I Let Them Think They Won - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading I Let Them Think They Won, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of I Let Them Think They Won.
Cassie's POV
The messages kept coming in the following days, my phone buzzing nonstop. I never replied. Not once.
Then came the screenshot - a "New Parents Program" admission slip with her name neatly written beside Max's. Followed by a flood of texts gushing about how thrilled he was to be involved, how excited he was for their future together. Another message listed all the gifts he'd bought her - the same baby items he'd claimed we couldn't afford whenever I mentioned starting a family.
I didn't cry. Didn't scream. Instead, I called the housekeeper and calmly instructed her to pack up every gift Max had ever given me - the diamond necklaces, designer handbags, expensive perfumes. "Donate them all," I said simply.
She gave me a startled look but nodded, gathering the items into boxes. Watching her carry them away, I felt... lighter. Like I'd finally cut the invisible cord tying me to him.
The next day brought photos from Violet - Max in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wearing a smile I hadn't seen in years. More pictures showed him holding her from behind, his protective hand resting on her stomach, his lips pressed to her temple. My chest constricted, but I refused to cry. Not again.
That evening, I emptied our closet of every photo album, every ticket stub, every handwritten note from our years together. I carried them to the fireplace, striking a match and watching the flames consume our history. The love letters I'd poured my heart into followed, their pages curling to black ash.
I moved to my studio - the space I'd once cherished - where countless hours had been spent painting his smile, his eyes, that particular way he used to look at me. Every canvas, every sketch, every unfinished piece bearing his image was dragged outside. One by one, I shredded them, fabric tearing beneath my hands. The songs I'd written for him met the same fate - melodies and lyrics ripped to shreds until only scraps remained.
When it was done, my hands trembled, my clothes smeared with paint and charcoal. But for the first time in days... I felt free.
This was my way of letting go - not just of Max, but of the part of me that had clung to him. Now, all that remained was picking up the pieces he'd left behind and starting anew. I already knew what I had to do.
Violet's morning messages arrived right on schedule, my stomach churning at the sight. Plane tickets this time - Max was taking her to see some fancy gynecologist because she wasn't feeling well. That afternoon, Max came rushing in to pack, muttering about "urgent business."
I leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching him throw clothes into a suitcase without so much as glancing my way. "Work trip?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm inside.
He didn't pause. "Urgent. Top secret."
"Top secret," I echoed with a humorless smile. "And Violet?"
He finally stopped, turning with that infuriatingly blank expression. "She's coming. You wouldn't understand, Cassie. It's complicated."
I nodded slowly, letting his words hang between us. There it was - his truth, delivered so casually it barely felt real. "Of course," I said softly. "Let me help you."
His surprise was almost comical, but he didn't protest as I stepped forward, neatly folding his shirts, organizing his toiletries, even slipping in a tie I knew he'd forget. When he grabbed the suitcase with a distracted "thanks" and headed for the door, I simply said, "Safe travels."
No reply. Not even a backward glance.
The click of the door echoed through the empty space. With trembling hands, I pulled up Violet's photos again - first class tickets for tonight. They'd be back in two days, smug and satisfied while I played the dutiful wife.
But I wouldn't be here.
Two days later, the airport hummed with muffled chatter and distant announcements. As I waited at my gate, my phone vibrated with Max's message: "Cassie, where are all the gifts I gave you? They're missing."
A wry smile touched my lips as I typed: "Donated them all."
His reply came after a pause: "Doesn't matter. I've brought you new ones. You'll love them."
I almost laughed. Of course he thought more trinkets could fix this.
Boarding the plane, I checked my phone one last time - a live video of Max in his office, arms wrapped around Violet in an intimate embrace. Her head thrown back in laughter as he whispered in her ear.
I tapped the screen. When he answered with that smooth, placating tone, I said, "I got you a gift too."
"A gift for me?" The surprise in his voice was almost satisfying.
"Yes," I said softly. "Don't forget to open yours today." I hung up before he could respond.
"Final boarding call," the automated voice announced.
My assistant's hesitant voice came through the line: "You're sure about this? Erasing everything?"
"Positive," I said, my voice empty as the life I was leaving behind.
