The Wife He Broke

My five-year mission to make Ethan Scott love me ended in failure, leaving my heart empty, my personality sacrificed to a system designed to make me the "perfect wife." My only directive: ensure his happiness. So, when the news broke that his strategist, Sabrina Chavez, was pregnant with his child, I smiled serenely.

Ethan, the man I' d spent half a decade trying to win, rushed to Sabrina' s side, leaving me bleeding on the kitchen floor after she staged an attack, blaming me. He didn' t even look at my foot, deeply sliced open by shattered ceramic. He just spat venom, calling me "insane," "pathologically jealous," and carried her away.

I drafted divorce papers, convinced this was the ultimate supportive act, the logical step to secure his happiness. Yet, when he saw them, his rage collapsed into a primal panic. "I wanted you obedient, not a heartless robot! Is this your revenge? To show me you never cared?" He saw a stranger, but all I could ask was, "Isn't making you happy my only purpose?"

Then, Sabrina had a miscarriage. The doctor said it was an old condition, unrelated to the burn. Ethan' s face wasn' t grief-stricken; it was pure relief. "The problem is solved. We can finally be happy." The system, unable to reconcile his monstrousness with its primary directive, began to short-circuit, and my body began to give out.

But as I lay dying, a strange thing happened. Ethan, stripped of his political ambition and reputation, finally loved me. His affection meter, dormant for years, soared. He begged me to stay, promising a new life. But a broken vase, once glued, always shows its cracks. I didn' t want a love built on cracks. With my last breath, I told the system: "Send me to the new world."

My mission to make Ethan Scott love me failed after five years.

The system's notification was cold and final, a digital death sentence. His affection meter, once a flickering hope, had flatlined at zero.

Failure meant erasure. Complete non-existence.

But the system offered an alternative, a lifeline I was too desperate to refuse. The "Perfect Partner" subroutine. It promised to fulfill the mission's secondary objective: ensure Ethan's happiness, even if it wasn't with me. The cost was my personality, my fire, my very self.

I accepted. I had to.

Now, I sat on the silk sofa in our penthouse, the perfect political wife, watching myself on the evening news. The screen showed me from earlier today, surrounded by a swarm of paparazzi.

"Mrs. Scott, is it true your husband is having an affair with his strategist, Sabrina Chavez?"

My on-screen self smiled, a serene, unshakable mask.

"My husband and I are deeply committed to each other. These rumors are baseless and designed to disrupt his important work for this city."

My performance was flawless. The system confirmed it with a soft chime in my mind.

Ethan walked in then, home from a "late-night strategy session." The scent of Sabrina's expensive perfume, Chanel No. 5, clung to his suit. A faint smear of red lipstick stained his collar. He was on the phone, his voice a low, affectionate murmur.

"I know, baby. I miss you too. Just a few more months."

He saw me watching the TV and his tone turned to ice.

"I have to go."

He hung up, his eyes on the screen, then on me. He expected tears, accusations, the fiery drama I used to give him. He got none of it.

"You handled that well," he said, a note of surprise in his voice.

He remembered the screaming matches, the thrown glasses, the nights I cried myself to sleep over his coldness. That was the old Jocelyn. The Jocelyn who failed.

"I'm here to support you, Ethan," I said, my voice even and calm. The system's programming felt like a comfortable straitjacket.

He walked over and dropped a small, velvet Cartier box into my lap.

"A little something for you."

I opened it. A delicate diamond bracelet. It was the exact same one his aide had given me on our anniversary two months ago, a gift Ethan hadn't even remembered.

"It's beautiful, darling. Thank you." I smiled, the perfect, appreciative wife.

His phone buzzed. It was Sabrina. He answered, his back to me, but I heard her excited voice clearly through the speaker.

"Ethan, I'm pregnant!"

A wide, genuine smile broke across Ethan's face, a smile I hadn't seen directed at me in years. He was overjoyed.

"That's... that's incredible news, Sabrina. I'm coming over right now."

He turned to me, his expression hardening again.

"Stay here. And behave."

He rushed out the door, leaving the scent of another woman and the echo of his joy behind.

The system processed the new information. The logical next step was clear.

I walked to his study, my steps measured and silent. I turned on his computer and began drafting the divorce papers. It was the perfect thing to do.

The invitation to the Scott family dinner in the Hamptons was a command, not a request. It was a celebration for Sabrina and the baby. Ethan insisted I attend. The system agreed; a supportive wife would be present.

The Hamptons estate was a monument to old money and quiet power. As I stepped out of the car, I saw them on the grand stone terrace-Ethan with his arm around Sabrina, his mother beaming at them. Sabrina was wearing a vibrant emerald green dress, a color Ethan had always told me was too loud, too "theatrical" for a political wife. It looked perfect on her.

The sight triggered a memory. A year ago, I' d bought a similar dress for a charity gala. Ethan had looked at me with disgust. "Are you trying to look like a showgirl, Jocelyn? Go change into something more dignified. Navy. Or black."

I had cried and changed. Now, seeing him look at Sabrina with such pride in that same color, a final piece of the old me clicked into place and then dissolved. He never disliked the color. He disliked me.

This realization didn't hurt. It was just data. It solidified my resolve. The divorce was the only correct path.

Dinner was a masterclass in public humiliation. Mrs. Scott, Ethan's mother, made a toast.

"To Sabrina," she said, her sharp eyes flicking to me for a moment, "who is bringing our family the greatest gift. A true heir to the Scott name."

She then unclasped a heavy, antique diamond necklace from her own neck. "This has been passed down to the mothers of the Scott heirs for generations. It's yours now, my dear."

Sabrina preened as Ethan fastened the necklace around her neck. The entire table applauded. They all expected me to break, to run from the room in tears. The old Jocelyn would have.

Instead, I stood up, my smile placid and genuine. The system guided my words.

"Congratulations, Sabrina. Mrs. Scott. I am so happy that the Scott family line will continue. It was a failure on my part that I could not provide an heir, and I am glad Ethan has found someone who can give him the family he so richly deserves."

The air went still. Ethan stared at me, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. His mother looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Sabrina's triumphant smile faltered.

"What are you doing?" Ethan hissed across the table, his voice low and furious. "Stop making a spectacle of yourself."

I was confused.

I simply gave him a serene smile. "I'm just being supportive, darling. Isn't this what you wanted?"

His face twisted with an emotion I couldn't identify. It looked like anger, but also... confusion. Panic.

I sat back down, my hand clutching the purse in my lap. Inside, the neatly folded divorce papers felt like a promise. I was so close to making him truly happy.