He Called Me a Monster. I Walked Into His Gala and Took Back My Name.

by

Chapter 8

THEME:
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A strange ache rose in my chest.

It was such a simple statement.

No woman should be forced to expose herself.

For five years, I had wanted my husband to say something equally simple.

That my body wasn't shameful.

That I deserved respect.

That the scars weren't a reason to hide.

Instead, those words came from the man who signed my paychecks.

I thanked Gideon quietly.

As I reached the door, he stopped me.

"Vivian."

I turned.

"Preston has been successful at controlling the version of you people see."

His gaze held mine.

"Don't let him decide what you wear to the gala."

I left the boardroom with the confidential file secured in my briefcase and a feeling I hadn't experienced in years.

Fear mixed with possibility.

That afternoon, I met my divorce attorney.

I took a personal day and walked into a quiet office overlooking a narrow Manhattan street.

The attorney listened without interrupting as I explained the affair, the pregnancy, and Preston's repeated threats to leave me financially helpless.

When I mentioned the fire, her expression softened.

But she didn't dwell on my scars.

She asked about our marriage, our accounts, and the property we owned.

She explained what filing would begin, what would still need to be resolved, and how to protect my own financial records without hiding or transferring marital assets improperly.

Then she placed the divorce petition in front of me.

For a moment, my pen hovered above the signature line.

I saw Preston standing at the end of an aisle eight years earlier.

He had looked so happy.

His hands shook when he placed the ring on my finger.

I remembered believing that whatever happened, we would face it together.

I wondered when that promise had stopped existing.

During the first surgery?

The fifth?

The night he moved to the far edge of the bed?

Or the moment he realized I would tolerate his cruelty because I was terrified no one else could ever love me?

"Mrs. Preston?"

I blinked.

The attorney waited.

"Are you ready?"

I looked at the page again.

Then I signed.

"Yes."

The petition was filed.

By the time I returned home, the sun had disappeared behind the buildings.

Preston wasn't there.

Of course he wasn't.

His absence had become so normal that I no longer asked where he went.

I walked through our apartment, noticing things I had tried to ignore.

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