I'm Done Playing the Substitute

Brookside had always known one thing: Jonah, the CEO of Robert Group, adored me to the moon and back. My name is Rosa Gray. Since we got married, every asset under our roof bore my name. Even Robert Group's most ambitious project had been christened after me, a grand gesture that left many envious.

On our first wedding anniversary, Jonah surprised me with a rose tattoo inked right over his heart. Later, when I gave birth to twin daughters, he named them Rosalie and Rosabelle, their names reflecting mine like an eternal echo of his supposed devotion.

But even the most beautiful facades can hide the ugliest truths. Jonah lived to eighty and in his final moments, he publicly declared that his burial site should be chosen next to his first love, Rosa Dawson—a woman who had passed away long before we ever met.

It was then I realized, with gut-wrenching clarity, that in this marriage I had always treasured, I was nothing but a substitute. And what was substituted wasn't even me—but my name.

My pride crumbled in an instant. The envious gazes of Brookside's noblewomen turned to derisive laughter. The humiliation of being nothing more than a replacement consumed me and I couldn't bear the betrayal. Late one evening, with my hands trembling and tears streaming uncontrollably, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills, hoping to escape the suffocating reality.

When I opened my eyes, however, I found myself staring not at the afterlife but at the familiar, elegant decor of Jonah's living room. The air was heavy with the fragrance of fresh roses.

This was the day of our first wedding anniversary—the day he presented me with that rose tattoo.

This time, I wouldn't play the fool.

——

"Rosa, look at this rose," Jonah's voice interrupted my racing thoughts. I turned to find him standing in front of me, holding up a photograph of the tattoo freshly inked on his chest. His lips curved into a proud, boyish smile. "It's my gift for our first anniversary. I had it tattooed over my heart because you'll always be in my heart. From now on, every heartbeat will remind me to tell you that I love you."

His tone was warm and affectionate and for a fleeting moment, I almost believed him. Almost. But as I stared at him, his words from his deathbed echoed mercilessly in my mind. The tattoo wasn't for me—it was for the ghost of a woman he couldn't forget.

Jonah was radiant that day, his dark hair neatly combed and his tailored suit fitting him perfectly. He was the picture of a perfect husband, the very image of the man I had adored. Yet now, I could only feel a bitter sense of irony.

This time, I wouldn't let his grand gestures blind me.

"Jonah," I began, my voice calm yet distant, "can I ask you something? Why do you never call me Sasha? Everyone else does. My family, my friends… yet, you've always called me Rosa."

The question made him falter. For the first time that evening, his confident demeanor cracked. His brows knitted together in confusion and he tilted his head slightly, as if buying himself time to think. "Why are you asking this out of the blue?"

I forced a small smile. "Don't you think Sasha sounds closer, more intimate than Rosa?"

He stiffened, his mouth opening and closing as though searching for the right words. Finally, he chuckled nervously, waving off the question. "What are you talking about? Alright, go get dressed. I made reservations for dinner. You'll love it."

Jonah was deflecting, just as I had expected. But his inability to answer made my chest ache in ways I couldn't describe. It felt as though my heart was being wrung dry, drop by drop.

Looking at him, I felt a surge of determination. I wouldn't let myself be deceived this time. My hands clenched into fists as I suppressed the bitterness rising in my throat. When I finally spoke, my voice was soft but firm.

"Jonah, let's get a divorce."

The words hung in the air, sharp and final. His cheerful expression froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What's wrong, Rosa?" His voice cracked slightly, his usual confidence replaced by panic. "Did something happen? Is it because I wasn't with you earlier today? I went to get a tattoo! I wanted to surprise you! I thought you'd like this…"