The Rainy Betrayal
My friend Abram Page was fuming as he drove me to the hospital, his voice tight with frustration.
I stared out the window at the rain-soaked road. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of that thong on the ground, a bitter symbol of humiliation.
The image of Shania sitting in that car flashed in my mind, calm, indifferent. When she glanced at my trembling leg, her eyes held nothing but contempt.
She knew about my condition. She knew how dangerous it was to leave me out there in the storm. But none of it mattered, because I no longer mattered to her.
I spent the night on an IV drip, with Abram staying by my side the whole time.
The next day, I returned home. It was empty. Shania hadn't come back.
Standing in the quiet apartment, the weight of it all hit me: disappointment, pain, and a creeping sense of self-loathing.
I remembered how I used to rush home early to pick her up or prepare her favorite fruit platter, just to see her smile. I used to believe this place only felt like home when she was in it.
But now? It made no difference whether she was here or not.
When I reached for my phone to call her, a photo popped up on social media. Shania and Jarrett, cheek to cheek, looking like they were in their own little world.
The caption twisted the knife further.
Shania: [3 a.m., and I'm still lucky enough to have him by my side.]
I stared at it for a long time, then calmly left a comment.
Chandler: [Wishing you two happiness forever.]
Two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Shania.
"Chandler Grant, enough already. Don't think I don't know what you're trying to pull. Jarrett's my best friend. What's wrong with giving him a ride home in the rain? Do you have to act so insecure and needy?"
She scoffed. "Are you seriously trying to stir things up on social media? Who were you being sarcastic for? God, being with you is like bad karma times ten."
I couldn't even find the words. Every sentence from her was like a slap across the face. Before I could say a word, she hung up.
Like I was the unreasonable one all along.
I sat out on the balcony all afternoon, smoking in silence. Then finally, I got up and started packing.
Around that time, Jarrett sent a smug little message.
Jarrett: [Shania agreed to spend three days and nights with me, reminiscing about our youth. Hope you don't mind.]
I replied with just one word.
Chandler: [Whatever.]
I didn't mind. I was just disgusted.
Garbage belongs in the trash, and it was time to take it out.
I burned our photo album, ten years' worth of memories reduced to ash.
Trips to the Himalayas, watching the midnight sun in Antarctica, holding hands, kissing, laughing...
All those once-precious moments now felt like daggers. After every fight, I used to flip through those photos, reminding myself of why I stayed.
But now, they only reminded me of how blind I'd been.
Once the fire had consumed every page, I turned back to the apartment. I packed everything that truly belonged to me into one suitcase.
As for the clothes and accessories Shania had bought me, ties, brooches, suits, I left them neatly on the bed, with a signed divorce agreement on top.
Before I left, I instructed my assistant to freeze all business contracts with the Donovan family. Whether we resumed cooperation in the future would depend solely on interests, not sentiment.
I realized something then: life was too short to waste on someone who never valued you.
I buried my love in the storm. I let the flames devour every trace of the last ten years.
From now on, I wouldn't play the fool. I wouldn't fight for someone who never fought for me.
It was time to go our separate ways.
Just as I was about to leave with my suitcase, Shania stumbled back into the apartment, reeking of alcohol, half-dressed, draped over Jarrett like a rag doll.
This was the woman I'd shared my bed with for ten years, the one who used to frown at a sip of wine, now a mess in the arms of another man.
Jarrett and I locked eyes. He looked smug, but still tried to play it off.
"Chandler, sorry. I was worried you'd get the wrong idea, so I brought her home early. No matter what she says, she's still your wife. If she kept staying with a single guy like me, it wouldn't look good for you."
His words sounded apologetic, but his actions were anything but. He was still holding her, still making a show of it.
I couldn't help but laugh, cold, bitter, hollow.
I'd finally let go.
There was a time I would've gone crazy with jealousy, would've fought him on the spot.
Now, I just wanted to shut the door and leave them both outside.
But I didn't.
I stepped aside, and Jarrett helped her to the couch. Then he turned to me again.
"Chandler, I didn't know that day was your hiking trip. It was my birthday, something I usually don't celebrate. But Shania said your friends didn't want her there, so she invited me instead. We were just talking in the car. I'm sure a generous man like you wouldn't mind.
It wasn't like we meant to leave you behind. I just mentioned wanting to go home, and since it wasn't on your way, Shania offered to drive me first."
His tone was full of condescension, laced with superiority, the smugness of a first love who thought he'd won.
Without a word, I clenched my fist and punched him square in the face.
He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock, but I didn't stop. I grabbed his collar and stared him down.
"Get out. I don't waste time on clowns. Stop parading around like you matter. A man who knowingly plays the third wheel isn't even worth a second look.
I said I wished you two happiness. I meant it, because you belong in the same trash heap."
Red-faced and humiliated, he stormed out.
On the couch, Shania stirred, slurring, "Jarrett... I'm not drunk. I just didn't want to see Chandler..."
She shifted and fell to the floor, legs sprawled, skirt hiked up, and beneath it, nothing. No underwear. No shame.
It was the final punchline in a joke I'd lived for a decade.
Everyone had called me the perfect husband. I'd given her everything, protected her family, worshipped her like a goddess.
But all along, she was just a wolf in disguise. The moment her first love reappeared, the act crumbled.
She hadn't cared whether I lived or died. She hadn't even cared about my leg.
Looking at her now, drunk, half-naked, a hollow shell of the woman I once loved. I felt nothing but disgust.
Seeing her like that, stripped of all dignity after years of being pampered, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I stumbled into the bathroom and vomited until the room spun around me.
My mind kept spiraling, haunted by the image of that thong Jarrett had tossed at me on the mountain.
That lingerie... I'd bought it for her, a little gift to celebrate our marriage. Thinking about it now, I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.
I walked over to the bedside drawer and pulled it open. It was empty. The lingerie I'd placed there was gone.
I remembered picking it out myself, remembered how she'd blushed and scolded me when I gave it to her.
"Chandler, that's disgusting," she snapped. "I'm warning you. I'd never wear something like this just to please you. Don't even dream about it.
Get out! I feel gross just looking at you. How could you have such filthy thoughts? That's enough!"
Her reaction had been so intense, humiliating, really. I'd been both embarrassed and angry, and I ended up taking it out on the friend who had suggested the idea in the first place.
After that, the lingerie had just sat in that drawer, untouched.
During that time, it felt like she'd grown distant, cold. It was like I was walking on eggshells around her. Every breath I took seemed to irritate her, even when she wasn't on her period.
Eventually, following my friend's ridiculous advice, I made a last-ditch effort to bring us closer again.
All I got in return was rejection and humiliation.
The whole thing felt like a cruel joke. I didn't even have the words anymore, just a sick sense of irony and disgust.
She refused to wear it for me...
But she wore it for her so-called best friend.
The irony was unbearable.
And that day in the car, she actually had the nerve to say she'd been bitten by a mosquito and that her male best friend was helping her apply some ointment.
Seriously? What kind of ointment makes your underwear reek of cigarette smoke?
I was so repulsed; I couldn't even look at her. I didn't bother helping her off the floor. I just grabbed my suitcase and walked out.
Then suddenly, a cup flew past me from behind and shattered into pieces on the floor.
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