He Broke Me Into Pieces—So I Took Myself Back

I almost died alone in a hospital bed, battling severe dengue, while my husband Nathaniel ignored every one of my desperate calls. He insisted he was tied up with investors and couldn’t leave, so I believed him—until I was discharged and went straight to his office myself.

The door was slightly open, and what I saw shattered everything I thought I knew. He wasn’t working. He was with his secretary, Raven. And what I overheard made my blood turn cold.

Raven laughed softly as she admitted, “I placed that plant in her room to attract mosquitoes. I didn’t expect her to get that sick.”

Nathaniel’s response was even worse. “She should’ve just died,” he said without hesitation. “I should’ve stopped the hospital from giving her blood. But I still need her for the merger. Once I secure her shares, I’ll divorce her—and then we can finally be together.”

The man I loved had plotted my suffering, even my death, for business and another woman. But I didn’t break. I didn’t confront them. I simply kept playing the part of the devoted wife.

On the day of the merger, I ended the performance—handing him divorce papers instead of the contract he was expecting.

Now he’s the one begging, but by then, I was already gone.