Chapter 4He Called Me Damaged Goods

My chest seized. My fingers shook as I scrolled furiously to the top of the chat, clicking on the link one of the students had shared.

It was an anonymous post on a local lifestyle forum, trending fast.

Attached was a photo of me—pale, ghostly, curled up on a hospital gurney right after my D&C.

The caption was framed as a self-righteous public service announcement, warning young women about "the consequences of a promiscuous lifestyle."

The poster wrote:

"Ladies, please respect yourselves. Don't end up like this girl, playing around with random men until you're forced onto an operating table, breaking an innocent man's heart."

And at the bottom:

[My poor friend lived his entire life with a clean conscience, waiting for a pure woman to build a future with, only to end up with a used-up party girl.]

[Trash belongs with trash. Why do used newspapers always try to pass themselves off as blank paper?]

A violent shudder ran through me.

My phone kept buzzing. Parents of my younger ballet students were already demanding full refunds, declaring they couldn't possibly let their daughters learn from a woman with "such vile morals."

My blood turned to ice, and then to fire.

I knew Taryn’s apartment. I had helped Damon drop off a housewarming gift there six months ago.

I hailed a cab, marched up to her floor, and pounded on the door.

When it swung open, it wasn't Taryn standing there.

It was Damon. Shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled.

The realization that my husband had spent the night in her apartment didn't even sting anymore; it just left a sour, metallic taste on my tongue.

I pushed past him, storming into the living room. Taryn was sitting on the sofa in a silk robe, sipping tea.

I threw my phone straight at her chest.

"Why did you post that filth about me?"

Before the phone even hit the cushions, a heavy hand struck the side of my face.

The slap cracked across the quiet room. My head snapped to the side, my cheek erupting in blistering heat.

Damon shoved me back, stepping protectively in front of Taryn.

"Summer! Have you lost your goddamn mind? Coming in here and attacking her?"

I clutched my burning face, forcing the tears back into my skull. My voice shook with pure fury. "I lost my mind? Look at what she posted! Look at what she did to my livelihood!"

Damon picked up the phone, his eyes scanning the thread.

Instead of remorse, a cruel, mocking smirk touched his lips.

"Did she lie?"

I stared at him, the air fleeing my lungs. "What?"

"You didn't bleed on our wedding night," he said, each word cold and deliberate. "You got pregnant while I was out of town. Tell me, Summer, which line in this post is actually false?"

He stepped toward me, towering over me with cold disgust. "Why are you so furious? If anyone has the right to tear this city apart, shouldn't it be me?"

I had known he didn't trust me. But a foolish, naive sliver of my soul had hoped that, faced with blatant public humiliation, he would stand by his wife.

What an idiot I was.

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, let out a hollow breath, and pulled the folded divorce agreement from my bag, shoving it against his chest.

"Since you're so convinced I betrayed you, sign it."

Damon glanced at the paper, his expression twisting into pure derision.

"You think pulling this stunt will make me grovel? You think I'm going to beg you to stay?"

From behind him, Taryn giggled into her teacup. "She probably reads too many romance novels. She thinks a dramatic exit will trigger your deep, buried regret."

Damon scoffed. He snatched a pen from the console table, clicked it open, and slashed his signature across the bottom of the page without reading a single clause.

"Take it." He thrust the papers back at me.

I took the envelope, turned on my heel, and walked out.

Behind me, Taryn’s honeyed voice drifted down the hallway.

"You actually signed it? What if she really leaves? You'll be miserable."

Damon’s dismissive chuckle followed me toward the elevator.

"Leave? She endured nearly a hundred and sixty-degree water for weeks just to prove herself to me. She's not going anywhere. Besides, with her reputation in the gutter, who else would ever want her? Give her three days. She'll come crawling back to this door, begging on her knees for my forgiveness."

I stepped into the elevator, my hand resting on the cool metal wall.

He was right about one thing: I had endured that scalding water because I loved him.

But Damon was fundamentally wrong about the rest.

I didn't love him anymore.

And my one-way ticket to Paris was booked for that evening.

I was leaving, and I was never coming back.