The Mistress Came to Kill Me on Our Anniversary Night
I was five months pregnant when my husband, James Fletcher, allowed his mistress to invade our lives—on the very night of our wedding anniversary. But she didn’t just come to flaunt her presence. She came to take my life.
Pregnant and vulnerable, I confronted her, desperately clinging to my dignity. But the fight ended with me tumbling down the staircase, my swollen belly crashing against the cold, hard ground. Blood seeped across the floor, vivid and unrelenting.
James only arrived after hearing about his precious mistress’ ordeal. He stood there, staring at the pool of blood, at my broken body. But instead of helping me, he rushed to her side. She had nothing but a few superficial scratches, yet he swept her off to the hospital like she was the one dying.
By the time he returned, my child was gone. The doctors barely managed to save me. And what did James do? He struck me in front of everyone, his words sharper than the sting of his hand.
"Lisa only wanted to bring you a Christmas gift, and you attacked her out of nowhere! You shameless witch!"
“She didn’t force her way in! What nonsense! I gave her the house key ages ago. You just can’t stand that she’s prettier and kinder than you!"
“You didn’t just hurt her. You killed my child! You vile, despicable woman. Why couldn’t it have been you instead?”
Lisa stood beside him, pretending to comfort him while flashing me a smug, victorious smirk.
James’s vicious tirade didn’t stop there. He dragged my name onto the internet, painting me as a monster.
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