My Husband and the Ghost of His Youth

After Declan Rhys cheated, I returned the favor. He would publicly make out with his latest fling in tabloids; I would stage a highly suggestive paparazzi shot with a young, impossibly handsome actor. The intimate photos of him and Sally Adler would fly around the dark web; I'd send him a chillingly realistic deepfake of me in a luxury resort suite. Declan barely contained his fury, his eyes simmering with a cruel amusement as he finally walked up to me. “I’m taking Sally out tonight. It’s her birthday. Go on, find someone to celebrate your own birthday with,” he challenged, his voice dangerously low. “If you end up sitting alone tonight, don’t even try to pretend you’re above me.” I meticulously applied a deep crimson lipstick, my hand steady. I met his gaze in the mirror, letting my casual tone be the final insult. “Don’t worry about me. He’s already on his way to pick me up.” That person was him. The eighteen-year-old version of him. The one who put me first, who was pure devotion, the boy who would undoubtedly agree to my ultimate birthday wish. ... 1 The sickening thwack of the glass, followed by the sickening sound of my ornate vanity mirror shattering into a spiderweb of cracks, jolted me. Before I could process the shock, Declan’s hand clamped down on my wrist, his grip bruising. “April Hale, are you done? Does getting back at me make you feel this good?!” Maybe it did. After all, Declan found a new woman when he drank, another on a business trip, and yet another when he went on vacation. He was relentlessly, exhaustingly unfaithful. My calm expression seemed to drive him past the breaking point. He gritted his teeth, his jaw ticking. “Who is he?” “Someone you wouldn’t recognize.” The very words he’d used to push me to the edge of sanity, I could now deliver with an icy detachment. A cold, humorless laugh escaped him. “Perfect. You’re really proving you’re capable of anything.” The next second, his strained patience snapped. He roared, “Where did he touch you? Tell me!” Declan began tearing at my cocktail dress, his eyes scanning my body like I was a piece of incriminating evidence. “Here? Was it here?” I wrenched myself free and slapped him across the face, the sound echoing in the silent room. “Declan, you bastard!” It was only when he saw the involuntary, purely physiological tears welling in my eyes that his feverish rage subsided, softening his tone to something darkly paternal. “If you’re only inventing these stories to anger me because I’m missing your birthday, you’re being tragically petty.” He pulled a silk-lined velvet box from his suit pocket. As he did, a small, soiled piece of lace lingerie fluttered to the floor. I was used to it. I’d found used contraceptives under our sheets, and strange, novelty items in the kitchen drawer. This scrap of underwear was minor, a footnote to the rot. A flicker of panic crossed Declan’s face, but he quickly smoothed it over, pretending nothing had happened. “Here. Happy birthday.” He shoved the box at me. “Take it and stop being so dramatic.” I took the box, a tiny, foolish seed of hope—for a normal moment, a normal gift—sprouting in my chest. But when I opened it, nestled against the silk lining was a grotesque, decaying dead rat. The putrid smell hit me instantly. I screamed, dropping the box. “It’s Sally’s idea of a prank,” he said dismissively, not even looking at the box. “I’ll get you a proper diamond later.” Replacing my prenatal vitamins with miscarriage-inducing medication was her “prank.” Tampering with the brakes on my car was her “prank.” The excuse was worn and rotten, much like the gift. I grabbed disinfectant wipes and furiously scrubbed my hands. My voice was dull. “You don’t need to explain. I didn’t say I wanted your gift.” That simple statement seemed to ignite a fresh, uncontrollable blaze of fury in him. He swept his arm across a nearby table, sending expensive porcelain crashing to the floor. “So you expected the other man to buy you one! April Hale, stop this pathetic act! You’re putting on this show just to get me to settle down and come home! Well, dream on!” With that final, explosive declaration, he grabbed a bulk box of contraceptives from a drawer and stormed out, not looking back. The water I had spilled on myself was scalding, but I barely noticed the burning. I stood amidst the wreckage, my heart a heavy, sinking weight. Eighteen-year-old Declan would never have done this. He had given me a huge bouquet of baby’s breath—my favorite—and, like a giddy teenage boy, showed me the tattoo of my name on his collarbone. He had held me close, a desperate, fearful devotion in his eyes. “April, I promise. I’ll grant you any birthday wish you have.” Eventually, I pulled back from the boy’s embrace and looked him dead in the eyes. “My birthday wish is to divorce your future self.” 2 Staring at the stark white divorce papers, the eighteen-year-old Declan’s eyes welled with tears. “Did… did he hurt you?” The