My Husband Picked the Psychologist Over Me

After tidying up my room, I headed downstairs and found Gabriel in the backyard, painting alongside Amalia.

"Gabriel, is that me? It's gorgeous!" The woman in the Victorian gown was so lifelike, even from here, with golden light shimmering through the canvas.

Despite everything he struggled with, Gabriel had an astonishing eye for color. He'd been apprenticed to a master at three, and by ten, his name was already making rounds at international art shows. His work used to rake in insane amounts at auction.

I'd hoped he'd sketch even a simple portrait of me once, but he always refused. And now here he was, happily painting Amalia's profile, using that pricey lapis lazuli for the perfect shade.

As I bent down to feed the family dog, Buddy, Amalia called out, "Meredith, come check out the portrait Gabriel painted of me. It's incredible!"

I nodded. "Yes, it's really lovely."

But Gabriel snapped his brush in two and hurled it down, his face twisting with displeasure. "Meredith, are you doing this on purpose?"

I was stunned, completely lost by his sudden accusation. Amalia reached over and softly adjusted my collar, hiding the reddish-blue marks on my skin.

"Gabriel, if you care about someone, you should be gentler with them," she scolded.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his eyes before he turned away. "She's not someone I care about," he muttered, his words drifting to me on the cold breeze.

I hung my head, biting back tears as shame washed over me. Just as I turned to leave, Amalia reached out like she wanted to comfort me.

I didn't want to break down in front of everyone, so I pushed her away—maybe too hard. She stumbled, and the painting she was holding slipped right into the pond, the colors dissolving in the water before my eyes.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—" I started to reach for her when a sharp slap cut me off.

My right cheek stung so badly that I went numb, standing there completely frozen.

"Gabriel! How could you hit Meredith?" Amalia looked horrified, asking if I was okay, but I backed away.

"I'm fine. Maybe he just... didn't mean it," I croaked, trying to hold on to what little dignity I had left.

But Gabriel was stone cold. "It wasn't an accident. You bullied Amalia, and you deserve what you get."

A knife to the chest felt less painful. The cold wind rushed through the gap, pushing me to the edge with hurt and bitterness.

"Gabriel! I didn't bully Amalia. That was an accident—the wind blew that painting into the pond. And you have no right to punish me!"

I dug my nails into my palms, my face still stinging where he'd slapped me.

Gabriel kept yelling, "Meredith! Wrong is wrong! Stop making excuses!"

His eyes were bloodshot as he shouted, and Amalia wrapped her arms around him, trying to calm him down.

I had triggered one of Gabriel's meltdowns—the first in seven years.

In his frenzy, he started hurling anything within reach at me.

A heavy art board slammed into my forehead, splitting the skin open. I stood there in a daze, watching him yank at his own hair.

It was Danna—Gabriel's mother—who brought me back to reality with a harsh slap across the face. She'd always looked down on me, and now she was screaming at me to get out.

Head hung low, I slunk back to my grandmother's small quarters like some worthless, scorned creature.

That night, I found myself knocking on Aurelia's door again. Two hours later, I came out with my eyes swollen and red.

The next day, Aurelia summoned Gabriel into the living room and laid a document on the table.

"Gabriel, since you despise Meredith, let's settle this today. Sign this agreement and the two of you will go your separate ways."

"Alright, Grandmother," I said, quickly signing my name on the paper.

Even after five years of marriage to Gabriel, I'd never once called Aurelia 'Grandma' or Danna 'Mom.' We never even had a real wedding—that's why the staff felt so free to mock me behind my back.

Gabriel didn't even glance at the agreement before ripping it to shreds. "I'm not getting a divorce!" he declared.