I Faked An Injury To Escape My Abusive Billionaire Husband. But The Er Doctor Just Revealed A Dark Secret About My Husband’s First Wife. How Do I Go Back To That House Now?
A New Beginning
I walked out of that room stepping over the threshold that for 5 years had been my prison boundary. Downstairs Manny and Maria stood frozen near the staircase their mouths agape, shocked to see their esteemed employer being hauled away by the police like a common thief,.
I paused in front of them for a moment. “Maria please tell the vegetable vendor tomorrow that I’m canceling the broccoli order,” I said casually.
Maria just nodded numbly still in shock. Poor woman. She would probably have to find a new job tomorrow but at least she wouldn’t have to work while holding her breath in fear.
The following days were a whirlwind of news reports and police interrogations but for some reason I didn’t feel tired at all. The recording of Rebecca’s voice that I had managed to upload that night became the nuclear bomb that destroyed Preston’s entire legal defense.
His expensive lawyer threw in the towel unable to defend a client who was clearly recorded admitting to murder and abusing his current wife. Coupled with Doctor Miles’s testimony and the medical report of my battered body Preston had no escape. The model husband image he had cultivated for years crumbled overnight replaced by the new title: “The Monster with an Angel’s Face.”
Rebecca’s case was reopened and this time the truth couldn’t be silenced with hush money. Her body was exhumed for an autopsy and the results confirmed all of Dr. Miles’s suspicions. There was a fracture at the back of her skull inconsistent with a fall but consistent with a blow from a blunt object,.
Preston’s sentencing hearing was the most crowded event at the courthouse. When the judge slammed the gavel sentencing him to life in prison Dr. Miles wept in the gallery. He hugged me tightly.
It wasn’t a romantic embrace but the hug of two soldiers who had survived a deadly war.
“Thank you Ellie. You were reckless, insane, but thank you,” he whispered.
I laughed a little wiping away my tears. “You’re welcome doctor. But don’t expect me to be a patient in your hospital again anytime soon. The smell of antiseptic gives me trauma.”
Six months have passed since that night and my life has done a complete 180. I now live in a small rental apartment on the outskirts of the city. The paint is peeling a bit near the floor and the roof leaks a little when it rains hard,.
It’s a world away from the hellish luxury of Preston’s mansion. There are no cold marble floors, no blinding crystal chandeliers, and certainly no central air conditioning. But you know what? Sleeping on a thin foam mattress on the floor of this apartment feels more peaceful than sleeping in that king-sized bed that cost as much as a car.
I started a small catering business cooking for office lunches and small parties. It turns out my cooking skills, which Preston used to constantly criticize as too salty, not salty enough, or not aesthetically pleasing, are a big hit with normal people. I wake up every morning not because I’m afraid of being late to iron a shirt but because I need to go to the farmers market.
The smell of onions and garlic is now my favorite perfume. Sometimes I still flinch at the sound of a slamming door from a neighbor or people shouting in the street. Trauma is persistent like plastic waste. It’s hard to break down but I’m learning to make peace with it,.
This afternoon I’m sitting on the porch of my apartment sipping warm sweet tea from a cheap plastic mug. The sky is a beautiful shade of orange. Suddenly my phone vibrates. A text from Doctor Miles.
It’s short: “Preston was just moved to solitary confinement for fighting over a food ration. He lost.”
I laughed out loud reading that. The wheel of fate is indeed round and sometimes it rolls right over the people who took the wrong path. He used to fight for power. Now he can’t even win a fight over a piece of bread.
I put my phone down and took another sip of my tea. It was sweet. This time the sweetness was just right because I was the one who measured it not someone else. My name is Eleanor, the ex-wife of a monster, and today I am.