boy in front of me couldn't possibly imagine. Seven years ago, we were sharing a cramped studio apartment, looking at the city lights and dreaming about our future. I witnessed him earn his first serious capital. Later, Declan exploded onto the real estate scene, eventually making it to the top of the Forbes list. In his acceptance speeches, he always thanked the “fierce and gentle April Hale from my youth.” The social circle called us a fairytale couple. When did that love curdle into this poison? It was the night he got blackout drunk and called me from another woman’s bed. I listened, self-destructively, to the sickening sounds all night. I found the courage to ask him, my eyes swollen and raw after three days of him being gone: “You promised you’d never change…” Declan, reeking of cheap perfume, gently embraced me. “I haven’t broken my promise. I still love you.” He paused, then added, “But Savannah, and Tiffany, and Lexi—they’re all waiting for me too. They’re crying just as hard as you.” I naively tried to fight them off, thinking if I just chased away these women, the marriage would be safe. I was delusional. Those women were just the tip of the iceberg. Declan grew steadily worse, sleeping with my college friends, my work colleagues, and even close acquaintances. Before I could confront him about the extent of his betrayal, Declan delivered a chilling warning, his voice disturbingly calm: “If you keep digging, you’ll only make this marriage uglier. Don’t humiliate yourself further.” Then came the clincher. “Your mother’s private medical care is a sensitive subject.” It was an undisguised threat. That was the first time I realized with utter terror that the twenty-five-year-old Declan was entirely disconnected from the boy he used to be. The young Declan wiped the tear from my cheek and, with a trembling hand, signed the divorce papers. He wept, apologizing for the monster he would become seven years later. I blew out the candles on the cake he had brought, and felt a profound, exhausted sense of release. I should have done this a long time ago. On every massive digital billboard in the city, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY Sally ADLER were scrolling. Paparazzi had captured Declan and Sally kissing in the panoramic window of a waterfront penthouse, then taking her to an exclusive, high-roller auction where a multi-million-dollar drone light show exploded over the city skyline. I looked at the putrid, rotting rat on my floor and offered a dry, self-deprecating smile. The wives in my circle would soon be mocking me. “Can’t even hold onto her own husband. Such a defeat.” “Sally must be his ninety-ninth conquest, right? April is still the undisputed champion of the Cuckold Club.” “Well, her uterus is useless. No babies, no leverage.” ... Every word on the screen felt like a fresh sting. When I had the car accident and lost my ability to have children, I had managed to frantically dial Declan’s video phone. The first thing I saw was Declan, draped around my closest friend, impatiently snapping, “Stop checking up on me! All it does is make me sick to look at you!” He hung up, and I lost my chance at a family. He had once picked out the names “Milo” and “Stella” for our future children. I only learned from Sally’s Instagram that those were the names he’d given her two Pomeranians. Declan had been hinting at the end for a long time. That evening, I was packing my suitcase when the door violently crashed inward. Declan stood there, his face thunderous, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “April Hale! You drug Sally and then try to run? You have a death wish!” 3 Before I could react, a sudden, blinding slap across my face made my head swim. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood and sneered, “Is this the new foreplay?” Declan scoffed, then threw a pile of glossy photographs at my face. The pictures showed Sally half-dressed, dancing suggestively with other men. In one shot from the auction, she was on a stage, allowing herself to be publicly bid on. “You knew I was taking Sally to that private auction, and you had the audacity to drug her! You ruined her reputation!” Declan’s veins were bulging on his forehead. I remembered when a client had groped my leg at a business dinner, and Declan had only advised me to “be subtle” for the sake of the deal, never offering an explanation or apology. But Sally merely suffered a public embarrassment, and he was completely unhinged. I pressed my lips together, fighting the bitter burn. “I have better things to do than to orchestrate your mistress’s humiliation.” Just then, Sally rushed out of the car, dissolving into a theatrically shaky, tearful mess. “Mrs. Rhys, the server said you bought me the drinks! I didn’t know you’d hurt me like this! Waaaah… I can’t face anyone now! Just put me out of my misery!” She grabbed my hand and started hitting herself with it. Declan looked at me with pure, unadulterated contempt. “April, what