I was living a fairytale. Ethan and I were deeply in love, or so I thought. Our wedding was just around the corner, and we were on the verge of buying our first house together. Life felt perfect, like something out of a movie. We spent hours discussing paint colors, furniture arrangements, and the future we were building together. I envisioned raising our children in that house, celebrating holidays, and growing old side by side. Ethan always seemed so genuine, so committed. He showered me with affection, told me I was his soulmate, and made me believe that our love was unbreakable. That’s why what happened next felt like a cruel joke, a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. It was a Tuesday morning. The kids were finally off to school, and I was savoring a rare moment of peace with a cup of coffee. I was still in my robe, enjoying the quiet before diving into my workday. Then, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I approached the door with a sense of mild curiosity. When I opened it, I was greeted by a sight that instantly turned my world upside down. Standing there was a strikingly beautiful woman, radiating confidence and an air of undeniable sophistication. She was dressed impeccably, her hair perfectly styled, and her eyes held a glint of smugness that sent a shiver down my spine.
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She introduced herself with a chillingly calm demeanor. “I’M ETHAN’S FIANCÉE. I CAME TO SEE THE HOUSE WE’RE MOVING INTO!” Her words hung in the air, each syllable a hammer blow to my heart. I felt my blood run cold, my mind struggling to process what I was hearing. ‘Ethan’s fiancée?’ I repeated in my head. This couldn’t be real. There had to be some mistake. My Ethan? The man I was about to marry? The man who swore he loved only me?
I stammered, “Excuse me? What do you mean, moving into?” My voice trembled, barely a whisper. The woman simply smiled, a condescending expression that made my skin crawl. “Oh, it’s simple, Miranda. That is your name, right?” she said, her voice dripping with an infuriating mix of pity and superiority. I nodded, numb with disbelief. She continued without missing a beat.
Then she dropped the bomb: “Well, Miranda, after the divorce, you legally got the car as part of the shared assets and fair alimony. And the house… well, my dear, Ethan bought it for her.” **Divorce? Alimony? Shared assets?** My mind was reeling. I couldn’t make sense of any of this. Divorce implied a previous marriage, a history I knew nothing about. Alimony suggested a legal obligation, a financial settlement I couldn’t comprehend. And this house, the house we were supposed to build our future in, was somehow tied to this mysterious woman.
I demanded answers, my voice rising with each word. “Who are you? What are you talking about? Ethan would never…” But as I spoke, a seed of doubt began to sprout within me. I remembered Ethan’s occasional late nights at the office, his vague explanations for his whereabouts, his moments of distant preoccupation. Could it be possible that he had been leading a double life all along? The thought was almost unbearable.
As the truth unfolded, it became clear that Ethan had been living a carefully constructed lie. He was, in fact, married to this woman, and they were in the midst of a bitter divorce. He had been seeing me behind her back, promising me a future while still entangled in his past. The house, the wedding, everything we had planned was built on a foundation of deceit. My fairytale had shattered, leaving me with nothing but heartbreak and a burning desire for answers… and revenge.
