A Second Chance, A True Love's Kiss

The Montauk Highway rain slammed against our windshield, just like my stomach cramped with familiar, sharp pain.

Marcus drove, his knuckles white, until his phone flashed 'Izzy.'

My husband, always her loyal puppy, was gone in a flash.

"Ellie, call an Uber. Izzy needs me," he' d declared, abandoning me sick and alone on that dark road.

It was the ninth time Marcus chose his ex-girlfriend over me, his wife.

The 'ninth goodbye' in a cruel bet Izzy orchestrated years ago: "Nine times, Ellie. Nine. Then you walk away."

Each incident a deeper cut: my anniversary dinner, my emergency surgery, my grandmother' s memorial.

I was just his convenient rebound, his 'consolation prize,' a pawn in their twisted game.

Days later, after an elevator accident left me shattered and hospitalized, Marcus cradled Izzy, his terror only for her.

I finally saw it with chilling clarity: he never truly loved me.

My marriage was a meticulously crafted lie, orchestrated by Izzy from college.

My love for him, that foolish, stubborn hope, was finally drained, leaving only an aching void.

But the game was over.

I had already signed the divorce papers he carelessly overlooked, ready for my freedom.

When Izzy later set a vicious trap to publicly shame me, accusing me of assault, a mysterious stranger stepped in, changing everything.

This was the end of a nightmare, and the beginning of my true life.

The rain hit the windshield hard.

It was a dark, miserable night on the Montauk Highway.

My stomach cramped, a familiar, sharp pain.

Marcus drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

His phone rang, loud and urgent.

Izzy' s name flashed on the screen.

Of course, it was Izzy.

"I have to take this," Marcus said. His voice was tight.

He answered. Izzy' s voice, high and panicked, filled the car.

"Marcus, oh god, my car broke down! I' m on some deserted road, it' s so dark, I' m scared!"

My husband' s face changed.

Worry. For her.

He pulled over sharply to the shoulder. Cars whizzed past, too close.

"Ellie, call an Uber. I have to go. Izzy needs me."

He didn' t look at me.

My cramps got worse. I felt sick.

"Marcus, I' m not feeling well. It' s... it' s really bad tonight."

He fumbled in the back seat, found a flimsy umbrella.

"Here. My parents' house isn' t far back. Or just wait for the Uber. I have to go."

He opened his door. Cold rain blasted in.

He was gone.

The red taillights of his car disappeared into the storm.

Leaving me. Alone. Terrified.

This was the ninth time.

The ninth goodbye.

Tears mixed with the rain on my face as I finally got out of the car, clutching the useless umbrella.

The wind tried to rip it from my hand.

Each cramp was a hot knife in my gut.

I remembered Izzy' s voice, smooth and cruel, a few months ago.

We were at some awful sorority reunion. Alpha Phi sisters, she' d called us.

She' d cornered me.

"Ellie, sweetie," Izzy had said, her eyes glittering. "Let' s make a little game out of it. A test. If Marcus leaves you for me, at nine critical moments, you have to admit he never loved you. You walk away. Divorce him. Leave him to me."

I was stupid.

I was desperate.

I thought, surely, Marcus would choose me. His wife.

So I' d nodded. A silent, stupid agreement to her sick game.

Now, her voice echoed in my head. "Nine times, Ellie. Nine."

She won.

Marcus never loved me.

It was time for the divorce.

My phone was almost dead, but I managed to call an Uber.

The ride back to our New York apartment was a blur of pain and cold realization.

Our marriage was a lie.

Izzy orchestrated it all, right from college.

She was the popular girl, the queen bee. Marcus was her loyal puppy, the rich quarterback always at her beck and call.

I was just Ellie Vance, the quiet art student she barely noticed in our shared electives at NYU.

Then Izzy decided she wanted a "rebellious phase" with some musician.

She dumped Marcus. He was heartbroken.

Izzy, in her twisted way, decided I was a safe, non-threatening person for Marcus to rebound with.

She pushed him towards me.

"Ellie' s sweet, Marcus. She' ll be good for you. Stable."

I found out later he hadn' t even wanted to ask me out. Izzy convinced him.

He proposed after Izzy ran off to Europe with her musician, leaving Marcus feeling utterly rejected.

I was his consolation prize.

And all this time, his heart, his obsession, it was always Izzy.

I was just convenient.

Why did I agree to Izzy' s cruel bet?

Hope. A tiny, foolish speck of it.

I wanted to believe that if faced with a clear choice, Marcus would finally see me.

Choose me.

The first time was our anniversary. Per Se. Mid-dinner, Izzy' s text. A "crisis." He left.

The second, my gallbladder attack. Emergency surgery. He was in the Hamptons with Izzy at a polo match. She faked a twisted ankle. He rushed to her. I signed my own consent forms.

The third, my grandmother' s memorial. She raised me. He stayed for ten minutes. An "unavoidable business emergency." It was a charity gala Izzy co-chaired.

Eight times. Each one a deeper cut.

Missing my career-defining design award. Forgetting my birthday to comfort Izzy over a lost earring. Siding with her in public arguments that left me humiliated.

Now, the ninth. Leaving me sick and alone on a dark highway.

My love for him, that stubborn, hopeful thing, was finally dead.

It had been drained, drop by drop, with every abandonment.

The tank was empty.

I had the divorce papers already.

My lawyer, a sharp woman I' d found after the fifth abandonment, had drawn them up months ago.

A moment of foresight. Or maybe just a premonition.

I got back to the apartment, shivering, soaked.

I laid the papers on the mahogany desk in his study.

My signature was already there. Bold and clear. Eleanor Vance.

I just needed his. Marcus Thorne.

The next morning, my phone buzzed. It was Izzy.

Her voice was syrupy sweet.

