The Pink Car of Betrayal

Gretchen Rivas POV:

Donovan didn't come home for the next few days. He was too busy celebrating his "Soulmate" success, and Keri's impending motherhood. It gave me the time I needed. Time to erase myself from his life.

I started with the garden. The lavender bushes, his special gift to me, bloomed vibrantly. He' d helped me plant them, his hands calloused, his eyes full of promise. He loves lavender, he' d said. It reminds him of my calming presence.

I picked up a shovel. Root by root, I dug them up. The fragrant purple flowers, now just dirt and broken stems. I tossed them into the compost bin. A clean sweep.

Next, my belongings. My clothes, my favorite books, the little trinkets I' d collected over the years. I packed nothing. I stripped my side of the closet bare, cleared my bathroom shelves, erased every single trace of my existence. I threw it all into large garbage bags and hauled them to the curb. My personal history, discarded.

When I was done, the house felt vast and empty. As if I'd never lived there. I smiled. It was perfect. I wanted to leave no trace. No ghost. No lingering scent.

My phone rang. Donovan. "Gretchen? Are you mad I haven't been home? Things are crazy with the launch, you know." He sounded tired, but still self-important.

"No, Donovan," I said, my voice calm. "I understand. Work is important." It was true. I understood. And I knew I would never have to wait for him again.

He launched into a monologue about the "Soulmate's" unprecedented sales, the upcoming corporate celebrations. "I'll be back for your birthday, though, baby. We'll make it special. Just you wait."

My birthday, I thought. And your present. I felt nothing. He had everything he wanted.

"I'll see you then," I said, and hung up.

I walked out of the house for the last time. I didn't take anything. No sentimental tokens, no emergency cash. Just myself. I glanced back at the house, a final farewell. Then I hailed a cab. The Mnemosyne Project. It was time.

On the way, my phone buzzed with social media notifications. My feed was flooded with videos from Donovan's celebration. Keri, beaming, draped over him, her arm around his waist. They looked like a triumphant couple.

Donovan, holding a microphone, spoke confidently. "This monumental success," he announced, "is largely thanks to our brilliant VP of Marketing, Keri Parrish. Her strategic vision was simply unparalleled."

Then, the bombshell. "Therefore, I'm thrilled to announce Keri Parrish's immediate promotion to Executive Vice President!"

The crowd erupted. Keri, blush-faced, took the stage, accepting a framed certificate. She looked at Donovan, her eyes swimming with adoration. "I just... I just did my job, Donovan. You made it easy."

I watched it all, a cold disgust rising in my throat. Brilliant strategy? Or just brilliant manipulation? I closed my phone. It felt heavy, filled with the stench of their lies.

I slipped off my wedding ring, a simple platinum band, and tossed it out the window. It glinted once, then disappeared into the urban sprawl. I was no longer his wife. And soon, I wouldn't even remember him.

At the clinic, the same calm doctor greeted me. "Ms. Rivas. Are you still certain?"

"More than ever," I said, my voice firm.

He led me to a pristine white room. A single bed, stark and uninviting, stood in the center. "Lie down, Ms. Rivas. When you wake up in three days, your past will be gone. You'll begin a new life, with a new identity."

I lay down, closing my eyes. A deep, profound peace settled over me. Please, I thought, let me forget him. All of him. Forever.