On our wedding anniversary, my husband Antonio Kaufman watched the sunrise with his first love Sabrina Hayes atop a mountain.
He left me stranded in a rain–soaked forest for hours.
A Facebook notification from Sabrina, visible only to me, revealed the , betrayal:
“Your husband is watching the sunrise with me!”
The accompanying photo showed them in a rose–filled tent, hands. intertwined, wearing matching rings.
Sabrina’s chest bore visible hickeys and a bite mark.
Getting no reply, Sabrina sent me more photos, each one a sickening blow.
Antonio eventually called.
“The sunrise is gorgeous. Come join us,” he said.
Forcing a smile, I replied, “No, I’m fine.”
He erupted, “You’re jealous! Sabrina’s like a sister. I promised to watch the sunrise with her.”
“Is your car only big enough for two?” I asked calmly.
“She’s severely depressed. If I’d said no, she might have hurt herself,” he explained, his voice trailing off as the weight of his words settled in.
Antonio, a brilliant psychologist, expertly cared for his patients, yet seemed to forget my mental health struggles.
We’d met in a psychiatric clinic. He’d pursued me, and now this.
Villagers found me and called the police.
I was hospitalized with a high fever and headache.
While receiving an IV, I saw Antonio’s Facebook post, “Sweetie, why did you get lost?”
Sabrina commented, “Because my guide wasn’t with me.”
I liked the post; it vanished, replaced by Sabrina’s crying emoji.
After finishing my IV, I took a cab home, ordered takeout for delivery and fell asleep on the sofa.
Suddenly, a loud, urgent knocking shattered the silence.
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