"Ellie, darling! Marcus and I were thinking. We want to do something lovely for you. A little surprise joint investment. For that little art gallery you' ve always dreamed of opening. To make you happy. Get you off Marcus' s back, you know?"

My stomach churned.

"Marcus is swamped today, but he' ll be at his office around noon to sign some papers for it. You should be there. It' s about your dream, after all."

I knew what she was doing.

This was her victory lap.

I said nothing.

She hung up.

I went.

I had to see it. The final act.

Marcus' s office at Thorne Legacy Properties was all glass and power.

He was there, looking tired but also... eager. Eager to please Izzy.

Izzy was radiant, triumphant.

She had a stack of documents.

"Just a few signatures, darling," Izzy cooed at Marcus, tapping the pile. "For Ellie' s gallery. And a few other little things."

My divorce papers were in that stack. I saw the edge of the familiar blue legal backing.

Marcus barely glanced at them.

Izzy pointed. "Sign here, and here."

He signed.

His name, Marcus Thorne, scrawled carelessly next to mine.

He was too busy smiling at Izzy, who promised him this would make me "so happy."

He didn' t even look at me.

Izzy slid the signed divorce papers out from the stack with a perfectly manicured finger.

She held them out to me.

A small, victorious smile played on her lips.

"There you go, Ellie. Your ninth goodbye. All wrapped up."

I took them. My hand was steady.

I felt... nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness where my heart used to be.

"Thank you, Izzy," I said, my voice even. "You' ve made things very clear."

Marcus looked confused for a second.

"Clear? What' s clear? Is the gallery funded?"

Izzy just laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves.

"Don' t worry your handsome head about it, Marcus. Ellie understands."

I turned and walked out.

The signed papers were heavy in my bag.

The weight of my freedom.

Marcus looked from me to Izzy, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

"What' s going on with the gallery investment then?" he asked.

Izzy waved a dismissive hand.

"Later, Marcus. It' s almost time for my flight to Aspen, remember? You promised to see me off."

His attention snapped back to her. Instantly.

"Right, of course. Aspen."

He glanced at me, a quick, almost indifferent look.

"You okay, Ellie? You look pale."

I just nodded.

Words felt useless.

He didn' t wait for an answer. He was already guiding Izzy towards the elevator, his hand on her arm.

The doors closed, leaving me alone in his opulent office.

The silence was a relief.

I walked out, the signed divorce papers a solid weight in my purse.

That evening, Marcus came home late.

He found me in the living room, staring out at the city lights.

He came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders.

A familiar gesture. It used to make me feel safe.

Now, it felt like a cage.

"Sorry I was late," he said, his voice soft. Trying to be gentle. "Izzy' s flight was delayed."

Of course it was.

"Are you still upset about last night?" he asked.

Upset? That I was abandoned on a dark highway, sick and in pain, for his ex-girlfriend?

"Why would I be upset, Marcus?" I asked, my voice flat.

He sighed, a sound of practiced patience.

"Look, Izzy was genuinely scared. Her car really did break down. What was I supposed to do?"

"What indeed," I said, turning to face him.

I saw the faint scent of Izzy' s perfume on his shirt. Chanel No. 5. Her signature.

"This is the last time, Marcus," I said.

He frowned. "Last time for what? Me helping Izzy? She' s my oldest friend, Ellie. You know that."

"No," I said. "The last time for us."

I pulled the signed divorce papers from my purse and handed them to him.

He stared at them, then at me.

Disbelief. Then anger.

"What the hell is this? You can' t be serious."

He always made excuses for Izzy.

She was fragile. She was alone. She' d had a tough life, despite her family' s millions.

My pain, my needs, they were always secondary.

Or invisible.

He used to bring me coffee in the morning. Black, two sugars.

The next morning, he didn' t.

He slept in the guest room.

I packed a small bag.

Just essentials.

I looked around our bedroom. His side of the closet was neat, organized.

But on his nightstand, next to his watch and wallet, was a small, framed photo.

It wasn' t of me. It was of him and Izzy, years ago, laughing, heads close together.

When had that appeared?

I' d never noticed it before. Or maybe I hadn' t wanted to.

"Izzy must have left it when she was helping me redecorate last month," he' d said once when I found one of her scarves draped over a chair.

He didn' t even try to hide it.

I picked up my favorite cashmere sweater, the one he said made my eyes look greener.

I folded it, then unfolded it.

I put it back in the drawer.

It felt tainted.

Everything in this apartment felt tainted by his choices, by Izzy' s presence.

I walked through the rooms.

My design projects were pinned to a board in the small study I used. Blueprints for a new boutique hotel downtown. A mood board for a penthouse renovation.

My work. The one thing that was truly mine.

I took down the Thorne Legacy Properties projects. The ones connected to his family. The ones where I always felt like an afterthought.

My independent clients, their files felt clean.

I was supposed to go to a charity gala that night. The Children' s Literacy Fund.

Marcus was a sponsor. Thorne Legacy Properties.

I knew Izzy would be there. Front and center.

I wasn' t going.

But then I thought, why not?

One last look at the world I was leaving.

The ballroom was glittering. Chandeliers, champagne, designer gowns.

Izzy was holding court near the silent auction tables.

She was talking animatedly to a group of women, her voice carrying.

"...and Marcus was just a hero. He drove all the way out to Montauk in that dreadful storm to rescue me. My car was completely dead. He even made sure my driver got it towed the next day."

One of the women, a society columnist I vaguely knew, gushed, "He' s so devoted to you, Izzy! Always has been."

Izzy smiled, a picture of modest gratitude.

She saw me then. Her smile widened, but it didn' t reach her eyes.

She excused herself and glided over to me.

"Ellie! You came! I' m so glad. Marcus was worried you were still upset."