All Chapters of Shattered Vows : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Ifunanya07Elena There’s a kind of silence in marriage that feels more suffocating than a scream. Not the silence of peace—but the silence of secrets. That’s the kind of silence I’ve been living in. To everyone else, I’m Elena Hart. Accomplished. Beautiful. Successful. A woman with a dream career in psychiatry, a picture-perfect home, a husband most women would envy, and a life that gleams from the outside like polished glass. But anyone who’s ever touched glass knows how easily it shatters. That morning, I did what I always do. I got up before him, prepared his favorite breakfast—sourdough toast, scrambled eggs with truffle oil, and black coffee—and dressed in the soft silk robe he bought me in Paris. Everything was exactly as he liked it. I set the table. The flowers were fresh. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, warm and golden. Perfection. At least on the surface. Daniel walked in like he always did—confident, composed, already halfway into the version of

ElenaI didn’t need to confront Daniel to know that something was broken between us.The phone had buzzed on the kitchen counter like a relentless reminder of my reality. But now that I had seen the pictures, felt the weight of those cold, lifeless words from the unknown sender—I think you need to know—the silence was unbearable.I had a decision to make: confront him now, with my hands shaking and my heart pulsing in blind anger, or gather the pieces of this puzzle before the truth hit me full force.I chose the latter.Because I wasn’t going to let this happen to me. Not again.I opened my laptop and went straight to his social media accounts. Daniel was meticulous about his online presence. Always business-like. Always curated. He wasn’t one to post personal photos, but I knew the drill. I knew how to look. I knew how to sift through the noise.His Instagram account was a portfolio of success—pictures from business trips, conference calls, and the occa

ElenaThe house was dark when I returned—quiet, too quiet. I expected Daniel to be asleep or gone altogether, but as I stepped through the doorway, I saw a faint light spilling from the living room.He was waiting for me.He sat on the edge of the couch in his navy robe, a glass of whiskey cradled in one hand, his phone in the other. He didn’t look up right away. But I knew he heard me.I closed the door gently and set my clutch on the entryway table, then walked in like nothing was out of place. Like my entire world wasn’t rotting at the core.“Elena,” he said, finally glancing at me. His eyes were tired. Alert. Cautious.“Daniel.” I moved past him, heading toward the kitchen. “You’re up late.”“Couldn’t sleep.”I poured myself a glass of water, taking my time. I felt his eyes follow me—he was studying me, trying to read me, trying to guess what I knew.“How was the event?” he asked casually.I turned slowly to face him. “Lovely. All the

ElenaIt arrived on a Thursday.A plain white envelope, tucked between bills and advertisements, no return address. I almost missed it—almost tossed it aside with the rest of the junk. But something about it made me pause.No markings. No handwriting.Inside, a single photograph.Daniel. Sophie. Together.Not at some hotel or late-night dinner—but here. In this town. At the same bookstore I used to take our son to before he left for college. Daniel’s hand was on the small of her back. Her head was tilted toward his. Too close. Too familiar.On the back of the photo, typed in clean block letters:“How much truth can you stomach, Elena?”No signature.My pulse didn’t race. I didn’t gasp. I just… stared.Someone was watching him. Watching us. And they weren’t doing it for fun.They were playing their own game.I slipped the photo into my handbag, careful not to crease it. My instincts screamed to burn it, tear it, bury it in the

ElenaIt started with subtle things.Daniel began watching me the way I used to watch him—closely, suspiciously, like he’d suddenly become the prey in a game he didn’t understand. And maybe, on some level, he knew.The rules had changed.He came home early from work that Friday. No meetings. No dinner plans. Just an anxious presence drifting through the house like a ghost looking for something to haunt.“You’ve been… different,” he said carefully.I looked up from my book, legs folded neatly beneath me on the chaise. “Different how?”“I don’t know. Distant. Calm.”“Would you rather I scream and throw things?” I asked, arching a brow.He exhaled slowly. “No. I just… I want to fix this.”I closed the book, placing it gently beside me. “You can’t fix something you don’t understand, Daniel. You broke a version of me you can’t put back together.”“I made a mistake—”“A mistake is leaving the stove on. You chose her. Again. And again. And ag