Done Forgiving, Done Being His Wife

Hannah's POV

The night I collapsed at my desk from acute appendicitis, my husband’s phone rang thirty-seven times. He didn't answer a single one.

When he finally strolled into my hospital room the next day, his excuse was that he had been entertaining clients all night and his phone was on silent.

"A multi-million dollar contract versus a minor surgery—which do you think is more important?" Nathan asked, adjusting his cuffs. "As the CEO's wife, I’d expect you to have some sense of the bigger picture."

I didn't say a word. I just nodded.

Not because I agreed with him, but because the first thing I saw when I woke up from anesthesia was his secretary's latest social media post: a sky ablaze with green aurora, and Nathan with his arm around her shoulders, his back to the camera.

Thinking I had finally learned my place, my husband looked thoroughly satisfied. He casually mentioned that once things settled down, he would officially hand over my position as Project Director to her, "so you can relax a bit."

But he didn't know.

He didn't need to wait for things to settle down.

I didn't want the position anymore. I didn't want his company. And him? I didn't want him, either.

——

Sarah, the HR Manager, couldn't bring herself to meet my eyes when she slid the resignation papers across the desk.

I gripped the pen and calmly signed Hannah Carter on the final page.

I didn't have many personal belongings. One cardboard box was enough.

Passing the pantry, I overheard a few design assistants who usually orbited Vivian gossiping. They didn't bother lowering their voices.

"She finally caved."

"A CEO's wife getting ousted by an assistant. That's a first."

After three years of marriage, I was immune to the whispers. They knew Nathan favored Vivian, and stepping on me was the cheapest way to curry favor with the boss.

I stopped right in front of them, clutching my box.

"Instead of obsessing over me, you might want to look at the new pricing the supply chain just submitted."

Their faces froze.

"If you keep slacking off like this, you won't even be able to afford lunch when this company goes under."

I didn't wait for a response and stepped into the elevator.

The moment I pushed through GFJ's revolving doors, my phone buzzed. Nathan's name flashed on the screen.

I answered, and he skipped the pleasantries.

"Halloway Retail has a problem with the new quotes. Contact Marcus and fix it. Now."

I pulled a dry smile. Hilarious.

Two months ago, I pulled over a dozen all-nighters, sliced costs by twenty percent, and single-handedly secured the Halloway account. The very next day, Nathan handed the project credit to Vivian under the guise of "training new talent."

Now that it was a mess, I was expected to clean it up.

"I'm not at the office," I said flatly.

His breathing turned heavy.

"Hannah, abandoning your post during working hours? Do you still want your paycheck today?" Nathan snapped. "Vivian and I are out meeting clients. As my wife, is it too much to ask for a little help?"

He probably thought he was a masterful liar.

But hearing meeting clients instantly dragged me back to that night last month.

To force me to hand my biggest project over to Vivian, he had slammed his hands on my desk, picked a massive fight, and stormed out. That night, my appendix ruptured. I passed out at my desk from the agony. It was Dana who called 911 and rode with me to the ER.

She stood in the hospital hallway and called him thirty-seven times. Zero answers.

His excuse was a sloppy lie about a silent phone and client drinks. Meanwhile, my first sight post-operation was Vivian's aurora photo.

His "client meetings" were just meticulously planned affairs.

Vivian's voice drifted through the receiver, soft and delicate.

"Nathan, please don't yell at Hannah. It's my fault. I'll just work overtime tonight and redo the spreadsheets myself... I just hope Marcus can wait..."

"Don't speak up for her. This isn't your fault," Nathan’s tone instantly shifted to a sickeningly patient purr—as if he hadn't just been screaming at me.

Then, he turned the gun back on me.

"Vivian stayed up until 3 AM last night checking those numbers! What about you? You do absolutely nothing at the office all day!"

"If you had half her work ethic, I wouldn't have to give her the Project Director title."

Listening to him twist reality, I didn't even feel anger anymore.

Three years of having my blood, sweat, and tears taken for granted had left me totally numb. He was so confident that the chains of our three-year marriage would make me yield, just like always.

"I'm taking Vivian and the suppliers to a high-end restaurant later," he ordered. "You'd better have the Halloway mess fixed before you clock out."

He hung up.

Before the screen even faded, my insurance company called.

"Ms. Carter, the repairs on your vehicle are complete. We've placed the dashcam on the center console. You can pick up the car from the shop anytime."

The Range Rover was bought fully in cash by me before the wedding, but Nathan had been driving it lately. Two weeks ago, he claimed he got distracted and curbed the front right wheel.

I took a cab to the shop.

The mechanic handed me the keys and pointed outside. I slid into the driver's seat and picked up the dashcam. It was cloud-synced—something Nathan clearly never noticed.

The power cable had dropped onto the floor mat. As I leaned down to grab it, something caught my eye under the passenger seat.

I reached into the dark, dead angle of the seat track.

My fingers hooked a small, dark piece of fabric and yanked it out.