After Five Years of Lies, I Cut Him Loose

In the fifth year of my husband's affair with his assistant, I stormed into their corporate office. I stripped them bare. I broadcasted their sex tape across the massive LED screen in the lobby. With bloodshot eyes, my husband screamed that I was insane. Yet tears of relief fell from my eyes—because he finally started caring about me again. He began coming home on time. He voluntarily handed over his phone for me to inspect. I truly believed I had finally reclaimed his heart. Until the night of our anniversary. I hid his ID and phone, wanting nothing more than a quiet, peaceful dinner together. He looked at me with an expressionless face. "Is this it? Every time I see Stella, you punish me like this?" My heart trembled. Stiffly, I nodded. The moment my chin dipped, he grabbed the steak knife and sliced a chunk of flesh straight out of his own arm. "She’s sick. I have to go to her." "I’ve served my punishment in advance. Can I leave now?" At that exact moment, I felt like the biggest joke in the world. Five years of desperate clinging and fighting, and I had never won. Not even once. He would rather mutilate his own body just to see Stella. This relationship had never belonged to me from the start. Wordlessly, I pulled his ID and phone from my bag and pushed them across the table. "Julian, let’s get a divorce." We faced each other in absolute silence. It was so quiet that the only thing I could hear was my own racing heartbeat. Suddenly, Julian let out a cold laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. Playing the mature, understanding wife won't make me stay." His face was pale, his lips trembling uncontrollably from the pain. Yet his tone was unyielding. I lowered my gaze, digging my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands. "Isn't it good that I'm giving you your freedom?" Julian’s laugh grew louder, dripping with mocking scorn. "Elena, what kind of game are you playing now?" "First, you used that fake gunshot wound to manipulate me. What, now that your lie is exposed, you're threatening me with a divorce?" He spat the words "gunshot wound" with pure hatred. The venom in his voice struck hard. The old scar on my back began to throb with a phantom ache. "You really never believed me, did you?" "I only believe what I see with my own eyes." His blood dripped rhythmically onto the hardwood floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like a morbid countdown to the end of our marriage. Staring at his mangled, bloody wound, I lost every ounce of desire to defend myself. I had told him the truth a thousand times. Five years ago, we were caught in a terrorist bombing overseas. The building Julian’s firm was located in took a direct missile hit. By the time I rushed to the scene, he was buried deep under the rubble. I tore him out of the debris with my bare hands. Yet on the way to the hospital, a sniper's stray bullet tore straight through my back. I was in a coma for over two weeks. When I finally woke up, his assistant, Stella, was already standing at his bedside. No matter how many times I explained, Julian only believed what he saw. "When I opened my eyes, Stella was the one beside me. She took care of me day and night." "Stella is my savior. I will never abandon her." After we returned home, Stella claimed to suffer from severe PTSD. Julian immediately stepped in, bankrolling every single cent of her living expenses. He took her on luxury vacations, fought to buy her limited-edition designer bags, and effortlessly bought her a luxury penthouse in the heart of the city. Anything that made Stella smile, Julian did without hesitation. I used to think that the misunderstanding would eventually clear up. I believed that one day, Julian would return to my side. Now I saw it for what it was: sheer, pathetic delusion. The room plunged back into a deathly stillness. Then Julian’s phone rang. Stella’s fragile, whimpering voice came through the speaker. "Julian... it hurts so much..." Julian’s brow instantly furrowed, his eyes overflowing with raw panic and worry. "Hang in there. I'm coming right now." Over the past five years, I had grown numb to his rage and curses. Hearing him speak with such tender warmth felt completely foreign. "Elena, I really have to go." I looked at the frantic desperation in his eyes. Quietly, I whispered, "Go." It took me five agonizing years to finally accept the truth. One person's love cannot keep a dead marriage alive. The next morning, I called a divorce attorney. I wanted the papers drawn up immediately. My fingers hovered over the screen, typing and deleting messages. In that instant, I realized I didn't even know Julian anymore. I didn't even know what words would compel him to sign the papers. My mind was a blur. Until the attorney across the desk cleared his throat. "Miss Vance, are you joking with me? Bringing in a fake marriage certificate?" "My time is billable. I don't have time for pranks." I froze. My breath hitched in my throat. "I’ve been married for five years. How could my marriage certificate be fake?" "There's no official state seal. It holds zero legal validity." With trembling hands, I took the certificate back. How could it be fake? I had gone through every single step with him. The registry, the grand ceremony, the honeymoon in Europe. He had orchestrated an entire lavish charade just to make me believe the certificate was real. The first time I caught him sneaking out to see Stella, I went berserk. I cornered them with a pair of shears pressed against my own throat, demanding an explanation. The very next day, he got down on one knee and proposed. He said he couldn't live without me. He swore his heart had only ever belonged to me. It was all a lie. