Part 1Erasing The Man Who Broke Me

A TikTok DM from a total stranger popped up deep in the middle of the night.

“Am I the other woman, or are you?”

A pause. Then a second message: “Killian North has you pinned as ‘Wife’ in his contacts. What’s the deal?”

I glanced at Killian, who was toweling his wet hair, emerging from our master bath.

The man I’d been married to for three years.

I tossed my phone onto the duvet beside him.

This girl wasn’t the first, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Killian barely blinked, treating the inquiry with the practiced indifference of someone who’d been through this script a hundred times.

“Spit it out, Cass. What do you want this time?”

His voice was a low, bored rumble.

“Another million? Or a divorce? Pick your poison.”

I didn't dissolve into tears, didn't scream, didn't claw at his shirt begging him to stop, as I had in the past. Instead, I leaned back against the headboard and smiled up at him, my voice unnaturally light.

“Good.”

“It’ll be in your account tomorrow, then.” Killian answered dismissively, his thumb already scrolling past photos of different women on his phone.

“I meant, the divorce. Good.”

* * *

The air seized. Killian’s fleeting surprise curdled instantly into a sneer.

“Cassidy, I actually thought you’d grown up. Still pulling these pathetic stunts?”

He backed away, the weight of his body lifting from the bed. “I’ll give you a whole extra month this time, after she’s gone. Deal?”

He didn’t believe me. He never did. He thought I was throwing a fit. Our unspoken rule—the cruel covenant of our marriage—was that after he finished with a new girl, he'd grudgingly dedicate a week to me. An entire month was practically a grand gesture.

I considered it for a moment.

“Then sign this agreement.”

I reached for the bedside drawer and slid the divorce papers—prepared weeks ago and folded precisely—to his side of the bed, open to the final page.

Killian North was defined by his absolute confidence. He was so certain of his power that the possibility of my leaving him simply did not exist in his universe. Even if I’d held another man’s hand and sworn I was in love, he’d have just laughed, convinced it was a temporary glitch.

He didn't even read the agreement. He snatched the pen I offered and scrawled his signature across the line.

“There. Happy? You think I’ll renege? God, Cassidy. You’d die without a man to coddle you.”

The venom in his voice was familiar, yet tonight, it didn't sting. I simply got out of bed and pulled a clean shirt from his closet.

“Go on, then. I’m sure your little girlfriend is throwing a tantrum waiting for you.”

My calm smile finally fractured the indifference on his face. The composure and frigid silence I’d maintained all night transformed into pure, searing rage.

Killian grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I felt the small bones grinding.

“How are you still so pathetic, Cassidy?”

“You used to lose your mind when I did this! You used to cry and beg! Why aren’t you angry? Why the hell are you playing the quiet, supportive wife? What are you staging?”

His voice dropped to a hateful whisper. “You forced me into this, and now you look like the victim? God, you’re disgusting.”

The front door slammed shut, rattling the windows.

I smiled—a silent, empty gesture—and then the coughing started. It was a raw, wrenching spasm that knotted my chest and pulled at my insides until I finally spat a gob of viscous, crimson blood into my palm.

He hated me.

He used every cruel weapon he could think of to punish me. But we had been torturing each other for far too long.

It was time to end it.

Years ago, back in high school, Killian used to write me letters. Hundreds of them. Stacked together, they were almost as thick as a phone book. I’d read them so many times the paper was soft, tattered, and wrinkled. On nights like this—nights when he was gone—I always reached for them.

Tonight, I didn't cry into them. I lit a match.

In the quick-spreading flames, the paper curled and the ink blackened. Through the heat haze, I saw the memory of the boy in my mind: Killian, his face streaked with tears and blood, begging me not to leave.