I Was Never Your Real Wife
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Summary
On our eighth anniversary, I didn't prepare a single thing.
Instead, I sat at the kitchen table and drafted a divorce agreement with my own hands.
When I walked into the house, Elliott had his little mistress pinned against our headboard, taking her with a desperate, frantic hunger on our wedding bed.
The girl turned her face toward the door, her lips curving into a smug little smile when she saw me.
"Hazel... you're home?" she gasped, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "Should I... should I get up?"
