The doorbell rang. A delivery guy from Uber Eats dropped off a grotesque bouquet made of used condoms.
Holding back his disgust, he handed me his phone, saying the sender required video proof of delivery.
I took it. Grace appeared on the screen, smiling smugly.
“Like my gift? Feels good, spending your wedding anniversary alone, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t say I don’t pity you. Let these keep you company. After all, they smell like Ethan. Don’t be shy—my trash can is full of them.”
“Thanks to you hurting me, Ethan dotes on me even more. He swore he won’t let our baby’s death be in vain. You’ll pay the price!”
She flaunted their intimate photos, eyes alight with madness.
“Ethan says I’m his angel. So Anna, do yourself a favor and step aside. A mad dog like you only belongs in hell!”
At her words, I chuckled softly.
“An angel? How unfortunate. Because an angel who only knows how to spread her legs is unworthy of the title Mrs. Carter.”
Ethan’s warning that I would pay the price wasn’t idle talk.
A few days later, I slipped into my favorite dress, perfected my makeup, ready to welcome back the man I loved most at the airport.
But the bodyguard called, his voice frantic: