ruin it? Youre a monster."

"Since you won't leave her alone," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly coldness, "Im done being nice."

He watched, arms crossed, as Lydia stepped forward and slapped me. Again. And again.

I tried to fight back, but Xander pinned my arms. "You owe her this," he hissed.

He let her beat me while he whispered sweet nothings to comfort her because she was cryingcrying because her hand hurt from hitting me. He stood by while Dax tore away the last of my dignity in front of the gathering crowd.

The world went black.

When I woke up in the hospital, my phone was buzzing. It was my editor.

"Isabel, about that Paris assignment... were giving it to someone else."