My Cruel Choice, His Silent Death

My husband, Cole, collapsed on our kitchen floor, gasping that he was in agony.

But I told him to stop being so dramatic. My toxic ex, Bryant, was drunk and whining about a sprained arm, and I chose to rush him to a private clinic instead.

I left Cole to die alone on the cold tiles. He had to call 911 himself.

When I finally saw him in the hospital, the adoration he'd held for me for five years was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness.

"You left me to die, Emily," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You chose him. Again."

I had taken the kindest, most devoted man I'd ever known for granted, treating him as a placeholder for the man who constantly broke my heart.

In one single, cruel moment, I had finally killed his love for me.

Now, the divorce papers are on my desk. He's in Paris, thriving with a new restaurant and a new love who appreciates him.

And I am left with nothing but the ashes of my mistakes, beginning a life of lonely, agonizing penance.

Chapter 1

Emily Collins POV:

The divorce papers, a stark white testament to a life I no longer recognized, sat on my desk, a silent accusation.

My assistant, Sarah, cleared her throat.

"Ms. Collins, are you sure about this?" she asked.

"Completely," I replied, my voice steady, betraying none of the earthquake inside me.

The last few months had been a blur of work, a desperate attempt to outrun the ghost of a love I hadn't truly valued until it vanished.

Cole.

His name was a raw wound, fresh despite the passage of time.

He had left, not with a bang, but with a quiet, devastating whimper that echoed louder than any scream.

He hadn't fought for me, not in the way I expected.

He had simply... let go.

And that, I was beginning to understand, was my hell.

His silence, a weapon I' d forged against him, had turned on me.

I picked up my pen, the cool metal a stark contrast to my burning hand.

The signature was familiar, bold, and unapologetic.

It was mine.

But this time, it was for him.

He was gone.

Gone to Paris, to a new life, a new restaurant, a new... everything.

Without me.

"Send them," I instructed Sarah, pushing the signed documents across the polished mahogany.

"To Paris?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the cityscape outside my floor-to-ceiling window.

The bustling streets below, once a source of pride, now felt hollow.

"Yes. To Paris."

I regretted every second I wasted taking him for granted.

We were over.

He had made sure of that.

My phone buzzed.

It was a blocked number.

I hesitated, a flicker of an old habit, a toxic pull I thought I' d finally severed.

Bryant.

Even his name was a bitter taste in my mouth.

I had destroyed his life, his career, everything, in my desperate, twisted attempt to fix what I had broken with Cole.

It hadn't worked.

Nothing I did seemed to work.

I ignored the call.

It rang again.

And again.

A sigh escaped my lips.

Old habits died hard.

"What do you want, Bryant?" I answered, my voice devoid of emotion.

His voice, once so captivating, now grated on my nerves.

He was complaining about some business deal gone wrong, another consequence of my wrath.

I had pulled every string, leveraged every contact, to dismantle his empire brick by brick.

It was my penance, my twisted offering to a ghost.

"It's all your fault, Emily!" he whined. "You ruined everything!"

I closed my eyes, a wave of weariness washing over me.

"Is that all?" I asked, my patience thin.

"No! I need your help! I... I messed up. Big time. I need money, Emily. A lot of it."

My jaw tightened.

Even now, after everything, he still saw me as his personal ATM, his fixer.

"You made your bed, Bryant," I said, my voice cold. "Lie in it."

I hung up, the click of the phone final.

The silence in my office was deafening.

I walked to the window again, staring at the endless expanse of the city.

It was a monument to my ambition, my ruthlessness.

And my loneliness.

Cole had once filled this space, this vast, cold apartment.

He had filled it with warmth, with laughter, with the scent of gourmet meals.

He had filled it with love.

A love I had carelessly discarded, like a forgotten trinket.

Now, only echoes remained.

Echoes of a life I could never get back.

I had tried.

God, how I had tried.

But he was a wall, an impenetrable fortress of indifference.

His eyes, once so full of adoration, now held nothing for me.

Just a vast, empty expanse.

I had driven him away, pushed him to the brink, and watched him fall.

And in his fall, I had found my own.

A fall into a lonely, desolate landscape of my own making.

My phone buzzed again.

Another blocked number.

I didn't answer.

I wouldn't.

Not anymore.

There was nothing left to salvage, nothing left to break.

Just the bitter taste of "too little, too late."