All Chapters of THE ABANDONED WIFE: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The twilight painted the patio in hues of soft lavender and deep indigo, a serene backdrop to the women gathered there. The remnants of a sumptuous dinner lay scattered across the table: the glistening sheen of roast beef, the vibrant medley of stir-fried vegetables, and the fluffy, golden husks of baked potatoes. A half-empty bottle of ruby-red wine stood as a testament to their shared evening, its rich aroma mingling with the crisp, cool air. Earlier, they had ventured into the dense, whispering woods, guided by a local who possessed an intimate knowledge of the terrain. The scent of damp earth and pine needles had filled their lungs as they explored, a welcome escape from the everyday. Returning to the cozy cabin, they had indulged in afternoon tea, the delicate porcelain cups filled with steaming liquid and the air thick with the sweet scent of freshly baked biscuits. Then, Cindy, the self-proclaimed chef of their retreat, had orchestrated a culinary masterpiece, c

"Country pumpkin!" The insult, laced with a cruel, mocking sweetness, sliced through the air, followed by the sickening thud of something soft and viscous striking the back of Megan's head. The sticky, pungent substance oozed into her hair, a grotesque parody of a country harvest.Megan, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, whirled around. She had been caught in the frantic churn between classes, the minutes slipping through her fingers like sand. Her last lecture had bled into the next, leaving her scrambling to make up for lost time. Now, she was faced with a trio of girls, their laughter echoing in the deserted hallway like the cackle of hyenas."What is your problem?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and bewildered confusion. She fumbled with her handkerchief, attempting to wipe the foul-smelling goo from her hair, the thought of returning to the hostel for a desperate, cleansing shower a tempting escape.The girl in the centre, a caricat

The sight of Lizbeth’s tear-streaked face and trembling form tugged at the heartstrings of Dante’s friends. They exchanged knowing glances, a silent understanding passing between them. "Just let her be, Dante," one of them advised, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "After all, we grew up together. People might naturally consider her your childhood sweetheart." Dante bristled at the insinuation. "I have a girlfriend," he stated firmly, his voice carrying a clear warning. "So please, let this be the last time I hear about this!" He genuinely cared for Megan and the thought of her misinterpreting his connection with Lizbeth sent a wave of anxiety through him. He wanted to build something real with her, something untainted by past associations. Reaching for his wallet, he extracted a credit card and tossed it towards Lizbeth, who stood looking forlorn. "You can shop for whatever you want," he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. "I need to find my girlfriend." With tha

Rich stood by his car, his gaze fixed on the endless rows of vehicles filling the mall's expansive carpark. A profound weariness settled over him, a bone-deep exhaustion that transcended mere physical fatigue. He yearned for escape, a desperate urge to slide behind the wheel and embark on an aimless drive, a journey to nowhere in particular, a flight to his own personal Neverland.The memory of his forced marriage to Megan surfaced, unbidden. He had envisioned a life of unrelenting misery, his only solace the sweet affection of Liana, his girlfriend. It was this belief that had fueled his resistance to the marriage, his deliberate refusal to acknowledge the genuine effort Megan had poured into their ill-fated union.But the landscape of his life had shifted dramatically in the few short months since his divorce. The rose that was Liana had inexplicably transformed into a sharp, unforgiving thorn. The woman who had once offered him immeasurable pleasure and comfort had morphed into

"Megan, Megan, wait up!" Dante's voice echoed down the hallway.Megan was coming from her room, ready to start her day. She had lessons lined up throughout the day and was already running late for her first class.She rounded the corner and headed to the lecture room when she saw him, Dante. He leaned against the cool, tiled wall, arms crossed, a familiar, persistent look in his eyes. It had become a pattern, this unexpected appearance wherever she went – the library, the cafeteria, even the quiet courtyard where she sometimes ate lunch. He had been stalking her, showing up wherever.A wave of frustration washed over her. Ignoring him had been her strategy, a silent but firm declaration of disinterest. But seeing him waiting there, so deliberately, sent a shiver of unease down her spine. Without breaking stride, she executed a sharp about-face, her heels clicking against the floor as she headed towards the staff room door. She would just pretend that she was there for her lecturer.