A New Beginning After Divorce

Linda Adams grappled with a disquieting question: was she living a lie? The evidence lay in her two mobile phones, a stark symbol of her divided life.

As Shane Harvey showered, a notification flashed across one screen – a selfie from his mistress.

The girl's youth was undeniable, her beauty striking. But the opulent clothing seemed to swallow her, creating an air of unease.

"[Mr. Shane, thank you for my birthday gift,]" the message read.

Linda stared, a knot tightening in her stomach. She'd long suspected another woman, but the girl's youth and naivete were a surprise, revealing a disturbing preference in her husband. A wave of sadness washed over her, mingled with guilt at intruding on his private world.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Shane emerged, droplets clinging to his sculpted physique. The white bathrobe highlighted his strong chest and defined abdominal muscles, a display of raw sensuality.

"Still looking?" he questioned, a hint of impatience in his tone.

He casually plucked the phone from her hand, his expression devoid of any embarrassment at being caught. Linda knew his confidence stemmed from his financial power; she was entirely dependent on him. Before their marriage, she'd been a celebrated violinist, a life now exchanged for domesticity.

The photo itself was insignificant. Her focus was elsewhere.

"Shane, there's something I need to discuss," she blurted as he moved to leave.

He paused, fastening his belt, his gaze lingering on her form. A flicker of desire crossed his face, perhaps recalling her submissive nature in bed. "Another round?" he murmured.

But such moments were fleeting, purely physical.

He had never truly valued her, their marriage a consequence of circumstance, not affection.

Shane's eyes wandered to a Patek Philippe watch on the dresser. Strapping it to his wrist, he said dismissively, "I have five minutes. The driver's waiting."

Linda knew his destination. "Shane," she said, her voice trembling, "I want to work."

His eyebrows arched. "Work?"

He stared at her, weighing her words. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled an amount, and tore off the slip. "Isn't being a housewife enough? Work isn't for you."

He turned to leave.

Desperate, Linda followed, her pride eroding. "I'm not afraid of hard work! I want to play the violin again..."

He cut her off, his patience gone.

In his eyes, Linda was a delicate ornament, unsuited for the rigors of the world. He couldn't fathom her independent, struggling.

Shane glanced at his watch. "Time's up."

He walked out, leaving Linda grasping at the doorframe, pleading, "My father's birthday is Saturday. Will you come?"

He hesitated. "We'll see."

The door closed, the car starting moments later, the sound fading into the distance.

Shortly after, the maid appeared.

Sensing the distance between husband and wife, she acted as an intermediary. "Sir is going to California for a few days on business. And a batch of his laundry arrived. Would you like to send it out, or will you wash and iron it yourself?"

Linda sank onto the sofa, defeated.

Finally gathering herself, she whispered, "I'll wash it."

Shane disliked the chemical scent of dry cleaning. All of his garments, from suits to coats, were meticulously cared for by her hands.

His expectations extended beyond laundry.

He found outside food unpalatable and disliked clutter. Linda had become adept at cooking, organizing, flower arranging – a paragon of domestic perfection.

Her life had become solely defined by Shane.

Yet, his love remained elusive.

Linda stared at the check in her hand.

Her family's misfortunes – her brother's legal troubles, her father's expensive illness – had drained their resources. Her aunt constantly reminded her to extract more from Shane.

"He's the CEO of shane's Pharmaceutical, with billions at his disposal... Linda, you're his wife. What's his is yours!"

Linda managed a bitter smile.

He barely saw her. Their marriage was based on sex, not love. He even ensured she couldn't conceive, always reminding her to take her pills.

Yes, the pills.

Linda reached for the medication, swallowed one dryly.

Then, she opened a hidden drawer, revealing a thick diary filled with the girlish adoration of an 18-year-old Linda Adams–

Six years of loving him, completely and utterly.

Linda closed her eyes, a wave of despair washing over her.

Linda's wait for Shane proved futile. A major crisis struck the Adam's family on Friday night.

