The Seeds of Ruin

He said he hadn’t taken the child out to play in a long time and wanted to take him to the children’s museum for half a day, then send him to preschool. The plan sounded innocent, almost sweet.

Seeing my son so happy, I couldn’t bear to refuse, so I let them go. Before leaving, he reminded me to drink my calcium supplements, since I’d been having cramps, and even made them for me before leaving. The gesture felt caring at the time, now it made my skin crawl.

Who would have thought that such a loving husband would turn around and take my son to meet his mistress, and watch as that woman made my child call her mom? The betrayal was complete.

Now that the photos and messages were sent from his own phone, all his previous vows had slapped both him and me in the face. I felt like a fool, every memory twisted by his lies.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I would never let my son acknowledge that woman as his mother. She wanted to take everything from me by stealing Carter—dream on! I swore I’d fight, even from beyond the grave.

At that moment, I felt both anger at Carter’s betrayal and hatred for Marissa’s provocation. The emotions burned, hot and wild.

But in the end, I hated Carter more. His betrayal cut the deepest.

It was his disregard for our years together and his infidelity that gave these people the weapon to hurt me. He handed them the knife and turned away.

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I had always trusted Carter, but he’d had a child with another woman behind my back. The shock was physical, like a punch to the gut.

I never doubted his love. After all, we’d walked together through ten years of hardship. We’d started with nothing, built everything brick by brick.

Once, when he was driving and we faced an oncoming car, I was in the passenger seat. A normal person would have swerved left, putting me in danger, but without thinking, he turned right, taking the impact himself. I thought it was love, proof he’d always protect me.

Luckily, the drunk driver braked in time, and neither side was seriously hurt. It was after that incident that I decided to marry the man who’d risked his life for me. That day replayed in my mind like a movie, the choice that changed everything.

Carter said I was the most important person in his life; he could lose anyone but me. I clung to those words for years.

I believe he still loved me then, but love can’t excuse betrayal. Love is a promise, not a get-out-of-jail-free card.

I thought of what my mother-in-law once said while watching a soap about cheating: Men are just boys who never grow up, always chasing something new. Women should be generous and give men a chance to change when they mess up. A man’s heart will always come home. The words sounded hollow now.

Turns out, even back then, he’d already cheated. The truth was bitter.

The huge emotional shock made me think extreme thoughts: I wanted him to regret, to suffer, and for everything I went through, I wanted him to pay a hundred times over. The desire for revenge was a living thing.

That was all I could think of. Make him lose me. Make him live with it.

I thought I understood Carter. If my death was caused by their affair, that woman would never get into this house. I was wrong—dead wrong.

I was convinced that, under the weight of my death, Carter would never stay with Marissa. I wanted to destroy all of that woman’s illusions, make Carter spend his life with Noah, raising him well, because he owed me that. I pictured him alone in the penthouse, haunted by guilt.

Once that thought took hold, I couldn’t let it go. I was even excited by it, though I didn’t know why. In that state, I wrote my will, then changed into the simple wedding dress I wore to marry Carter. The fabric was old, but it held every memory.

That’s right, I still had it. We didn’t have much money back then and the material was plain, but that dress represented the hard years we spent together and meant a lot to both of us. I ran my fingers over the lace, remembering our vows.

I wanted to die in this dress in front of him, so he’d live in regret for the rest of his life. I thought it would be justice.

I wrote my will and put it right on the dining table—couldn’t miss it. In it, I denounced their crimes and transferred all my shares to Noah. But by the time the police arrived, it was gone.

And the angry texts I sent Carter before jumping led the police to rule my death a crime of passion, an emotional suicide. The headlines were brutal: "Tragic Wife’s Last Stand."