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. With shaking fingers, I dialed Julian’s number, desperate for an answer. Before the call could even connect, a colleague from the hospital called me in a panic. "Elena, get here now! Julian’s been admitted to the ER!"My heart skipped a beat. After years of working as a surgeon, my instincts took over. I couldn't ignore a patient in critical condition. I drove through a torrential downpour to the hospital. The first thing I saw when I stepped into the room was Stella sitting by his bed. She clutched Julian’s hand, sobbing hysterically. "It’s all my fault... Julian, I'm so sorry..." Julian forced a weak smile and gently stroked her hair. "Don't say that. I did it willingly." Every syllable pierced through my ears like shards of ice. I stood frozen. Right. Julian already had someone else by his side. He didn't need me anymore. I took a deep breath, composed my features, and walked into the room. "How did this happen?" I asked routinely, fighting to keep my voice flat. Julian smirked, a sick sense of triumph flashing in his eyes. "I jumped from the fifth floor." His calm delivery made my stomach churn with suspicion. "You did that on purpose?" For a split second, I prayed I was just being paranoid. Julian nodded. "Stella isn't safe living alone. I'm moving her into our house." "I shattered my own legs to pay the price. You have no reason to say no now, do you?" I stood there, dumbfounded. I stared at the two of them, my mind completely blank. Julian’s twisted logic echoed in my head. In his mind, as long as he endured self-inflicted punishment, he could do whatever he wanted. Today, it was moving Stella into our house. What would it be tomorrow? I didn't want to know. In the end, only one word slipped past my lips: "Fine." The surgery took five long hours. Looking at the mangled bones he deliberately broke, my heart bled. When I finally stepped out of the OR, I was utterly exhausted. I walked out to the hallway for some air. Smack! A vicious slap landed squarely across my face. "What else do you want from him? Do you need all of us dead before you're finally satisfied?" "Julian’s legs were healthy! You ruined him!" The blow was so hard my ears rang violently. I stared in sheer disbelief at the person standing before me. It was my mother—the woman who had been bedridden and paralyzed for three years. When she suddenly collapsed years ago, I had spent years waiting on her hand and foot, pouring every penny of my savings into her medical bills. Yet here she was, standing tall and furious on her own two feet. "Mom... you lied to me?" A suffocating bitterness rose in my throat. I couldn't fathom why even my own mother would deceive me like this. Tears spilled down my face. My mother didn't show an ounce of guilt. "If you hadn't constantly acted like a raving lunatic tormenting Julian and Stella, would I have needed to fake being sick to keep your hands full?!" "Elena, I thought you had changed! I never imagined you'd push Julian to break his own legs! How can your heart be so vicious?!" She screamed at me with raw venom. She raised her hand to slap me again. As if everything truly were my fault. Before her hand could strike, Stella rushed forward and threw her arms around my mother. "Please, don't blame her!" "It's all my fault... I'm carrying Julian's baby. If Elena doesn't want me around, I... I can just leave..." The moment those words were uttered, my mother's face softened into a look of overwhelming tenderness. A tenderness she had never once shown me. "This has nothing to do with you, sweet girl. She can't have children, so she's jealous of you." "Stella, you focus on resting. As long as I'm breathing, this baby will be born safe and sound." The two of them walked away arm in arm. Watching their retreating figures, my vision blurred with tears. My mother hated me. When I was born, my father died in a freak accident, and she blamed me for bringing a curse upon our family. When Julian came into our lives, she treated him like the son she never had, calling him the pillar of our household. Later, when I suffered a tragic miscarriage, she looked on with icy detachment. She called me an omen of bad luck, a monster born to destroy lives. First I killed my father, then I killed my child. For so many years, I fought with everything I had to grasp at their conditional, fleeting love. In the end, both love and family slipped through my fingers like sand. I had no one standing behind me. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. With the bright red handprint still stinging on my cheek, I knocked on the Chief of Medicine’s door. "I'm submitting my resignation."The very next day, Stella moved in. Her designer luggage took over half the living room. I acted as if she were invisible, remaining crouched in the corner packing my own suitcases. Julian rolled his wheelchair over to me. "Playing the runaway wife again?" He sneered with utter disdain. My mother heard the commotion and glanced over from the kitchen. "Ignore her." "Good riddance. At least she won't stress Stella and the baby." I didn't answer. I zipped my passport and legal IDs into my carry-on. Julian’s face darkened. "Still putting on a show?" "This isn't my home." I stood up and handed the fake marriage certificate directly to him. "We were never legally married, so there's no need for a divorce." "Saved you a ton of paperwork. Shouldn't you be thrilled?" He froze. A flash of raw panic flickered in his eyes. I couldn't tell. Was he panicking because