As I walked down the hall, I heard something—soft noises coming from the guest room.
I stopped, my body was still going.
The sounds became clearer.
Moans.
A deep sense of dread settled over me as I stepped closer.
Slowly, I pushed the door open.
And then I saw them.
Magnus was on top of Ingrid, his body moving against hers.
I stumbled back, my breath catching in my throat.
The sight of my husband, buried between another woman’s legs, tore through me like a dagger to the chest.
A pain unlike anything I had ever felt. A pain I knew would never heal.
I turned and walked away before I could torture myself any further.
I returned to my room, but I didn’t cry.
I refused to cry. I refused to let Magnus have any more of my tears.
Instead, I picked up a pen and paper.
If Magnus wanted Ingrid, he could have her.
But not without a final farewell.
And so, I wrote a letter—one last goodbye to the man who had broken me.
The night air was cold against my skin as I packed the last of my belongings into a small bag. My hands trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer rage coursing through my veins. I had endured enough.