He Left Me in a War Zone for Her

My husband Mark promised me a belated honeymoon.

But because his mistress Vivian complained, he abandoned me in a war-torn country.

"Since you hate Vivian so much, you can stay here by yourself," he said.

I stared at the ruins around me, gunfire echoing in the distance, and begged him to give me back my passport.

He just looked at me coldly. "You've been living the cushy life of a rich wife for too long. Time to see what real suffering looks like."

His private jet roared to life, whipping up a cloud of dust as Vivian clung to his arm, flashing me a sickly sweet smile.

On my way to the embassy, rebels dragged me into a slum. For three days, they tortured and raped me. I didn't survive.

A month later, he finally remembered I existed.

"Has she admitted she was wrong? Tell her if she accepts Vivian's baby, I'll send someone to bring her home."

Seriously? He wants a dead woman to acknowledge his mistress's child?

"It's been a week, and Sarah still hasn't called. Still refusing to apologize?" Mark snapped.

"Guess the punishment wasn't harsh enough. She actually dares to defy me."

His assistant hesitated, voice trembling. "Sir… you have Mrs. Johnson's phone and passport. She probably… doesn't have any way to contact us."

Mark glanced at the news—footage of bombings and riots flashing across the screen. He frowned.

"A phone call? She could ask a stranger, go to the embassy—there are plenty of ways. She's just being stubborn. Let's see how long she lasts."

The assistant spoke carefully, concern in his voice. "Sir, Myanmar is in the middle of a civil war. Rebels are killing civilians. Mrs. Johnson could be in real danger. Should we send someone to check on her?"

Mark shot him an icy glare. "She took self-defense classes. She can handle herself. This is her own fault—no apology, no way out. She needs to learn her lesson. She needs to know who's in charge."

The assistant opened his mouth to say more, but Mark shut him down with a look.

"Enough. We'll send someone for her later. Only if she accepts Vivian's child and apologizes properly will I even consider forgiving her."

"But sir, the rebels have guns. I'm afraid—"

"Mark!"

Vivian walked out of the master bedroom, one hand resting on her belly.

Mark's annoyed expression vanished. His eyes softened as he looked at her.

"Vivian, you should be resting. I already dealt with Sarah. After how she treated you, she deserves this. Maybe now she'll think twice."

He hurried over to support her.

"Mark, honey, you really didn't have to pick a fight with my sister because of me. I feel awful."

Vivian pretended to object but snuggled into his arms anyway.

"This whole honeymoon mess is my fault. I've been so emotional since I got pregnant. My sister's going to hate me even more when she comes back."

There they were, flaunting their affair right in the open.

I had to laugh. Their picture-perfect life was truly something to behold.

Too bad I was just a ghost now, floating in mid-air. Already dead.

When the rebels tore me apart, my soul left my broken body.

From above, I saw my own horrific death—my eyes wide with despair and rage.

Right after my soul drifted away, the slum was bombed. Rubble flew everywhere, dust settling over lifeless faces.

It was like everyone there was meant to die a terrible death.

Gunfire stained the night red. Blood and flesh sprayed through the air. The smell was so thick and metallic, even as a spirit, it turned my stomach.

But at that very moment, Mark was gently playing with Vivian's hair.

"Don't worry about it. Your only job right now is to rest and take care of our baby. Forget everything else."

Then he pinched her nose affectionately.

"That jealous woman had it coming. She said she was afraid of flying just to keep you from joining the trip. Well, let's see how much fun she has on her own."

Hearing that sent a chill through my soul.

Mark and I had been married for ten years, and he still didn't know I'd never been on a plane.

The private jet's propellers spun with a deafening roar.

To force me on board, Mark had his men gag me and tie me up.

As the plane climbed, I was trembling, drenched in cold sweat—but Mark didn't even look at me.

He left me behind in Myanmar. I was on my knees, begging him to take me with him.

Fear churned in my stomach. My survival instincts kicked in, and I forgot all about dignity. I banged my head on the ground until it bled, but I still couldn't grab hold of Mark's sleeve as he walked away.

He shoved me aside like trash—as though abandoning me was some kind of proof of love for his mistress.

He looked down at me with disgust. "You like playing games with Vivian? Stay here and learn some manners, you spoiled brat."

I watched helplessly as the plane flew farther and farther away. The terror of being left behind swallowed me whole.

That's when I finally saw him for what he was.