Paradox of Divorce Read Online
Synopsis:
It’s been three years since I married Ethan, and he hasn’t touched me. Wearing a lacy nightgown, I faked a hickey and sent him a “sleeping selfie,” taken from his supposed POV.
“Dude, she’s amazing. Think you could speed up that divorce and let me have her?”
I figured Ethan, upon receiving this anonymous message, would be disgusted and furious, ready to discard me his sister’s stand–in trash. I thought, finally, this would be my ticket out.
My sister was on vacation in Hawaii, celebrating their third wedding anniversary. She asked what I wanted as a gift. I asked for a burner phone. Clutching the phone, I stood in the empty hotel room, letting out a weary sigh. Then, I slipped into the flimsy nightgown I’d bought specifically for this plan.
I stared at my reflection, creating the illusion of passionate marks on my neck and collarbone. Hickeys, scattered like a constellation, as if left by a demanding lover. I even tore the strap of the nightgown for effect. Finally, I smudged my lipstick, perfecting the post–coital look.
I arranged the other side of the bed to look slept in, then lay down, closing my eyes. Camera set to self–timer, his perspective.
Three, two, one.
The photo captured a woman seemingly lost in post–bliss slumber, utterly unguarded. I stared at it for a long time. Ethan’s reputation flashed through my mind. A shark in the boardroom, ruthless, cold. But the Ethan I knew best was the man who reserved all his tenderness, all his affection, for my sister.
>>> Read it here <<<
Synopsis:
It’s been three years since I married Ethan, and he hasn’t touched me. Wearing a lacy nightgown, I faked a hickey and sent him a “sleeping selfie,” taken from his supposed POV.
“Dude, she’s amazing. Think you could speed up that divorce and let me have her?”
I figured Ethan, upon receiving this anonymous message, would be disgusted and furious, ready to discard me his sister’s stand–in trash. I thought, finally, this would be my ticket out.
My sister was on vacation in Hawaii, celebrating their third wedding anniversary. She asked what I wanted as a gift. I asked for a burner phone. Clutching the phone, I stood in the empty hotel room, letting out a weary sigh. Then, I slipped into the flimsy nightgown I’d bought specifically for this plan.
I stared at my reflection, creating the illusion of passionate marks on my neck and collarbone. Hickeys, scattered like a constellation, as if left by a demanding lover. I even tore the strap of the nightgown for effect. Finally, I smudged my lipstick, perfecting the post–coital look.
I arranged the other side of the bed to look slept in, then lay down, closing my eyes. Camera set to self–timer, his perspective.
Three, two, one.
The photo captured a woman seemingly lost in post–bliss slumber, utterly unguarded. I stared at it for a long time. Ethan’s reputation flashed through my mind. A shark in the boardroom, ruthless, cold. But the Ethan I knew best was the man who reserved all his tenderness, all his affection, for my sister.
>>> Read it here <<<