My husband Blake's "soulmate," Scarlett, claimed the Persian silk rug she’d sent me would bring good luck to our home.
He laid it on the stairs himself, and the slick silk sent me tumbling. I lost our child in the fall.
I called him from the emergency room. He hung up on me.
After the surgery, I scrolled through Scarlett's Instagram and saw a video of Blake on one knee, presenting her with the keys to a new design studio.
The caption read: "He said I'm his North Star! He really built a starry sky for me!"
At the studio's grand opening, Scarlett shimmered in the latest haute couture. I stood outside, unable to get through the door, wearing an old dress she’d publicly mocked online.
With a shard of ice where my heart used to be, I called my lawyer, Marcus. "Are the divorce papers ready?"
Desperately needs a better editor and proofreader. There are some leftovers that should have been edited out and some parts need proofreading for better readability and understandability.