Finally Choosing My Passion Over the Man I Loved

Zelene's POV

On the fifteenth day of the New Year, my husband, Alger Doyle, came rushing home, all excited, saying he wanted to take me somewhere.

I thought to myself—after all these years, he still wants to surprise me?

But the last place I expected him to take me was the police station.

Before I could even react, he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. The next thing I knew, cold metal snapped around my wrists—handcuffs.

Alger looked the officers straight in the eye and said with conviction, “She’s the one who set the fire in the mountains yesterday.” Then, he pulled out a video as proof.

I stared at the screen in shock. The person in the footage had my face—but the body shape was completely different from mine.

Just as I opened my mouth to refute it, Alger leaned down and whispered, “Babe, do this for Carly, please. She’s not in good health. She won’t survive in here.” His voice was calm, almost reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything at home.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

——

My mind went blank. I had never, not in my worst nightmares, imagined that the man I had been married to for years would send me to prison… for another woman.

“Alger! Don’t go! Explain this to me!”

I lunged forward, desperate to grab him, to demand answers, but the officers held me back. All I could do was watch as he walked away.

That night—the night families were supposed to be together, celebrating the new year—I sat alone in a cold detention cell.

I had only been wearing a thin sweater when we left the house. Now, the freezing air seeped into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably. My teeth chattered, and my fingers were numb.

I could no longer stand the cold. Seeing others covered with blankets, I called the police and asked, “I’m freezing. Can I get a blanket?”

But the officer barely glanced at me. “Blankets have to be brought in by family members. If you want one, you’ll have to call someone to send it.”

I was so cold that I had no choice. I asked for a phone and dialed Alger’s number. It rang and rang but there was no answer.

The officer, growing impatient, tapped his foot. Seeing it, I took a deep breath and called again. This time, someone picked up. But the voice on the other end wasn’t Alger’s. It was hers—Carly Gill.

She said “Hello?” a few times, her tone light, almost amused.

My grip tightened on the phone. “Why do you have Alger’s phone?”

I didn’t bother hiding my anger. Why was she with my husband this late at night?

Carly chuckled softly. “Oh, Alger felt bad that I was spending the holiday alone, so he invited me over for New Year’s dinner.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

I couldn’t even process what she said after that. All I knew was that while I was here, shivering in a cold, dark cell, they were together—eating, celebrating, happy.

I hung up without another word and handed the phone back to the officer.

At that moment, no amount of cold could compare to the icy numbness in my heart. I sat there, staring at the full moon outside the barred window, my chest tightening with grief.

I had spent years taking care of Alger, learning to cook and clean—things I had never known how to do before. I thought our marriage was solid, that I had built something strong. But little did I know, his heart had left me long ago.

Silent tears streamed down my face, and no matter how hard I wiped them, they wouldn’t stop. I cried until exhaustion took over, until my body slumped against the cold wall, until I finally drifted off.

Half-awake, half-asleep, I felt something was wrong. My body was burning up.

With the last bit of strength I had, I called out, “Officer…”

Immediately, they rushed over, alarmed at how hot my skin was. Within minutes, they had an ambulance on the way.

On the ride to the hospital, the officers kept calling Alger. At first, his line was busy. Then, he declined their calls.

They called again. And again. Finally, after over ten attempts, he answered.