24-HOURS GOODBYE; MY HUSBAND'S BEAUTIFUL LIE

AVRIELLE'S POV

“I regret it every day. I should have been the one paralyzed in that accident instead of her.”

The words were handwritten in a neat, masculine script, but they felt like jagged glass against my retinas. I had sat on the cold floor of our walk-in closet, the leather-bound journal trembling in my lap. These were the words of my husband—the man who kissed my forehead every morning before work and tucked the silk sheets around my useless legs every night.

I had turned the page, my breath hitching in a throat that felt like it was filled with sand.

“If I could wish for one thing, that would be a divorce cause the only one I wanna be with is Esterosa. I love Rosa so much, and it hurt that the one thing she wants the most is what I can't give her… marriage.”

A sob threatened to break through my ribs, but I forced it down. I had lived in a fairytale for four years, playing the role of the cherished, fragile wife while Kayden played the doting protector. But the diary told a different story—a story of a man trapped in a prison of his own guilt.

He didn't stay because he loved me.

He stayed because I had thrown my body in front of his when that truck swerved into his new twentieth-birthday car.

He stayed because my parents died in a plane crash while rushing to my bedside, leaving me with nothing but a trust fund and a wheelchair.

He stayed because he was a good man, and society would crucify a man who left his paralyzed, orphaned bride.

I had closed the book, the thud sounding like a coffin lid. For a month, I had carried this poison in my veins, acting the part, smiling through the pain.

Just then, the front door creaked open, the familiar sound of his heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway. I checked my phone.

9:00 pm.

He was two hours late. Again. I didn't need to guess where he had been; the scent of Esterosa’s floral perfume usually clung to his coat like a silent confession.

"Avy? I'm home!"

I smoothed my dress and wheeled myself out of the bedroom, plastering on the mask I’d perfected over the last thirty days.

Kayden stood in the foyer, looking every bit the handsome, successful husband. He held a massive bouquet of lilies—my favorite—and several shopping bags from an upscale boutique.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, offering a warm, practiced smile. He leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek. It felt cold.

He handed me the flowers, his eyes bright with a performance of his own. "Happy anniversary, baby. I'm so sorry I'm late. The office was a madhouse."

I looked at the lilies, then up at him. The color drained from his face as my silence stretched a second too long.

"Kayden," I said softly, my voice devoid of the anger I wanted to scream. "Our anniversary was last week."

The silence that followed was deafening.

He froze, his hand still mid-air, a look of sheer panic crossing his features.

I remembered that night—a week ago. I had cooked his favorite meal, dressed up, and waited until the candles burned down to stubs. He had come home late then, too, giving me a cold shoulder and complaining of a headache. I had cried myself to sleep that night, finally accepting that the man in the diary was the real Kayden, and the man in front of me was just a ghost.

"I... Avy, shit. I’m such an asshole," he cursed, dropping the bags and rubbing his face with his hands. "I’ve been so stressed with the merger, I completely lost track of the dates. I’m so sorry."

I reached out, cupping his cheek. My heart felt like it was breaking all over again, but I forced a smile. "It’s fine, Kayden. I know how hard you’ve been working. Don't beat yourself up."

He looked relieved—almost too relieved. "I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"Go freshen up," I told him, patting his arm. "I’ll start setting the table for dinner."

He smiled, leaning down to grab the bags. "I'll put these in the room. I really did get you something special, even if I'm a week late."

As soon as his back was turned and he headed toward the stairs, my smile vanished.

In two days, I would be on a flight to Switzerland. I’d already contacted the clinic for the surgery that might—just might—give me my life back. I’d already started the paperwork to manage my parents' estate myself.

I was leaving him.

But I needed one last thing…divorce.

"Avy?"

He was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with that same considerate, pained expression.

"I don't know... I feel like a total jerk this time," he said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "I really want to make it up to you. Ask for anything you want…Just name it."

He looked so sincere. If I hadn't read those pages, I would have believed him. I would have thought I was the luckiest woman alive.

"Anything?" I asked, my heart racing against my ribs.

"Anything," he vowed.

I took a deep breath, looking him straight in the eyes. The man who wanted Esterosa. The man who felt trapped. The man I was about to set free.

"Spend a full twenty-four hours with me," I said, my tone turning serious. "No phones, no office, no distractions. Just us. I want you to make me feel seventeen again."

One last day of the lie, I thought. One last day to remember why I loved him, before I gave him the divorce he was too afraid to ask for.