Reports indicated that Colt Adams, son of the Adam's family, faced a potential ten-year sentence due to financial crimes involving the Adams Group.

Such a lengthy sentence threatened to ruin his life.

That same night, Linda's father suffered a severe cerebral hemorrhage and was rushed to the hospital, needing immediate surgery.

Standing in the sterile hospital hallway,Linda frantically called Shane repeatedly, only to be met with silence. Just as despair began to set in, a WhatsApp message arrived from Shane.

His message, as always, was brief.

[Still in California. Contact Secretary Esther for assistance.]

Linda tried calling again. This time,Shane answered. "Shane, my father..." she began urgently.

Shane cut her off.

A hint of impatience laced his tone: "Do you need money? I've told you repeatedly, if it's an urgent matter involving funds, contact Secretary Esther... Linda, are you listening?"

......

Linda stared blankly at the electronic screen displaying the news.

[Shane's Pharmaceutical Group CEO Spends Extravagantly, Shutting Down Disney and Orchestrating a Firework Display for a Beauty's Delight.]

The screen showed a brilliant display of fireworks lighting up the sky.

A young woman, seated in a wheelchair, smiled sweetly. Standing behind her was her husband, Shane... He held his phone to his ear, seemingly engrossed in a conversation.

Linda blinked slowly, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

After a long, drawn-out pause, her voice cracked as she asked, "Shane, where are you?"

He hesitated on the other end, sounding displeased by her inquiry, but replied dismissively, "Still busy. If there's nothing important, I'm hanging up. Contact Secretary Esther."

He failed to notice the tremble in her voice, his gaze instead fixated on the woman before him... his expression gentle, unusually gentle.

Linda's vision blurred with tears.

So, that's what Shane's gentle side looked like.

From behind, her stepmother, Beatrice Adams, approached, her voice filled with anxiety: "Have you reached Shane? Linda, you must get Shane to help with this..."

Beatrice's words faltered as she, too, noticed the scene unfolding on the screen.

After a long, quiet moment, Beatrice found her voice: "He's in California again? I just can't believe it, Linda. When Shane was in a coma, this woman, Maria Harris, woke him up with a violin? Even if that's true, is this an appropriate way to repay her?"

"He doesn't even remember your birthday!"

......

The more Aunt Beatrice spoke, the more agitated she became. The dire situation of the Adams family made her cry out in frustration. "But Linda... you have to endure this. Don't cause trouble with Shane now of all times."

Linda clenched her fists, her nails digging into her skin, but she felt no pain.

Cause trouble with Shane?

She wouldn't. Not because she understood the gravity of the situation as his wife, but because she lacked the standing to do so.

Without love, her title was meaningless.

She fixed her gaze on the fireworks illuminating the sky and whispered, "So many fireworks... they must have cost a fortune!"

Beatrice didn't understand her meaning.

Linda lowered her eyes and began dialing Secretary Esther's number.

Calling so late, disturbing someone's sleep, was never appreciated.

Secretary Esther, having worked with Shane for a considerable time, held a privileged position. Aware of Shane's indifference toward his wife, she answered Linda with a cold, almost aggressive tone.

"Mrs. Linda, you need to submit an application first and have Mr. Shane sign it before you can receive any funds."

"Just like the jewelry you wear; you need to register to use it."

"Mrs. Linda, do you understand what I'm saying?"

......

Linda hung up the phone.

Her head hung low. After a long pause, she looked at her reflection in the glass... then gently raised her hand.

On her slender ring finger sat her diamond wedding ring.

It was the only thing she possessed that didn't require Shane's approval or registration with his secretary... How pathetic was she, Mrs. Linda!

Linda blinked in a daze and whispered, "Help me find someone to sell the wedding ring!"

Beatrice stared, bewildered: "Linda, are you crazy?"

Linda said slowly turned around. In the empty hall, her footsteps echoed with loneliness... After a few steps, Linda stopped and said softly, but firmly, "Aunt Beatrice, I'm sober! I've never been so sober."

She wanted a divorce from Shane.