do you have to say for yourself now?” “I’ve spoiled you rotten! First, you fabricate a lover to provoke me, and now you attack Sally. You are truly hopeless!” His cold stare pierced me, leaving me feeling utterly exhausted. “I said I didn’t! I don’t care what games you play outside! I stopped caring a long time ago!” A flicker of surprise crossed Declan’s face. Then, Sally opened her phone and began a live stream, making a show of ripping her clothes. “That’s right! I lied! I falsely accused Mrs. Rhys! I’m the one who’s trashy and wants to sell myself! I’ll start now!” Her performance of faux desperation instantly flustered Declan. He grabbed her arm tightly, his face etched with genuine, sickening concern. “I know it’s not your fault, Sally. Don’t do anything crazy.” The next second, his lethal gaze landed back on me. “You are the one who messed up! Why don’t you stream yourself taking your clothes off? One piece, ten thousand dollars.” I stared up at him, my voice a painful rasp. “You want me to live-stream a striptease?” “Declan Rhys, dream on! I don’t need your dirty money!” Declan let out a cold laugh, pulling out his own phone and performing a quick transaction. Immediately, my mother’s hospital called, their tone frantic. “Mrs. Hale, our system is showing your account is frozen. We can’t delay your mother’s procedure any longer!” 4 The world stopped. I felt a seismic shift under my feet, unable to believe what I had heard. I looked up at Declan’s triumphant, sickeningly smug expression. “How about now? Tell me, do you need my money now?” I was petrified, every breath shuddering out of me. “Declan Rhys, you’re despicable! You’re lower than dirt!” The man who, when he became successful, couldn't wait to lavish me with the world’s most precious gifts. He used to say, “You’re more valuable than my life. These jewels can’t compare to you.” Now, he was using a bank account to choke the life out of me. With the sound of the hospital’s desperate calls ringing in my ears, I finally broke. I bowed to the ugly reality. Facing Sally’s live camera, I numbly began to unbutton my coat. The live chat was a torrent of vile comments. “She’s gotta be a D-cup! Never looked like this on TV!” “The CEO’s wife? Never thought she’d stoop this low.” “All that high-class pretense, just to put on a show for us average guys in the end!” ... The crowd around us—full of local wealthy socialites and their entourage—grew. As I shed the next layer of clothing, a collective gasp went up. My skin felt exposed and cold. The snickering, the pitying, the leering eyes—they pinned me in place like a thousand sharp needles. “That’s what happens to a woman with no spine. Worse than being the mistress.” “A disgrace to the Billionaire Wives’ Club. Pathetic.” ... Declan had elevated me to the First Lady of the city’s elite, and now he was degrading me into their worst joke. He stood there, perfectly composed, only the rapid flicker in his eyes betraying his internal strain. Sally eagerly zoomed the camera in, offering an invasive, close-up view of my exposed body. “Look at all the big spenders sending gifts, Mrs. Rhys!” “Don’t worry, Mrs. Rhys, I’ll cash it all out and give it to you. You’ve earned it, darling.” I was trembling violently. Just as the last piece of fabric slipped away, Declan moved with lightning speed, throwing his jacket over my shoulders. “Are you really this cheap, April?!” Then, he sharply leaned in and inhaled. His brow furrowed in instant confusion and distaste. “This scent…” “April, I can’t believe this! You actually went out and found a man?!” It was the first perfume eighteen-year-old Declan had ever bought me with his meager savings. He had completely forgotten. Before I could react, Declan violently ripped his jacket off me, leaving me utterly naked and exposed. “If you want to degrade yourself, fine! I’ll help you!” Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't care how many eyes were on me anymore. Finally, he tossed a bank card at me like a scrap of meat and threw all my clothes into the river. “Good job. Tell your mother I said hello.” He smugly put his arm around Sally and walked away. The next second, my phone rang—it was the hospital with my mother’s death notice. The last of the strength holding me upright instantly evaporated. As I stumbled to my feet, a sudden blow from a blunt object sent me into darkness. I was dragged into a pitch-black space. Men’s cruel laughter surrounded me. “She’s already naked, might as well be ours!” “It’s the CEO’s wife, after all. Gotta see what she tastes like.” I clawed desperate, bloody streaks across the floor, until I lost the strength to fight back… Declan called my phone repeatedly, only to get no answer. The next second, a video link popped up on his screen: "Metro’s Must-Try List" He clicked on it against his better judgment. The explicit, violent images that filled his screen instantly made his eyes turn crimson.

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