After I Faked My Death, My Cheating Husband Lost Everything

Benjamin's expression darkened in an instant, and he looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Sharon, stop this. You have doctors right here, and they already said you're fine."

"Bertha just got back to the country. She doesn't have anyone, and her health has always been fragile. I have to go. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

He left without another word, without a single backward glance. All he gave me was the unyielding line of his retreating back.

The moment the hospital door swung shut, the knife slipped from my grip, the blade dragging across my wrist as it fell.

It left behind that jagged scar.

The buzz of my phone pulled me out of the memory. It was a voice message from Benjamin. He sounded drunk.

"Sharon, stop being mad at me. Give me another baby, okay?"

A baby.

My hand drifted to my stomach on instinct. The numbness had long since settled into my bones.

But hearing him mention a child still sent pain crashing through my chest in waves, so fierce it felt like drowning.

It took a long time before I could steady myself. I lifted my hand and wiped away the last tear, then quietly blocked both Benjamin's and Bertha's numbers.

I dialed an overseas number.

"Mom. Three days. Meet me at the airport."

Over the next few days, Benjamin didn't come home.

I didn't ask when he'd be back. I just started packing.

But seven years of marriage had left its mark on everything. So many of the things I touched still carried traces of him.

The white scarf he'd given me on our first date. I'd worn it for years, could never bring myself to throw it away, because he'd spent months knitting it by hand.

There were so many other firsts he'd given me, gifts he'd poured his heart into, staying up until his eyes were bloodshot to make with his own hands.

I'd kept every single one locked away in the safe, too precious to discard.

Later, as Benjamin's career took off, his gifts grew more and more expensive. I still accepted each one with a full heart, because they were proof that Benjamin had once loved me deeply.

But then came the second year after we moved into the mansion. That was when Bertha appeared.

My vanity began filling up with jewelry from every luxury brand imaginable. My closet filled with the latest haute couture from every season.

Some pieces were worth hundreds of thousands. Others, millions. But none of them came from love anymore.

They were just apologies. Compensation. Hush money for all the nights I'd spent waiting alone while he was with someone else.

I looked at those things now and walked right past them.

I packed only what truly belonged to me.

The day I finished, Benjamin happened to come home.

He spotted the suitcase in my hand and frowned.

"Where are you going this time?"

He still thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

After all, the old me had threatened to leave more than once.

I didn't correct him. I just lowered my gaze. "Just getting away for a bit."

Benjamin didn't notice anything different about me. Instead, he pulled me into his arms.

"Sharon, I've been waiting to hear from you these past few days."

Waiting to hear from me?

Strange. Because I distinctly remembered all the times I'd messaged him, begging him to come home.

All I ever got back was his impatient brush-off.

He cupped my face in both hands and fixed me with a serious look.

"All you had to do was say the word, and I would've come straight home. But you didn't."

His tone was reproachful.

As if the man who'd spent those days at another woman's side hadn't been him at all.

I didn't call him out on it. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Benjamin took it as a sign that I'd forgiven him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.