he felt a shred of guilt, or because he regretted not forging the document more convincingly? "If I hadn't done that, you would have kept losing your mind." "I gave you a wedding. I took you on a honeymoon. Does a piece of paper really matter that much?" Julian’s voice dropped, trying to sound dismissive. Yet his words felt like a sledgehammer crushing my chest. Without love, nothing mattered. Julian’s face contorted with growing anger—the frustration of someone losing control. "Let's see how long you last out there! You'd better stay proud, because I won't let you come crawling back on your knees!" He threw his vicious parting words and spun his wheelchair around. In his agitation, he knocked over one of the stacked suitcases. I dodged to the side, but a falling picture frame struck me squarely across the back. A sharp, fiery sting flared up from my old wound. I whipped around, but froze dead in my tracks. The frame didn't hold a photograph. Inside was a mounted bullet. I would never forget that caliber. It was the exact type of bullet that had been extracted from my spine five years ago. "It was you." My voice shook violently, my eyes locking onto Stella. All these years, I could never understand. The insurgents had already retreated—why would someone shoot me in the back while I was carrying Julian to safety? If that person was Stella, everything made horrifying sense. I slowly rose to my feet, taking heavy, deliberate steps toward her. Instantly, my mother threw herself in front of Stella. Julian wheeled forward, blocking her too. "That happened years ago! Why can't you just let it go?!" "Stella fired the gun by accident! She didn't mean any harm!" An accident. What a convenient, sickening word. A simple "accident" was supposed to erase years of agonizing trauma. Waking up screaming from nightmares, the nerve damage flaring up until my entire body shook. They had known all along. And they had both chosen her. "Elena, stop throwing tantrums." "If you want to hurt Stella, you'll have to kill me first!" My mother didn't hesitate for a single second. Stella shot me once. And today, my family shot me all over again. I no longer had the strength or the desire to suppress five years of suffocating agony. I slowly bent down and picked up the heavy frame from the floor. Channeling every ounce of strength in my body, I hurled it across the room. The glass shattered on impact, slicing a deep, bloody gash across Stella’s cheek. Crimson poured down her face. High-pitched shrieks filled the room.I checked into a hotel downtown. I didn't sleep for days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blinding flash of the gun, and the way my mother and Julian shielded Stella with their lives. Since that day, Julian had bombarded my phone with endless messages. "Elena, get your ass back here right now." "Don't think hiding in a hotel exempts you from taking responsibility." Taking responsibility? Hearing those words from Julian was a dark, twisted comedy. I stared at the screen coldly. Not a single ripple stirred in my heart. Just as I was about to power down the phone, an incoming call lit up the screen. It was a doctor who had served with me on the international rescue mission years ago. "Elena! The reunion banquet is about to start—aren't you coming?" I had completely forgotten about it. A few days ago, the mission commander had sent me an invite. I had intended to go, but right now, I had nothing left to give. "You're a legend, Elena! Digging through concrete with your bare hands for twenty hours to save a civilian, taking a bullet and holding on... everyone wants to see you." "There's nothing legendary about it. Nobody believes it anyway." The words slipped out before I could stop them. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. My colleague’s tone instantly turned dead serious. "What do you mean nobody believes it?! They recovered the raw footage from the documentary crew! The film has been edited and released!" "The whole world is about to see our legendary combat medic in action!" My chest tightened. My sacrifices hadn't been buried after all. Julian saw the documentary announcement too. Back in the hospital room, he clicked play on the newly released film without a second thought. "Who knows? Maybe the two of us are in this footage together." Julian didn't notice Stella’s face turning deathly pale beside him. He dragged the timeline forward. Until the camera focused on the bombed-out shell of the corporate tower. Julian pointed at a collapsed corner, his fingers trembling slightly. "That's where I was buried. I thought I was a dead man. If it weren't for you, Stella..." Before he could finish his sentence, the camera zoomed in. Julian finally saw the rescuer’s face clearly. The person kneeling in the rubble, her bloody, skinless fingers clawing through concrete... was me. "How... how is this possible...?" In an instant, all the strength was sucked out of his body. He replayed the clip again and again, his eyes wide with horror. Until there was no lie left to hide behind. Standing outside the local police station, my phone rang. It was Julian. "Elena... what is this documentary?" "Don't you only believe what you see with your own eyes?" With that, I hung up. Truth clears itself. In this relationship, my conscience had always been spotless. I had watched the documentary too. I saw just how desperately, how foolishly I had loved Julian Hayes. When the screen faded to black, the very last ember of my love died with it. Without looking back, I pushed through the station doors. "I’d like to report a crime." "Attempted murder and possession of an illegal firearm."