The messages kept coming in the following days, my phone buzzing nonstop. I never replied. Not once.
Then came the screenshot - a "New Parents Program" admission slip with her name neatly written beside Max's. Followed by a flood of texts gushing about how thrilled he was to be involved, how excited he was for their future together. Another message listed all the gifts he'd bought her - the same baby items he'd claimed we couldn't afford whenever I mentioned starting a family.
I didn't cry. Didn't scream. Instead, I called the housekeeper and calmly instructed her to pack up every gift Max had ever given me - the diamond necklaces, designer handbags, expensive perfumes. "Donate them all," I said simply.
She gave me a startled look but nodded, gathering the items into boxes. Watching her carry them away, I felt... lighter. Like I'd finally cut the invisible cord tying me to him.
The next day brought photos from Violet - Max in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wearing a smile I hadn't seen in years. More pictures showed him holding her from behind, his protective hand resting on her stomach, his lips pressed to her temple. My chest constricted, but I refused to cry. Not again.
That evening, I emptied our closet of every photo album, every ticket stub, every handwritten note from our years together. I carried them to the fireplace, striking a match and watching the flames consume our history. The love letters I'd poured my heart into followed, their pages curling to black ash.
I moved to my studio - the space I'd once cherished - where countless hours had been spent painting his smile, his eyes, that particular way he used to look at me. Every canvas, every sketch, every unfinished piece bearing his image was dragged outside. One by one, I shredded them, fabric tearing beneath my hands. The songs I'd written for him met the same fate - melodies and lyrics ripped to shreds until only scraps remained.
When it was done, my hands trembled, my clothes smeared with paint and charcoal. But for the first time in days... I felt free.
This was my way of letting go - not just of Max, but of the part of me that had clung to him. Now, all that remained was picking up the pieces he'd left behind and starting anew. I already knew what I had to do.
Violet's morning messages arrived right on schedule, my stomach churning at the sight. Plane tickets this time - Max was taking her to see some fancy gynecologist because she wasn't feeling well. That afternoon, Max came rushing in to pack, muttering about "urgent business."
I leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching him throw clothes into a suitcase without so much as glancing my way. "Work trip?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm inside.
He didn't pause. "Urgent. Top secret."
"Top secret," I echoed with a humorless smile. "And Violet?"
He finally stopped, turning with that infuriatingly blank expression. "She's coming. You wouldn't understand, Cassie. It's complicated."
I nodded slowly, letting his words hang between us. There it was - his truth, delivered so casually it barely felt real. "Of course," I said softly. "Let me help you."
His surprise was almost comical, but he didn't protest as I stepped forward, neatly folding his shirts, organizing his toiletries, even slipping in a tie I knew he'd forget. When he grabbed the suitcase with a distracted "thanks" and headed for the door, I simply said, "Safe travels."
No reply. Not even a backward glance.
The click of the door echoed through the empty space. With trembling hands, I pulled up Violet's photos again - first class tickets for tonight. They'd be back in two days, smug and satisfied while I played the dutiful wife.
But I wouldn't be here.
Two days later, the airport hummed with muffled chatter and distant announcements. As I waited at my gate, my phone vibrated with Max's message: "Cassie, where are all the gifts I gave you? They're missing."
A wry smile touched my lips as I typed: "Donated them all."
His reply came after a pause: "Doesn't matter. I've brought you new ones. You'll love them."
I almost laughed. Of course he thought more trinkets could fix this.
Boarding the plane, I checked my phone one last time - a live video of Max in his office, arms wrapped around Violet in an intimate embrace. Her head thrown back in laughter as he whispered in her ear.
I tapped the screen. When he answered with that smooth, placating tone, I said, "I got you a gift too."
"A gift for me?" The surprise in his voice was almost satisfying.
"Yes," I said softly. "Don't forget to open yours today." I hung up before he could respond.
"Final boarding call," the automated voice announced.
My assistant's hesitant voice came through the line: "You're sure about this? Erasing everything?"
"Positive," I said, my voice empty as the life I was leaving behind.
End of I Let Them Think They Won Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to I Let Them Think They Won book page.